God I hate vogue. I flipped through the magazine aimlessly, waiting for them to call me back. It was my first interview I’d gotten since I got to the city and I wasn’t gonna let anything ruin it. Not even Vogue. I didn’t understand the blatant objectification of the models. They take these young beautiful girls and use them up until their beauty fades then toss them away. It made me sick. But if this job liked Vogue, then I liked Vogue. I sat in the waiting room for what felt like hours. The secretary typing furiously was the only noise aside from the incessant ticking of the clock above my head. I could only see her face behind the computer screen. She was drop dead gorgeous. Blonde hair sat in an unnaturally perfected bun with short bangs swept against her forehead. Her eyes had an intimidating sharpness. Black eyeliner with thick, propped eyelashes accentuated oceanic eyes. I felt like I was drowning just looking at them. Her features were sharp with skin, fair and smooth. Tight cheekbones and a small pointy noise built an angelic face. Her mouth was small but her lips were plump and wine red. I didn’t know how I didn’t notice her before, but now I couldn’t stop staring. I was entranced by her. My gaze must have touched her, as she stopped typing and shot her eyes into my stare. My throat jumped and I quickly looked back down at the magazine. I knew she was still staring, but I struggled to look back. She’s way too hot to be looking this long for nothing. Man up, say something. My head lifted to a giggle from her desk. “Hey,” she said. “Hi,” I said. Use your deep voice. “You’re cute.” The strength in her gaze lessened. “You’re here for the sales interview right?” I straightened in my chair as a smile pulled across my face. “Thank you, you’re not too bad yourself.” Gentleman. A bubbly laugh escaped from behind her computer monitor. “Yeah, I’m really hoping I nail it,” I replied. “Me, too. I know you’ll be a good addition.” Nice. “Are you nervous?” She asked. “Yeah, A little.” A little was an understatement. Both of my savings accounts were run dry and this was the only place I got a call back from. I know dad wasn’t gonna send me a penny even though I practically made the money for him. If I didn’t get this I didn’t know what to do. Move to some dingy, local apartment back in Naperville, Wyoming? Not a chance. “Is there anything I can help with? Make you more comfortable.” I hadn’t looked at the job description since I applied, so there were a number of things I could’ve asked. All I knew was they needed a seller and I needed a job. “Don’t tell boss I asked, but what exactly do you guys sell here?” I asked. Another giggle swam it’s way to my ears accompanied by a toothy smile, almost too big for her small face. Red lipstick pulled tight against bleached white teeth. The ocean in her eyes became unnervingly static. Frozen. “I’m glad you asked! Dr. Holmes has studied long and hard. Traveled across the globe in pursuit of the world's secrets. Secrets, most men were too afraid to find. The secret, to perfection. He’s-” “That’s quite enough Ms. Katherin.” A large voice called from behind the closed door next to her desk. As if on cue a tall crooked-framed man walked in and stomped into our conversation. “Forgive her, she tends to get rather excited about her job. Please, don’t fault her too harshly.” His words held a deliberate annunciation. Rehearsed in the mind, prepared in the mouth, and performed to the air. Their certainty pulled me out of the love affair Katherins words had. He swept silvered hair back before addressing me. “You must be Mr. Miller.” His cheeks pulled into his own proud smile. “A pleasure to finally meet you.” I reached for his hand but they remained buried in his jacket. “The pleasure is mine sir,” I said. “Pardon my tardiness, hopefully Ms. Katherin didn’t make you fall too far in love,” he said. Her eyes no longer looked at me, they stared hard at him. Drawn to him. “Only a little,” I joked. My words hit the side of his head as he and Katherin stared. Anger swelled in my chest as pride swelled in his rosed cheeks. “Right, let’s begin, follow me,” he said as he returned to the door he came from. I followed behind him. “Good luck,” Katherin whispered. She shot a quick wink at me as I walked into the hall. Behind the door was a short clean hall. Greyed drywall lined the walls while a beige carpet ran the length. Down the walls were black framed close ups of models. Emotionless faces of all shapes and sizes, each a foot apart from the next. It was dead silent. Aside from Dr. Holmes' heavy steps the only noise buzzed from the led lights in the ceiling. At the end we turned down another, longer, hallway. Models were replaced with large wooden doors. “What are the rooms for?” I asked to break the pulsating silence. He turned his head enough for me to see his proud smile. “They’re for the patients.” His neck clicked back forward and led me down to an open office at the end. Inside, I sat in a wooden chair in front of a kidney shaped desk. On the desk was a folder. Dr. Holmes closed the heavy door behind us, clicking the lock. He sat in a big leather padded chair behind the desk. Another friendly smile warmed his face. “So, were you able to find us easy enough?” he asked. “I got a little lost coming in, but it wasn’t too bad,” I said. “Good, that’s good,” he said. “So what brings you here today?” What? I swallowed snarky comments. “I saw you were looking for a sales representative and with my previous experience I believe I am the perfect fit,” I said. “Of course!” He exclaimed, his eyes squinted into a cheeky smile. “I took the time to look at your resume and may I say I was fascinated. Graduated top of your class at UIC, multiple bachlores, an MA in finance and even a minor in french. You then went on to become the top seller at one of the largest tech companies in Chicago.” “That’s right sir,” I said. “Then I’ll ask again, what brings you here?” Silence fell with a clap as his face dropped. Burning eyes singed my confidence. “Things just didn’t really work out I guess,” I said. “Thought I could use a change of scenery.” “I disagree.” The air hung heavily. Blue sapphire eyes pierced through me. “I’m sorry?” “Do you believe in fate?” He asked. “The belief that all things happen purposefully and deliberately?” “I’m not sure. I guess I never really thought about it,” I said. “Of course not,” he scoffed. Disgust pooled onto his face. “That much is more than clear.” My hands grew hot with rage as sweat began to clam my palms. I grinded my jaw slightly to release aggression. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you’re asking.” “You moved here eight weeks ago, am I correct?” He said. Disgust was replaced with the original stone expression. “Yes,” I replied. “An apartment on the upper west side of Charlottesville. One bedroom, of course, due to your lack of acquaintances.” I shuffled in my chair, but his stare didn’t break. “Yes,” I replied. “Right,” the taut muscles in his face began to slowly relax. “Mr. Miller, if you could change one thing about yourself, right here, right now, what would it be?” he asked. I thought about it for a moment. What wouldn’t I want to change?, I thought. “I guess I would want to be more confident,” I said. “You guess.” “I’ll ask you again, and answer with certainty; if you could change one thing about yourself, right here, right now, what would it be?” My stomach fluttered in response. Sweat poolcd in the palms of my clasped hands. “I don’t know Doctor,” I said. “You see,” he began, “I am a believer in fate. I believe you do know what you want to change, because I know what you want to change.” His face resumed it’s previous intensity. “You are a man of sin Mr. Miller, a sheep lost to the world, far away from his shepherd. You want so badly to be able to escape what you have done, but no matter how far you run, it’s right behind. You know what I’m speaking of, correct?” he said. “Yes,” I said to the floor. “Then why wouldn’t you choose to change the animal inside of you?” he said. “That wraith in your heart cost you your Abigail. And you say nothing about it.” Panic shook my eyes, blurring my vision. “I don’t know,” I mumbled. “But it is okay, child,” he said. I looked back up to see his face had relaxed. The flaming intensity had cooled and melted away. “For fate has guided a lost sheep to a new shepherd. A shepherd who can help this sheep fulfill his destiny.” “I’m sorry, I don’t understand--” “With your expertise in selling and my expertise in healing, we can be a force unlike any seen before,” he said. “My practice, while considerable, is lacking in reach. The few whom I do get to help are not nearly plentiful enough for me to make as grand of a scientific revolution as I hope. I need you, Mr. Miller, to help me bring in more willing patients.” I sat, confused for an eternity. His calmness was comforting, but jarring. The panic had slowed throughout my body, but the nervous patter of my heart stayed consistent. “You want me to help you?” I asked. “Correct,” he said. His dismission of his previous interrogation caused anger to swell in me. “And if I refuse?” I asked. “You and I both know that isn’t an option,” he said. I looked up at the ceiling then back down at my hands, tears welled behind my eyes. “What do you even do here?” I asked. A firm smile lifted his face from its scorn. “Allow me to show you.” He stood and opened the office door. I pulled my body to its feet and followed him out into the hallway. He led us down to the opposite end of the hallway to a door, revealing a lit staircase. “After you,” he said. I trudged down red carpeted steps, scared that he was out of my line of vision. I kept my eyes down on the carpet as I went down. At the bottom there was another door. “Open it,” he said over my shoulder. I pulled it open and stepped into a stone corridor full of doors. The smell of wet rock reeked from all directions, but more powerful was the stinging smell of bleach. He stepped in front of me and we walked to the third room on the left. “This is patient 32. He is doing a clinical trial for a revolutionary new cure to obesity. He is going to help a lot of people.” he said, standing tall in front of the door. He opened the door and an abominable noise tore through the opening. I stepped into the stone walled room where a white silk curtain hid the man from view. Dr. Holmes stood in the doorway as I walked closer to the curtain. I looked back at him and he gave me a small nod of approval. The noise oozing out from behind the curtain cut into my ears, flooding into my veins and throat. I pulled back the curtain to reveal a bald man. In his ears were two white headphones. He thrashed violently against the bed but black leather straps held him in place. The noise heard before came from his mouth which had been fused in parts, leaving blood filled fleshy holes to become the instrument playing this horrific harmony. His face, beaten beyond recognition. Purple, blackened, eyes had been glued shut far too tight, the round shape of eyeballs protruding far out of their sockets. I tried to scream, but nothing was able to escape. I stepped back in horror and saw the machine the tubes shoved into his abdomen were connected to. Each tube was filled with a smoothie of bloody fat being slowly pulled out of his body. A wave of nausea and fear overcame my body and I sprayed vomit onto the floor, my body falling to the wet stone floor soon after. “It’s okay, my child,” Dr. Holmes said as he ran over to me, placing his hand gently against my back. “This is just the ugly part, that man is going to help millions of people all across America! He is a pioneer!” I continued hyperventilating as another powerful expulsion of vomit fell to the floor. “Let’s get you out of here,” he said, dragging my body up off the floor. I fought furiously against him as he carried me to the door. Through blurred vision I saw the man again. I’d never heard a noise like it before, but I knew he was crying. “What the fuck is this place!?” I cried once finally able to catch my breath. “This is the workshop for the future, Mr. Miller. Once we get more patients we will be able to do less tests on one single subject. Currently we only have 33 patients and with testing as revolutionary as this we have to run multiple tests on each subject, but with your help you can relieve some of their burdens and allow more patients to be part of the grand adventure,” he said. I threw a hard elbow back wildly over my head and smashed it into the bridge of his nose. He quickly dropped me and held the broken nose. I scrambled to my feet and ran as hard as I could to the door at the end of the hallway. “MR. MILLER! STOP, YOU ARE MAKING A MISTAKE!” he called from down the hall. I continued pounding my feet against the smooth floor, tearing open the door at the end. I slammed it behind me and ran up the stairs and down to the lobby. “KATHRIN!” I screamed as I slammed through the door. She was startled by the door and looked up from the computer monitor with wide, fearful eyes. “You gotta call the police! That fucking doctor is mangling people! Please you have to call the police,” I pleaded. “Who? Dr. Holmes?” she asked calmly. “Yes! He’s got this guy hooked up into this horrible machine and he fused his fucking mouth shut! You have to call the police right now!” I exclaimed. A polite smile pulled itself onto her face. Her eyes were soft now, the fear disappearing. Smooth waters. “No, those are his patients. Dr. Holmes isn’t mangling anybody, he’s helping them,” she explained. “What are you talking about? He wasn’t helping that guy! He was torturing him for his own sick delusions! Katherin, I’m telling you the truth you have to call the police and get these people help, please!” I pleaded again. She let out a short, sad sigh. “Ya know it’s a real shame. You were really handsome.” She lunged at me and stuck a long syringe into my neck. I pulled back from the sting and clutched my neck. She sat back in her chair and smiled. “What the fuck was that?” I asked fervently. She set the needle down gently against her desk and resumed typing. She looked exactly the same as when I first got there. Blonde bangs were just as swept, her bun was just as perfect, her eyes still as sweet. The same smile on the way out as the way in. She shot me a quick wink as I ran out the door. I ran, crying to my car. I ransacked through my pocket for my keys. I clutched them hard as I started the ignition. I smashed the reverse and tore out of the parking lot. I hyperventilated heavily as I drove down the road. Sweat poured down my face, soaking my collar. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t control my breathing. Each attempt to slow it caused my brain to fade. I struggled hard to keep the car on the road, but I couldn’t risk stopping. Tears filled my eyes as the steering wheel faded from my touch. The tingling numbness crawled underneath my skin toward the rest of my body. Please! Please get a grip, please! The man's face flashed behind my eyes. What kind of monster, would, do, that. The numbness conquered the rest of my body and I let go of the wheel, my head falling back to stare at the red fabric roof. I heard car horns blaring and saw the outside world whip and spin around me. Glass shattered quickly but loudly, the window going from blue, to grey, to black. Wet rock stunk from all around me. I wiggled hard and heard nothing. I felt smooth leather bands holding my body down tight to the bedding. I tried to scream but heard nothing. I felt the vibrations leave my throat, but they stopped behind my lips. I heard nothing. I attempted to open my eyes but my eyelids fought against me. Like big eye-boogers that I couldn’t seem to break through. I pulled hard in every which way, but I couldn’t get free. “Mr. Miller, can you hear me?” a voice said from within my head. I tried to scream again, but I still heard nothing. “Ahh good, it appears you can. Mr. Miller I’m very sorry that it had to come to this. You truly could have worked with me on a building better tomorrow, but, you’re like everyone else. You’re afraid, like a child separated from their mother at the market. You think the groceries are there to hurt you, so you cry out for mother. Mother!? Where are you!? And then your mother would find you and she would tell you that you had nothing to be afraid of, she wasn’t gonna let any of the groceries hurt you. The only problem, Mr. Miller, is that you can no longer receive solace from your mother. You are a man. A man who cannot dispose of his childish fears. You run from them and you get lost. I hoped to be your guiding hand Mr. Miller. I hoped to be the mother you found comfort in. But unfortunately, you bite the outreached hand and choose to return to the life of lost sheep. Well Mr. Miller, I cure those sheep and with God as my witness I will cure you.” A razor sharp screech poured into my head. I screamed until my throat felt it would tear open. I heard nothing. I violently thrashed in the bed as I tried to pull an arm free. The screech scratched the back of my eyes as if trying to break free. I continued to whip and trash until my left arm was free. I grabbed at my ear and felt a smooth plastic headphone. I tried to pull it out and a grinding buzz burrowed into my brain. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you Mr. Miller. Those listening devices are buried deep inside your temporal lobe. If you pull on them too hard you’ll destroy the brain.” Tears bulged out into my eyelids. “Do you remember what I asked you earlier? If you could change one thing about yourself, right here, right now, what would it be? I’m sure you know your answer now.” The screech resumed occupation of my brain. I grabbed the headphone again and pulled hard. The buzz replaced the screech until skin cracking and blood bubbles popping filled my hearing. With all the strength left in me I ripped the long series of wires and chips out from my ear, replacing all noise with a deafening silence. I could feel the wires in my hand but sensed nothing else. Her face was so sad. Not afraid, sad.


Holy fuck, that hurts! Sitting in the tattoo chair she writhed in pain, as the tattoo artist carved the piece onto her wrist. “Embrace the pain!” said her best friend James. “I’m trying to!” she exclaimed. The artist ignored both of them, as he was completely focused on the task at hand and moved the needle back and forth her skin in an intricate manner. She had specifically asked for a unique piece, a symbol she had seen on the internet a few years ago. The piece was pretty striking, looking like an old, occult, mystic piece that was ancient. She thought it looked badass. The tattooist was almost done, and James had sat down on the sofa next to the door. Mira was so tired, sore and exhausted. It had been a few hours. The tattooist was finished with the masterpiece, they paid and left the parlour. It was late evening in summer. The air was still warm, and Myra’s tattoo was wrapped up nicely to avoid leaking. “that was intense!” Myra said. She couldn’t help but smile. She had wanted this tattoo for ages. She and James went home to their flat, as they were roommates. Entering the apartment Myra headed straight for her bedroom, tired and ready to sleep after the painful but wonderful experience. She had put on her pjs and closed the bedroom window, peering out into the quiet night, The flat they lived in had the bedrooms faced towards the small forest behind the neighborhood. She admired the night sky before she shut the window and got into bed. She heard James shut his bedroom door in the next room besides hers. She had fallen asleep quite fast. She jolted awake by a big thump coming from the forest facing wall. It sounded like someone had slammed their body right into it, with full force. She jumped out of bed and turned the lights on. She slowly walked over to the window. She didn’t dare open it, but tried brushing it off as an animal accidentally running into the wall. She looked out into the dark forest, but saw nothing, just trees. It was quiet now. Her tattoo was warm and sore, and since she was up she might as well go into the bathroom clean it. She went out of her and heard a faint scratching noise from James’ bedroom. She put her ear to the door to listen in. The only thing she heard was his snoring. She continued into the bathroom and rinsed her tattoo in cool water. It looked almost as if it was glowing, a faintly red glow seething from the dark black ink. But it was probably just her sleepy mind exaggerating a little swelling and blood. Pretty common for a fresh tattoo. She went back to bed, and tried to sleep. But it was impossible. She kept wondering about that loud bang. The moon didn’t shine through her window anymore. It was completely dark. After a while, Myra started getting sleepy. She started drifting to sleep, when… “Tick. Tick. Tick.” A sound. Like someone tapping on glass. It came from the bedroom window. She froze. Listened closely. “Tick. Tick. Tick.” Again. What was it? Was it branches tapping on the glass? No. No… There weren't any trees, right outside the window. She was lying facing the bedroom wall. She had to see. She slowly turned around, and there was.. Nothing. The only thing she could see were the pale grey curtains she had kept open. Suddenly, she exclaimed and grabbed her wrist. Her tattoo was searing with pain. It was excruciating. Why would it suddenly hurt?? She jumped out of bed, grasping it firmly, opened up the bedroom door and - She stood in the doorway, unable to move. It was James. He was lying on the floor, face down. She was paralyzed. The pain in her wrist had faded at the sight of her roommate. Sitting crouched on top of his lifeless body, was a grotesque, pale, creature, with a gangly, elongated body, skin that looked decayed and rotting, spread taut over its bones. There were big open wounds on its body, with pus and maggots festering on it. It had thin, spindly limbs, and from its fingers was what looked like long human fingernails. The creature hadn't spotted her yet, as it was busy devouring a chunk of flesh it had ripped off of James' corpse. This isn't real! This is a nightmare! She thought to herself, desperately trying to convince herself she would wake up any moment. About to tear off another lump of meat with its sharp looking fingers, the creature abruptly stopped. The creature stood up, in a distorted, twitching manner. Standing straight, it was taller than any man. The only sound it made, was the sound of blood dripping on the floor from its hands, as it slowly turned around. Its face was inhuman and grisly. It had a sickly pale green hue, and the hollow, sunken eyes had huge, greyish white pupils, almost filling them. The mouth… Wasn't there. The only thing that was there, was a big, empty void with what had to be teeth. Sharp, serrated, yellow, rotting teeth. It glared at her, unmoving. Unexpectedly, the creature let out a piercingly loud screech, making Myra put her hands over her ears, close her eyes and scream. In the blink of an eye the creature had dropped on all fours and skittered across the floor to where she stood. The stench of rotted flesh and blood assaulted her nostrils as the creature stood only a few inches away from her. Standing on its long, ghastly limbs, it stood tall over her, looking down. Petrified, Myra started quivering in fear. The creature crouched down, coming face to face with her. With a rattling wheeze the creature uttered "T-t-thankssssss" Myra gasped. A chill went down her spine. The creature just talked!? She thought, still stupified. "W... why?" She managed to whisper, in a quivering voice. "You ssssaved me" it hissed from its gaping hole. "No I didn't!" She said, feeling upset over the creatures accusations. "I haven't done anything! Leave me alone!" She was screaming at it now, tears running down her face in fear and anger. The creature reached out and grabbed her arm, twisting its fingers around her wrist. "LET GO, IT HURTS!" She yelled, feeling her arm in excruciating pain. "T-t-thisss" it rattled and pointed its sharp nail on her fresh tattoo. Myra's tattoo was glowing red, the symbols feeling like they had been branded on her skin. The creature made a noise that sounded like gurgling laughter. It put its own hand next to hers, and there, quickly fading, the very same symbols on its skin. As the symbol manifested on hers, she suddenly felt her arm break. She screamed in agony, and the creature stepped back, almost as if it was surprised. "WHY DID Y-" just as she was about to accuse the gholish thing, she passed out. Lying on the floor, Myra opened her eyes to see a young woman standing over her. "Now it's your turn." The young woman said, looking into the pale greyish white eyes of a rancid, rotting cadaver with spindly limbs, screeching and wheezing agonisingly in the opening of a door.


Caspian Viator had been staring out of the *Lancelot*’s oval window at the purple planet’s clouds that rippled across its surface like ocean waves. Every now and then he would see the effervescent clouds breathe out swirls of mist into the violet atmosphere and evaporate once it hit the bitter cold of space. No matter how many times he saw this bubbly display he was amazed. It had only been two days since his arrival at Perceptio and already all the stories he’d heard about this mysterious planet were coming true. The radiant beauty of its ethereal purple atmosphere, which glowed like the Northern Lights back in Reykjavik, to the ocean of clouds that flowed throughout the planet’s surface. While Caspian was thrilled to see Perceptio up close he was also perturbed, for if the beauty of the planet was true then so must its beast. A detailed report from the last mission stated that the crew of the *Gawain* experienced strange disturbances ranging from hallucinations to mental distress. Richard Albatross, the sole survivor of that failed mission, swore that his crew became suicidal, despite passing their weekly psychological evaluations without a hitch. After extensive analysis from the Interstellar Academy's greatest minds, it was concluded that the crew members of the *Gawain*, including Mr. Albatross, had suffered from space dementia. In fact, Mr. Albatross, it was said, had lost all sense of mind and ended up in a private asylum. This final report was upsetting for the Interstellar Academy. Ever since the discovery of Perceptio, and the possibility of life existing there due to its vaporous oceans, space agencies had been rushing to get teams out to the lone planet in order to study it firsthand. For the Interstellar Academy it had been a decade since the *Gawain* fiasco. During that time the Academy had sent several unmanned satellites to conduct research, but the satellites could only do so much. After much preparation, the Academy was ready to send another manned mission out to Perceptio. The *Lancelot’s* crew was meticulously selected. Perceptio was eight light years away from Earth. In the expanse of the universe this was nothing; however, it was still far enough for a person to go mad. The isolation of space was far more dangerous to the human mind than originally thought--the *Gawain*’s crew was proof of that. It was proposed that the best candidates to screen for the Perceptio mission had to be individuals who were not leaving behind a spouse or children. In addition, the perfect candidate had to be an only child with little to no close circle of friends and deceased parents. Therefore, the *Lancelot*’s crew was kept to the smallest number possible and had undergone extensive training both physically and psychologically during the decade respite. For Caspian Viator going out into space and observing a potential habitable planet was what he’d been preparing for his whole life. And now as he stood observing Perceptio’s majestic atmosphere from the safety of the *Lancelot*, he couldn’t help but feel a paroxysm of memories. He tried his best to remain in the present and focus on the magnificence of being in space and orbiting an alien world. But no matter how hard he tried to fight off those creeping images from the past, Caspian found himself reliving his memories. Not just any memories. It was the one memory that haunted him with relentless viciousness. It wasn’t that he hated the memory; on the contrary, he loved it because it reminded him of Katerina. But it was also the memory that, try as he might, always tore him to pieces. Ten years before enrolling at the Interstellar Academy on Earth, he went on vacation to Struga with his late wife, Katerina. She was one of the strongest and funniest women he’d ever met, and he was glad that he was able to share his life with her. But life has a way of taking the most precious things away from you without remorse. It wasn’t long after they’d arrived in Struga that Katerina began to complain of migraines. At first it wasn’t so bad, but within a couple of days her migraines became so powerful that she lost her sight, forcing them to go to the hospital. Once there doctors told Caspian that his wife had an aggressive form of longoniares that was eating away at her brain, and that there was nothing they could do for her at that point. His wife, his beautiful wife who he had fallen in love with, who he had given his soul to, was ripped apart by a bug, turning his beautiful world into a hellish and lonely existence. Caspian began to tear as he recalled Katerina’s image--her long brown hair, green eyes, and that tiny smile that only revealed her upper two front teeth, which looked like they belonged to a rabbit rather than a human, a fact he joked about with her many times. His heart felt like it was being wrung like a towel. Everything hurt inside him. And the thought that he would never be able to hold her or to share his life with her killed him. This was the reason he signed up for this mission. Staying on Earth would’ve been too painful for him. Only the darkness of the infinite ocean of stars could soothe his aching soul. “...okay, man?” said a voice from behind him. Caspian turned around and saw Valentine. “I’m sorry, Val,” Caspian said, wiping away the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. “What’d you say?” “I said, are you okay, man?” Val frowned. “You look like you just received the worst news of your life.” “Oh, sorry about that. I-I was just remembering Katerina.” He paused. “God, I can’t believe it’s been ten years since she passed.” Valentine grimaced. “Katerina? Who’s that?” “My wife.” “Caspian, you don’t have a wife. You’ve never had a wife.” “What the *hell* are you talking about,” Caspian snarled. “Of course I do--did.” Valentine shook his head. “No, you don’t. In fact, the people aboard this ship were selected for this mission because none of us have or had a spouse or children or a significant other for that matter.” He pointed to Perceptio’s surface. “It’s the planet. It’s feeding you false memories.” “N-no, that can’t be possible.” Caspian rubbed his head. “Is it?” “You’re not the first one to be fed a phantom memory by the planet.” Valentine said. “Cable’s also fallen victim to it. She believed she had a daughter named Estella. She doesn’t. She’s never had children.” He frowned. “She even believed Albatross had stowed away on this ship, and she swore she had a conversation with him.” “Hey, Cas, what’re you up to?” Caspian looked over Valentine’s shoulder and saw Cable walking up to him. “Nothing. I think I fell victim to Perceptio’s effects or something.” he said. “If it wasn’t for Valentine bringing me out of my phantom memory, I think I’d be totally lost.” “Who’s Valentine,” Cable said, furrow-browed. Caspian glanced around the room and saw no one except Cable. “Cas, are you feeling alright?” He peered out the oval window at Perceptio, catching his reflection and nothing else. Caspian rushed to the *Lancelot*'s cockpit and set an immediate course for Earth. The Interstellar Academy, after reviewing what went wrong onboard the *Lancelot*, and committing Mr. Viator, began preparations for the crew of the *Tristram*.


“How was I supposed to know it’s her fucking birthday?” Anne said, her voice more of a whine than anything. I don’t know how she could see the road through her stream of tears. Why did I let her drive? *She’s the only one with a license, dumbass.* “You’re the one that fucking found her,” said Rich, always looking to blame someone. “She’s from YOUR grandma’s church, *you* told us about her!” he said, sticking his little sausage finger in her face. “I- I don’t even know my own grandma’s birthday,” Anne said, ashamed. “Both of you shut the hell up. Now is not the time to bicker like children, dammit,” I said, “Just focus on the road and the task at hand.” Rich slumped back and just sat there staring out the passenger-side window. I’d like to see what’s going on inside his head, but I know it’s not much. Anne locked her eyes on the open road, her face expressionless, except for her quivering lip. She never could hide that from me. I hate to admit it, but I’m still so overcome with adrenaline that I can barely think straight. I’ve never felt so powerful before, so in control. The last hour feels more like a dream than reality. “Why is it always so fuckin’ cold in this car?” I asked, trying to sound natural as I reached for the back-seat temperature controls. I didn’t realize my hands were still numb, shaking uncontrollably. I fumbled with the knob for a second, not sure which direction to turn it. My brain was still going a million miles a minute, thinking ahead, thinking back, thinking about how knobs work. *Does blue mean cold? Or does red? Does it even matter?* I sat back, stuffing my hands into my hoodie pockets. Now is not the time for distractions. I need to focus, determine our next move. *There’s no way the cops can know it was us, I made sure of that. Do we go home and pretend nothing happened? Or do we run and never look back?* As yet another road sign whizzed past my window I decided, "We need to go back home, it’s the only way we can avoid suspicion.” “Are you insane?” Rich said, “We need to get as far away from home as possible right now!” “You don’t get it,” I said, “If all three of us disappear right now, we’ll instantly be suspects.” Rich was looking at me intensely as we spoke. He was trying to keep his cool, but there was a twinge of fear in his eyes that was unmistakable. “Getting back home right now is our best chance of going unnoticed. Just go home and do whatever you’d normally do on a Sunday afternoon. Anne, next chance you get, turn around and take us home. It’ll all be okay, I promise.” After a few minutes of silence, Anne pulled into an overgrown driveway and turned us around. I kept running through my preparations in my mind to make sure we’re rock solid. *Gloves, check. Different size shoes, check. No phones, no prior relationship with her, no one knows we’re together, check. I really think I’ve done it. We’re rock solid. I’m untouchable.* It’s just a shame our cleanup time was cut short. “Hey Dave,” said Rich, trying to lighten the mood in his usual way, “have you seen that new *Star Wars* movie yet?” “You know I don’t watch that crap,” I said. *I’m really not in the mood to hear him blabber on about fucking* Star Wars *right now.* “Come on man, they’re fun,” he said. “You just gotta turn your brain off and enjoy the action.” “I like the old movies. The new ones are bad though,” Anne said, perking up a little, but not looking away from the road for even a second. “Well yeah,” Rich said, “but they’re still fun to watch.” “I don’t find it *fun* to watch awful garbage,” I said, sick of this conversation. “Why don’t you just watch an actually good film instead?” “Oh yeah, and what movie should I watch, you pretentious fucker?” said Rich. “*Schindler’s List* is a fantastic movie,” I said. “A beautiful story, well-acted, and not too complicated for you.” Rich sat there with his mouth hanging open for a moment. “You just smashed some senile old woman’s skull in with her own goddamn cane, and now YOU’RE telling me to watch *Schindler’s* fucking *List*. Go fuck yourself.” The car fell silent except for the warm hum of the car engine. “You said you’d be gentle,” Anne said, choking on her words. “You said it’d be like euthanasia. How could you?” “Shit happens,” I said. Rich was supposed to keep his mouth shut about that. *Dumb bastard*. “Richard, what the fuck did I tell you?” “Screw you Dave. I’m not going to follow your orders anymore.” “They’re not just orders, you idiot. We cannot let anyone else know about this, or we’re all cooked,” I said. “We need to just put today’s events behind us and keep on living as if nothing happened. Nothing. Everybody just shut up and calm down.” Anne just kept driving, tears silently rolling down her cheeks. Rich sighed sharply and resumed staring out his window. Hopefully, those two can eventually move on from all this so they don’t screw me, but I never will. I’ve dreamed of today for years, but I never could have imagined how good it would feel. The beauty of extinguishing another person’s life. I don’t even know her name, but no one will ever know that old bitch like I do. In her final moments, laying on the floor in a scarlet puddle, she didn’t scream or cry or plead or pray. She just accepted her fate, allowed the void to take her. *I respect that*. She didn’t fear eternity, she embraced it. Now she never has to feel pain again. She doesn’t have to worry about her bills or tomorrow’s weather or taking her meds. She no longer exists. *I gave her that, and I loved every second of it.* Lost in my own head, I suddenly realized coming up on our right is the local police barracks, so we’re almost home. I’d rather not pass by here, but it’s by far the fastest way back. Nobody says anything, but we’re all weary of the barracks. Anne slows down so she’s perfectly going 45. Rich stares blankly at all the police cars, watching for movement. I keep my eyes forward so I don’t alarm the others, but I can see the barracks just at the edge of my peripheral vision. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. *Her daughter must not have come over to celebrate yet.* It felt like minutes, but after only a few seconds the barracks were behind us, and nothing but trees and some small houses surrounded us now. A minute goes by without incident. Just as we’re starting to get comfortable again, Anne spoke up. “Guys, there’s a cop behind us.” I turn around to see a police car coming around the bend a few hundred feet behind us. “Shit. Make sure you are at the speed limit. Right now.” I said, trying to keep her calm. “He might not be for us.” *Do you really believe that?* “We’re done for,” Rich said, seeming more defeated than afraid. “I can’t go to jail,” said Anne. “everyone will hate me.” The police car was gaining speed. “Nobody’s going to jail,” I said, “I made sure of it.” I can’t help but let their doomsaying get to me. *What if I go to jail? My life will be over. Could I survive in there? Could I fend for myself, or would I be some skinhead’s bitch? What would mom think? Will they tell her what I did? What will she say when somebody asks about her son? She’ll probably just dismiss them, pretend that I don’t exist. But she can never truly forget me. Her first son. Her beautiful little boy. Her little star pupil, class president, future CEO son. She won’t be able to brag anymore. She can’t tell her friends how successful her favorite son is. That’s what she’ll miss the most when I’m in jail. She’ll never accept that she failed.* Who gives a shit what she thinks. “He’s right behind me,” said Anne between shallow breaths. Her eyes, red and puffy, darted between the road and the rearview mirror. I knew well enough not to turn and look out the back window suspiciously. I was peeking at the left side mirror. His lights weren’t flashing. *They’d be flashing by now right?* Anne started panicking and pulled over quickly. “What the hell are you doing?” I said, “His lights aren’t on.” The cop was coming up on our left, all I could see was his front license plate hood in the mirror. “It’s over Davey. Just accept it,” Anne said, her voice calm and sad. “We deserve this.” *Just accept it? Coming from the bitch I could barely get to suck me off after prom. I’ll never just accept anything. I’m in control. I’ll always be in control. I’m not weak like everyone else. Why did I bring these two into it? Idiot.* “Holy shit he just passed us,” said Rich. He was right, the cop sped past us as if we were just some roadkill in his way. The clunk of Anne pulling the e-brake pulled me back into reality. We all took a second to breathe. “Hey!” Rich shouted, “Dave said no phones!” Anne had dialed the three magic numbers before either of us noticed. She had that phone in her pocket the whole time. “Yes, I’d like to report a murder,” Anne said, without hesitation.


A Dangerous Game of Cat and Mouse: or You Can Be the Mouse and I Will Be the Cat Part 1 of 3 I knew trouble when I saw it. What walked through my office door was about six and a half pounds of premium grade high-octane trouble. She was a classic beauty - lithe, long-legged and almond-eyed. Dainty feet. She had the kind of eyes that lied to you, straight out, but you couldn't hold it against her - and you couldn't help wanting to believe her. I dropped the mouse I'd been working over. I hardly noticed it run across the floor back into the hole it came out of. Fine. I could start up with him again later. Right now there was the most beautiful female I'd laid eyes on in months. In my office. Looking right at me. She closed the door with her hip. The hairs on my arms rose. "Someone told me you're called Harry," she purred. My voice came out thick, but I managed to say, "That's right. I'm Harry, the private dick." I hesitated, then asked, "What can I do for you, Miss?" "Call me Cleo," she said. Her voice was light and whispery. I glanced at my water. It was too early to start drinking. Cleo climbed on top of my desk, and the temperature in the room climbed five degrees. She did that sweet little roll that only females can pull off: she put her shoulder on my desk, started a somersault - in mid-twists, she flipped onto her back, giving me a long look down her tender white belly. "I can't find my friend," she said, wistful. "I'd like you to find him for me." It felt like I had a hairball. I couldn't cough it up or swallow it down. It wasn't really a hairball - it just felt like one. That's what happened every time I got stuck on a dame. I felt sick. I held back the hacking. She just kept that sweet green-eyed gaze trained on me. I stared back. "Well?" she demanded. I realized she wanted me to say something. I had lost track of the conversation. Was it about a toy? A bird? I remembered something about a mouse. Maybe it was a spider. I tried shaking my head, but it just made my ears itch. Great. I was sinking in a pit and the pit kept getting deeper. "Of course," I said. I meant, of course I was getting stupider with every passing second: there was a pretty little long-haired calico stretched out on my desk. Who'd have any sense looking at that? No matter that I had lost any brains I ever had, my words sounded like an answer to her. She jumped up and gave me a sunny smile. That was it. Her smile broke my old heart into a million pieces. The shards left behind couldn't have been any smaller if she had smacked them with a ball peen hammer. She winked her pretty green eyes at me. That would have been the end of me, except I was already lost. "Super! Why don't you start now?" "Ok." I kept staring at her. "Aren't you going to do something?" she demanded after a couple moments. "If you're going to find him, don't you need to get up or something?" Dimly, I remembered something about a friend. Her friend. The memory got closer and closer. Right. She was looking for her friend. "What's your friend's name?" I asked. "Pookums." "Ok, sweetheart, what's his name?" I winked at her. She gave a little snort. "That is his name, silly. He's called Pookums." She paused, and added, "He has one of those long, involved names, like Sir Pointy-Toe Plushbottom Pookums Snookums Rex the Fourth. But to his friends, he's just Pookums." "Hm. Purebred," I said. Purebred cats always had the kind of name no one could remember long enough to yell out the back door. I'd have to make a note to start looking for a spoiled brat-cat. I fished around in the top drawer of my desk. I pulled up string, some old tinsel and a milk jug ring. I gave up the search for a pen for the moment. Note-writing would have to take a back seat to something much more important: Cleo was stretching, and it made the room a little brighter. And another five degrees warmer. "He's a Himalayan. Flame point." I couldn't help rolling my eyes. One of those, I thought. A fancy-pants pussy cat with a pedigree a yard long and a name twice as long. One of those designer cream puff kitties who wouldn't know which end of his paw to hit with if it came down to a brawl in a back alley. A momma's boy kind of cat who probably had a silver bowl with his name engraved on it. He probably had a personal trainer and a shrink. Hell - he probably had his own lawyer on retainer. It was always the fluffy, fancy-pants guy who raked in the classy dames. I looked at Cleo's wistful face. In my mind's eye, she was sinking her pretty little face into his six inch deep fur, purring like a race car engine, her claws unsheathed to just the tiny points as she started to knead his side. I could smell her body warming to him... I jerked my mind back to the office. Cleo was drinking my water. "Hey!" I said. She turned to smile. "I swear I don't have cooties, Harry." "No, it's not that. It's just old water and probably tastes like medicine. I dipped my finger in the bowl, you see, and my medicine..." She licked her chops. "No. It's fine." Then, sharply: "What kind of medicine, Harry?" "Ringworm," I managed to say. What a sap I was. Dames made me nervous, and beautiful dames made me stupid. It was a deadly combination. "Ringworm? That's kind of quaint, Harry. I was afraid it was something worse." She gave a cute little sneeze. I knew what she meant. A cat had to be so careful these days. There were things out there that could kill you without you ever knowing it was there, until suddenly everything inside you fell apart. I'd been around long enough to see a lot of friends go out like that. Rotting from the inside out and dying an inch at a time. Without any warning, she stood, arched her back in a quick stretch, yawned broadly - then said, "See you around, Harry." Before I could answer or tell her what I planned to charge her for finding Mr. Pookums-with-the-long-stupid-name, she disappeared through the door. It was like someone turned out the light in the world and plunged me into darkness. There was a quiet rustle. The mouse had come back. The stupid little chump heard the door close and figured all the cats were gone. It was just his bad luck that mice can't count higher than one. He didn't stand a chance against an experienced tabby like me. Within ten seconds, I had the mouse on his back, pinning him with one paw at his throat. "How many fingers am I holding up, Chuck?" I taunted him. "One!" he squealed. "Wrong!" I cuffed him in the head really hard, rolling him past my water bowl. I ran over and pinned him again. This was my favorite game... Games never last as long as you think they should, unless they last way too long. Cat and mouse left me in serious need of regrouping, so I stretched out on my desk. I knew I should lock the door, but I wasn't expecting anyone, and I was just going to catnap for a minute or two. Besides, the sun was so warm, slanting through the window. As my eyes drifted shut, I watched dust motes dance in the sunbeam. It was dark when I opened my eyes. I had only a half-second to focus before something hit me square in the forehead and landed me on my side on the floor. Whatever that something was, it picked me up neat as a pin and sailed me against the wall. I landed on my feet, but had no time to plan a defense: it was on me like stink on a dog. I turned my face away. If I could have plugged my nose, I would have - even if it cost me the fight. It picked me up again and headed out the door. It definitely was a dog. It smelled like cooked meat left out of the refrigerator too long. It had teeth as big as my ears and breath hot as the asphalt on a sunny day in August. If that wasn't enough to convince me I was being carried by a dog, I got a good look at his profile by the light of a street lamp. He was not just any dog. He was the ugliest dog I had ever seen. He didn't have a muzzle. He had a face. Dogs don't have faces, not proper faces with cheeks and grins. Dogs have muzzles - long and pointy, or long and droopy, or short and snipey. The thing carrying me was half the size of a horse and had a big, wide, meaty face. If he had been a human, he would have looked like a prize fighter who went one too many rounds. There was nothing in the cat world that compared to that kind of ugly. The thing gave me a shake and let go. I fetched up against the curb and fell in damp leaves in the gutter. He took a menacing step toward me. Now I got a look at the whole dog. He looked like half mastiff, half bull-dog and all mayhem. He was short-haired, white-furred with scars all throughout. Pure muscle under the scarred pelt. Torn ear. The skin under his left eye sagged. His mouth split his head in two sideways in an obscene pink grin, and six inches of tongue lolled out the side. He was not the usual stupid dog like I hoped. There was a mind behind those beady eyes, a mind like an adding machine. Fangs like Ginsu knives. Breath like poison. Coiled like a spring, he walked slow, letting me savor the size and shape of my last moments on earth. "You mind letting me know why you're making a milk shake out of me?" I demanded. He stopped walking. Drool spilled out of his huge maw as he answered. "Sure. My boss sent me. Either you pay the rent, or I take it out of your hide." So that was it. Jingles, the rat terrier who owned the building, was trying to muscle more out of me. Himself a shrimpy dog, he sent one of his enforcers. I could have handled Jingles. Nothing short of a stick of dynamite could have handled the dog facing me. I told the ugly mug: "I already paid the rent. I sent Jingles a dozen cheeseburgers yesterday." By now, drool was splattering on the pavement. "My boss said he didn't get the whole dozen." I started, "But - " and never got to finish the sentence. The thug's huge greasy lips closed over my neck and shoulders, and I got shaken like a rag. My brains were still rattling when he dropped me to the pavement for the second time. I lay there. “This time I’m being nice about it,” he warned. “You owe my boss six cheeseburgers by tomorrow night, or you’re going to be a small midnight snack. There won’t even be a red smear left if you don’t pay up.” He smiled. There was nothing but death behind the smile. “I’ll be back at midnight. Don’t make me have to hunt you down.” He leaned in for a close sniff of me. It was a nice touch. My bladder ached to let loose. In one of those weird lucid moments, I read the tag on his collar. It was a simple enough name: Malice. After the long sniff, which also covered me in spit, he trotted off, disappearing into the darkness. A white dog that size disappearing into the night just wasn’t right. He should have stood out like bird shit on slate. Instead, he was gone. It took me ten minutes to stand up after Malice left me. My back legs kept going east, while the rest of me leaned west. It wasn’t the first time I’d been roughed up, but I could tell it would be a long time until I couldn’t predict the weather by the knots in my back. I looked at the sky. It was only ten o’clock. I had all night ahead of me, and already I was feeling my age. I had to get some fast answers about a floofy-poofy cat, and I had to get my hands on some cheeseburgers even faster. I had no doubt Jingle’s enforcer would make good on the threat. My first stop was the home of Spiny the sphinx, just down the alley. He knew everything that went on because he never left his window seat. There was a reason for that: it heated up like an electric blanket. He toasted himself all day and night. Maybe he got down to eat once in a while, but in all the years I knew him, I’d never seen it happen. I forgot how ugly he was until he greeted me at the window – then I got the reminder. Even though Spiny was sitting down, I could still see the loose, hairless folds of skin hanging at his haunches. He looked like a beige-pink balloon that had lost too much air. He didn’t have ear hairs. That was disturbing. His ears were black on the outside – the skin itself was black. He had no eyebrows. He was lucky to have two short, crooked, mutated whiskers coming out of each side of his nose. As I looked in the window at him, I wondered if he resented humans for engineering his misery. But that’s not the sort of question you should ever ask, especially when you needed to call in some markers. Like I did. “Hey, hey, Harry,” he chirped. Even his voice was odd. He sounded more like a wounded bird than a cat. “Hey, hey, Spiny,” I responded in our routine greeting. “What do you know?” “I know everything, dumb ass. I’m a sphinx, remember?” he said. With a grunt of pain, I jumped up on the outside ledge. “Who chewed you up and spit you out?” he asked. “One of Jingle’s boys. Name of Malice. He shook me down for the rent, but I already paid it.” Spiny nodded to himself. “What?” I said. “Doesn’t it strike you funny you should pay and still get worked over?” Now that he mentioned it, funny wasn’t the exact word – I would have called it “suspicious”. Jingles never roughed me up before. I never gave him a reason to. It was just good business to stay on each other’s good side. “What are you saying?” Spiny shot me a look out of the corner of his eye. No eyelashes. I still wasn’t used to the cat, no matter how long I knew him. “Harry. Jingles is a rat terrier. He gets bigger dogs on his payroll to do his dirty work, but nothing too obvious. He goes for the medium mutts. The dog who worked you over was as big as a Buick. It’s not Jingles’ style.” I was starting to feel queasy. “How do you know it was a big dog who did this to me?” Spiny said, in the gentlest voice I’d ever heard from him, “You want to sit down? You got fang marks in your back.” I sat down. Then I fell down. I opened my eyes. It was dark. I half expected to be in Spiny’s front yard where I fell from the window ledge. It didn’t feel like grass under me. It felt like a blanket still warm from the dryer. I picked my head up. I was in Spiny’s perch, toasting my aching back and nursing a headache so bad it made my teeth hurt. I craned my neck until I caught sight of Spiny. He was curled up in a chair. He was wearing a red fuzzy sweater. It covered him from the flappy folds under his chin to the flappy folds in his groin. I tried to stand up and the perch squeaked. “Hey, hey, Harry,” Spiny chirped. “Hey,” was all I could muster. “Stan brought you in and doctored you up.” Stan was the human Spiny lived with. He was okay as humans went. He didn’t do any of that creepy baby-talk, and he didn’t do the cutesy stuff with perfumed shampoos and jeweled collars. In my book, that made him okay. That he brought me in and patched me up – without taking me to the vet who would more than likely suggest that putting me down would cost less than fixing me up – well, that made him more than okay in my book. My estimation of Stan went from okay right up to all right. I still couldn’t stand up straight, but I wasn’t going to lose any more time. “What time is it?” “It’s four in the morning.” “I have to get going. I have to find this fancy-pants cat –” I couldn’t quite remember the name, but I’d be fine as soon as I was on my feet and hitting the pavement. “You’re not going anywhere. You’ve been out like a light since the night you got here, two nights ago. You’re in no shape to go anywhere.” I put my head back down. Jingle’s boy Malice would have come to my office and not found me. He’d be looking for me with a mind to turn me into fillet-of-feline. I was already as good as dead, so there was no reason not to rest. When I could walk without staggering, I left Spiny’s place. I was feeling better, but I still didn’t have any information on the cat named Pookums. Spiny knew about Cleo, though. He told me she was trouble – no newsflash there – and then he told me exactly what kind of trouble. It was out of line. She was the sweetest thing I had ever seen, and the whole reason I wanted to finish the job was just to get another fifteen minutes alone with her. I didn’t give a row of rats about her fine friend. Spiny told me she was a junkie. “Spiny, you wouldn’t know a nice girl if she cleaned her claws on you,” I told him. Spiny shook his pointy head. “I’m telling you,” he chirped, “she’s a user. Just look for the signs. That funny light in her eyes. Dreamy voice. Lots of rolling on the ground. Thirst. She’d sell you out for a dab of goofy-weed.” I rolled my eyes. I was already headed for the door. “She will cross you!” Usually Spiny knew what he was talking about, but he was wrong on this one. It was early in the morning, but already light out. I figured it would be the best time to hit the pavement and avoid the big ugly dog Malice. I headed straight up the middle of the sidewalk and kept out in the open. No shadows. No edges. No bushes. I wanted that one foot wide patch of concrete right down the middle. He wouldn’t want anyone to see him grabbing a cat in broad daylight. The citizens were not so jaded that they could watch 120 pounds of dog eat six pounds of cat. By citizens, I mean humans. Dogs would egg each other on if they happened on that kind of scene. “Get-that-kitty! Get-that-kitty!” Cats would simply disappear, unless there was a crowd of cats. I had seen cats take on dogs singlehandedly, but never one as huge as Jingle’s boy. One cat could take a miniature poodle, no problem. I had also seen cats tag team a bigger dog. Again, not one the size of Malice. Two cats could take a husky. With the size of dog out to get me, I wouldn’t look for any help to come from either cats or dogs if he just stepped out of the shadows - I was depending on the kindness of human strangers. So far, it was working out. By the time I got to my office, I was ready for a nap. The heat was wearing me down, and I still had a set of Ginsu wounds along my spine. It was right ahead of me: “G and H Detective Agency”. The door was open. It wasn’t just ajar. It was swinging crooked off the top hinge only, and the hinge looked about to crack open. Scratches ran the length of the door, big werewolf sized scratches. It looked like a combination of teeth and claws marks on the door jamb. It wasn’t the scratching or chewing that busted the door open. The whole door was cracked and bowed. That big ugly mug must have body-slammed it till it gave in. I didn’t trust the door – it could all come crashing down. I didn’t want to have a deadly overdose of wood if the hinge broke. But there was no other way in, not even through the window. Years ago the fire escape fell off into the street, so there was no way in the window unless I sprouted wings. The only way in was through the broken door. I eased past the door, waiting for it to creak or groan. The hinge held fast. The door was just the appetizer for the jumble that had been my office. It looked like the Jolly Green Giant had picked the room up in one huge hammy fist and shaken it like a snow globe. The papers from my desk drawers must have drifted down like snowflakes. They littered everything. I saw my water bowl. It was broken. There was a huge muddy paw print in the middle of it. I glanced around. Apparently, the lug liked to decorate every surface with urine. It smelled like the dog pound six weeks after Christmas. I watched where I stepped. The place was so turned over, I almost didn’t see it. Something caught my eye, so I bent down to look. Poking out from under a file folder, there was a small piece of pink stationery with one line written on it, right in the middle. It said: “Meet me tonight at Packo’s – Cleo.” I picked it up gingerly. It must have been the one thing in my office that Malice hadn’t taken a squirt on. I could smell Cleo on the note she left. The hair stood out on my arms. There was no date on the note. I hoped she hadn’t sat at Packo’s waiting for me, thinking I was a chump for standing her up. Putting myself into high gear, I headed for the hamburger shop on the corner. It was a little ma-and-pa place where families used to go. On hard times now, it was easy to get a seat in there even on weekends. The younger, hipper crowd had moved on, and the families stayed home, minding their pocketbooks. I ran around back to the dumpster and popped inside. It was usually good for a couple of burgers. It must have been my lucky day. I found four burgers and a shopping bag that wasn’t even dirty. I packed the burgers into the bag and hopped out. I needed two more, and I could pick them up along the way to Albertine’s house. Albertine lived on the rich side of town. She was an ordinary gray cat, but somehow she had made it in the world of designer cats. I knew she still carried a torch for me, and I cared about her – but it just wasn’t like that for me. I needed her. She could get information that was hidden from me. She was in the in crowd, one of the beautiful people - there were things they would tell her but bury from someone like me. Right now, I needed a break on Pookums the Fancy-Pants, so I couldn’t afford to have a conscience. The sidewalk met my feet heavily. I looked at the sky. I had plenty of time before I had to be at Packo’s – it was a late-night cathouse that didn’t open the doors until midnight and it stayed open until dawn. There was no reason to rush, but I found I was dragging along slower and slower. I hardly had the steam to keep putting one foot in front of the other. I stuck to the center of the concrete. It would go very badly for me if Malice caught up with me in this condition. My luck held. I walked until I thought I couldn’t walk anymore. I sank into a rhythm. Suddenly I realized I was only a block from Albertine’s. I sped up as much as I could. I was panting by the time I reached her porch. I trotted up the steps and jumped onto the window ledge. I scratched the window frame until I heard movement in the house. Albertine opened the catdoor. It was one of those fancy magnetic catdoors. The magnet was on her collar – it operated the door. “Why, it’s you -” I came through the door. I had to shoulder her aside, and I could see the surprise on her face. “What in the world is going on?” I headed for the middle of the foyer, motioning her closer. I wanted that magnet as far from the door as I could get it. “There’s a dog after me. One of Jingle’s boys. Big bruiser called Malice.” Her face showed the appropriate amount of horror. “Good heavens, Harry. Come in the kitchen. We can talk there.” As I told her everything that happened, Albertine paced the kitchen floor. I could see she wasn’t happy about Cleo, but what else should I expect? Albertine was still sweet on me. She also didn’t look so happy about Pookums. She waited until I unloaded everything, then she sat down across from me, her feet all tucked together, her perfect tail wrapped around them. Maybe she wasn’t a purebred, but she was still a queen for all of that. “Harry, Harry, Harry. You don’t know how much trouble you’re headed for, do you?” I supposed she meant Cleo, so I said, “I can handle whatever comes. Cleo’s a nice girl, so don’t worry about it.” She laughed. “Cleo? Oh, Harry, she’s just a small piece in the bigger game. She’ll bring you heartache, of course, and I can see there’s nothing I can do to save you from it. But that’s not what I mean. I mean Pookums. He’s a bad seed. He may come from good stock, but he’s a bad one. He deals.” That caught my attention. “Deals?” Albertine shook her head like I had said something stupid. “Why do you think Cleo is so interested in finding Pookums?” I sat there blinking at her. She laid it out for me: “Cleo uses. Catnip is her drug of choice. Pookums deals catnip. He deals it for sex, usually.” Here she gave me her serious face. “Harry, Cleo is a special client of his. She’s spayed. She’ll never have kittens, and she isn’t interested in Pookums like that. But he’s interested in her, so he deals to her for favors. This is one twisted knot you’ll never get apart.” I looked her over. She was always honest with me, but I was looking for some telltale sign that she was not being straight with me. Looking for a sign that she was mistaken or confused. She had to be wrong about Cleo. “If that’s true, then what does she need me for?” “Pookums has been missing for days.” I let it sink in. That matched the scenario. What was Albertine getting at? “So she came to me to help her find her friend. That’s what she told me.” Albertine tried to nuzzle me. I shouldered her off, realizing too late that I had just crossed the line with her. She cuffed me across the nose. “Get out.” “Albertine…” “Get out now. You’re headed for a world of hurt. You can’t see it coming. You probably wouldn’t care if you did see. She has you whipped, Harry, and you’re not thinking.” I stood up to leave. “I don’t know why I care about you, Harry. You’re a louse. But you should know this: Pookums isn’t just off having fun. He didn’t disappear on his own. Rumor has it he had help disappearing, and he won’t be back. This is out of your league. I just needed to tell you. If you don’t leave this alone, you’ll end up dead.


I'm sorry if I'm doing this wrong - please correct me if so!Basically I saw this post on another sub and thought it would make a hilarious short story, so I used it as a writing prompt! I hope it's okay to post it here. My partner also drew a picture of it for me! Story: The shadow of a man was plastered against the office wall, illuminated by the bright white glow of a set of monitors. The screen on the left displayed a website regarding Cthulhu Mythos and theoretical summoning rituals. Other tabs along the browser displayed much of the same. On the right hand side, a text editor was open - the file was titled “Mythology Essay”, though the flashing cursor on a blank page indicated much more work had to be done. Jake sat hunched in his chair, a stick of chocolate pocky crumbling between his teeth, the dirty fingernails that held it chewed beyond repair. “Ugh, this assignment is stupid…” Jake sighed, using his freehand to run his pale fingers through the mess of dirt-brown hair that spiked out in various directions atop his skull. He clicked through a few more tabs and read a page about ancient human summoning rights and chuckled to himself. “Why would a ‘supreme being’ even bother responding?” He closed that tab and moved on to the next. Instinctively, Jake reached out for another stick of pocky, and found the box empty. He grunted, shrugged, and extended his bony appendage further out, towards a can of soda. There was no resistance, and Jake realised that it, too, was empty. Well, almost. Upon being disturbed, a singular black ant scurried out of the open soda can, using the tab as if it were a bridge to cross to the delicate stack of papers that waited beyond. “Ew, ants.” Jake grumbled, a scowl overtaking his previous bored expression. He pushed his chair out from the desk and across the tiles in a single dramatic sweep, then stood up to his full height. He was reasonably tall and uncomfortably lanky, and his movements made no sound across the marbled floor. As Jake made his way to the next room, the brightness made him wince. He was used to working in the dark in his office, and frequently forgot that he always left the kitchen light on. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the brightness, but he didn’t need to wait for it to do so. Jake had lived in the same apartment for the past three years, and was quite comfortable with the layout - he even knew to step over the pile of laundry he left by his bedroom door, and to kick aside the random box of cereal that he left in the lounge-room to snack on, ‘just in case’. By the time Jake’s eyes had adjusted to the light, he had already opened the pantry and was rifling through for something else to shove into his gaping maw. He kept telling his parents that he studied better when eating, but really he just liked the taste. It didn’t take long for Jake to decide on his snack, and he retreated from the pantry with a chocolate chip cookie in hand, and another in his mouth. For the first time since that morning, he actually looked at his kitchen - and noticed something unpleasant. A small hole had formed in the foundation of the windowsill, and a trail of ants had started to push their way through. “Well, I guess that’s where the nest is…” Jake groaned, a mouth full of biscuit, as his eyes followed the black dotted trail. The path of ants snaked across the kitchen bench, over the sink and down the refrigerator. They formed a small s-bend along the curve in the tiles but continued past, into the bathroom. Jake followed them then, curious about how deep their warren had gone in just a few short hours. He watched them struggle to tackle the navy bathmat, the thick spines of fluff more like mountain ranges for the tiny critters. The ants showed intense determination, and a great lack of intelligence. Jake chewed the final bit of his first cookie and stretched out one of his spindly legs, hooked his bare toes on the bathmat and flicked it aside. “Just go AROUND.” He groaned incredulously at the ants, who scattered briefly at the attack. They raced to the edges of the room, then curved back around on the next tile bend to resumed their previous path. Jake cocked an eyebrow and watched as each ant made its way to the very centre of the bathroom. There looked to be several hundred amassed in a large heap, crawling over each other as if fighting for air. Then Jake noticed something strange - from what he could tell, each ant carried the same thing - a small speck of… something? It was some sort of white crystal, maybe sugar or rock dust, he wasn’t sure. But as Jake looked more intently at the ants, they seemed to start to look back. The writhing mass had settled and each creature had found its own space on the floor, directly facing Jake. “That’s… odd…?” Jake straightened up and clenched his hand around his remaining treat, feeling a little intimidated by the hoard of insects before him. He took a step back, and it almost seemed as if the ants did too - but not quite. Instead, they had started to shift apart slowly, all of them at once, forming a large and vaguely circular shape around the entire bathroom floor. Jake’s eyes opened wide in shock and he glanced behind him, noticing that his path to retreat had also been filled in by the hoard of tiny bugs. “Is this how I die?” He whimpered melodramatically. But then the ants stopped - their wall complete. Jake took another look around and noticed that each ant was staring right at him, and had placed down its little white crystal, forming an unbroken line of sparkling powder - with Jake ‘trapped’ inside. He tensed and shook, crumbs falling from the biscuit in his hand. Several of the insects broke formation then, rushing inside the circle to gather the discarded biscuit crumbs before disappearing down the drainpipe. Jake froze, then slowly opened his hand. More ants moved - but not enough to break the formation completely. Each crumb had been collected and carried off without hesitation. “Oooookaaay?” Jake tilted his head and relaxed his composure a little. He shook his head, as if convinced he was dreaming, then took another look around the room. He definitely was standing in the centre of what looked like an ant’s summing circle, or some sort of ‘devil’s trap’. “I think I need to take a break from my essay…” he groaned and ran his free hand over one of his eyes, and then his stubble. “Okay, I’m crazy.” He said to no one in particular, probably the ants. “Cookie?” He bent down slowly and placed his remaining biscuit on the floor about a foot in front of him, and then straightened back up. Immediately the hoard of bugs descended, each ant discarding its crystal behind and rushing to tear apart the cookie and vanish into the drainpipe with it. Within a minute they were gone, crumbs and all. The only thing that remained of the crazy scene was the abnormally large amount of white dust strewn about the room. Jake rubbed both his eyes again and groaned, taking another look at the aftermath. Not a single ant was left behind. He shrugged and gave a slight chuckle as he headed back to his study. “I definitely need more sleep.


She picked up the strip of paper lying on the footpath. It was a fairly ordinary strip of paper, white and slightly crumpled, not more than ten centimetres long. Her long bony fingers trembling, she twists the paper once and holds the two ends together. She watches carefully as her finger traces the surface of the strip. It starts out on the inside and soon, without warning, it finds itself on the outside, without having crossed a boundary. To our protagonist, this is not just a neat mathematical curiosity. It is a fact of life. At present, she knows that their is no reason for her to think that her home exists. It had seemed absurd to her at first, but the clerk at the city-council office had made it look trivial - “You see, Ms. Bose, our office does not have any paperwork pertaining to this, ..., this construction. So, I have no reason to believe it is at all there.” “And neither should you”, the man had added with a rehearsed smile as he placed a stack of paper riddled with circular tea-stains on the desk. “Apni Chaa khaben?”, he had gone on to ask. As she walked out of the office, the situation she had gotten herself into slowly began to get to her. At first it was just the sheer hideousness of it all. The idea that her house was non-existent was so inconceivable that it was funny. In fact she let out a short laugh, as if at a fairly good joke - perhaps something she would find in an R.K.Laxman cartoon. The thought of having herself in place of the dhoti-jacket clad ‘common man’ was vaguely endearing. As she walked further down the street, she sank further into the reality of her reality. Her house had been a half-decent place to live in. Had shegiven it enough thought she might even have liked the place. It was a year since her parents had passed on and, since then, the rooms had taken on personalities of their own. The paint peeling off from the walls, the stacks of books in shelves, the grilles on the windows had developed a strange intimacy with her. As she lay in bed at night, waiting for sleep to grab at her, words, spoken in hushed tones, would float about her. It was abundantly clear what the words themselves were, but the way they lingered on in the air made it impossible for her to make any sense of them. She would lie in bed, floating in a stream of consciousness monologue that the room had decided to present before her. The room had been much too loud. And the recollections that were crashing into her now were no good either. The house was gone. There should be no reason to think that it exists. This is when she saw the strip of paper. It was by no means out of the ordinary. Perhaps, in the not so distant past, it had been used to serve jhaalmuri. Looking back further, it may have been used to provide the citizenry with information printed on it in a dark, damp office. At any rate, none of this could be comparable to what came next. As her fingers twisted the strip of paper and joined the ends together, she was pushed into a distant memory. Her mother was standing by a window, a strip of newspaper in her hand. She stood by, staring in excitement as her mother’s finger traced the inside of the loop, went around and ended up on the outside. At the present moment, our protagonists fingers trace the same elusive curve. Her mind glides back and forth through time, like a pianist’s slender fingers trilling on the black keys. The notes alone do not make any sense, yet the whole is tangible, yet fragile. The truth flits around, delicate as a butterfly. It all makes sense, the council office, the paperwork, the paper,her fingers, her house disappearing. They all wind around each other and tie themselves in knots. As the fingers keep trilling on the keys, her mind finds itself reaching for the elusive state of peace that only cold reason can bring. She grabs wildly, clinging to whatever truths she finds, making desperate attempts to hold them together. Her spinning mind weaved a theory into existence:- The house which she called home happened to be on the edge of the city. The city, just like the piece of paper, was twisted in a way which ensured that it had no edge. And this was enough for her home on the edge of the city to be hacked out of existence. A measly, feeble attempt at the truth. The trills spell out a dominant seventh, begging for a resolution. In a crescendo, it all comes crashing down on her. She stands on the footpath looking across the street at the house. The house which she calls home, which also has no reason to exist, but which, strangely enough, does. She walks out across the ever-widening street.


The year is 0: Man takes the first breaths of conscious life The year is 75: Children of the first man have figured out working together is easier than competing. The year is 200: Descendants of the first man have rose to 1000 strong! The year is 500: Descendants of the first man have spread and found their niches in the world. Some have begun worshipping ancient people as gods. The people have forgotten how long it has been since the first descendant was alive. The year is 1000: Kingdoms have become prevalent thousands of people pledge themselves to the king. The year is 1100: Kingdoms have made contact with one another and began trading, traveling, fighting, and religion. The year is 1500: One kingdom has figured out advanced warfare tactics and calls 1,000,000 people citizens. They will bring their might to the rest of the world, the name of this kingdom is Ascadia, and they speak Ascadian. The founder of this nation has been lost to time. The year is 2000: Ascadia is the latest kingdom on earth with a territory spanning from sea to sea. Time’s are good people are happy, they are no longer religious, nor scholarly due to prosperity. There are now 10,000,000 souls in the Ascadian kingdom. The year is 2100: Ascadia has coincidentally discovered inflation. Economic strain and stress from the size of the landmass are straining resources. The people have taken to a new religion. The year is 2105: The financial strain was too much, Ascadia has collapsed. The year is 2106: The people of Ascadia no longer feel protected and begin to isolate themselves, the massive Ascadian capital of Ashmogdu has been abandoned, services have been halted, food from the souther region has halted due to bandits and lack of resources. The people of Ascadia are starving. The year is 2110: Certain wealthy villa of Ascadia have offered protection to small villages in exchange for food. Feudalism has been invented. New territory lines are beginning to form. The year is 2200: The people are illiterate, former Ascadia has been split into innumerable amounts of smaller territories. Borders are now enforced, people tend to live and die in the same area they are born in. The former Ascadian language has slowly split into multiple languages derived from Ascadian, a person in the western part of the former Kingdom will have a hard time understanding if not impossible to understand a person from the east despite the fact their ancestors spoke the same language. Public education is long gone and the feats of the Ascadian empire are almost mythological, people living near old Ashmogdu now look at the architectual feats of the old kingdom in wonder of how they built them. Not much history is recorded due to illiterance. Religion plays a major role in the people’s lives. The year is 2500: Smaller nations have begun to form coalitions and form together. Large nations have began educating the population in cities. The people are beginning to prosper in their respective nations. The Ascadian-derived languages are unrecognizable at this point. Numerous wars break between the nations each vying for more power, there is little technological advancement. The people cling to religion. Times for those not in large cities are dark, education is not provided and raids from foreign invaders are plentiful. Five nations have become prominent; Karsagh, Mogdu, Kingdom of Asher, Hutarii, and the Kingdom of Lawencia. The mogdu are the most fierce fighter, Karsagh is very economically gifted, Hutarii is the religious capital of the world, the Kingdom of Asher has their coffers overflowing from expansive trade, Mogdu looks for truth in the ancient ways of the old ones, and the Kingdom of Lawencia has very valuable resources coveted by the other nations. The year is 3000: There are no small nations, the population has risen to 200,000 on the continent the people do not know it but hey have outlasted the old ones. There is more diplomacy between the nations, they decide to work together. The people in this kingdom are happy but still isolated, there is not as much danger and life is good. The year is 3010: Technological advancement has allowed for long range communication through roadways between nations and connecting cities. The people are less isolated and long range travel is now possible. The people hold religion in their hearts some dedicate their lives to it. Sharing of ideas between nations has become commonplace, many technological advancements are made. The year is 3070: A scholar has created a machine that allows for quicker production of goods, an Industrial revolution has started! The world now boasts one million souls. Religion is still prominent. The year is 3154: A person has created a machine that allows for more convenient travel. These are considered toys for the elites. The people are amazed by this. The year is 3180: The machine has become common for regular people, long range travel is commonplace, people are no longer bound to the town of their birth. The year is 3500: The world is more prosperous than ever before, there are 5,000,000,000,000 people, technical advancements have allowed for technology beyond their wildest imagination. More people live in the sprawling cities, goods are now very conveniently gotten at community markets, the people are free to travel where they want when they want as long as they are productive for society. Life is very good and more prosperous than ever before, any history of the first descendant is shrouded in mystery and forgotten to time, the origins of man has become the greatest question asked in schools. The people have little care for religion, more and more people are rejecting the idea of schooling. They have made it farther than any civilization that came before them on this planet. Life is good. The year is 3550: Weak people have been elected to the governments, less focus on the common man is given, greed is vast. The five nations are spiraling towards depression. The people have began following a new religion. The year is 3570: The people have lost faith in their governments and have begun to fully reject schooling children are born illiterate and taught from knowledge their parents remember from their schooling. The governments are scrambling to take control back. Less people are being schooled to run the complicated systems that an advanced civilization requires, things look grim and the cities are being abandoned. The new religion has taken a solid stronghold. Life is dark and uncertain. The year is 3650: Knowledge on how to run the power systems has been lost, long range communication and trading is no longer possible. Without this, the people are forced to sustain for themselves. As long range food transport becomes harder with less resources and more desperate families have taken to banditry, food transport has stopped. Many die, urban places are all but abandoned, those in rural areas experience an influx of squatters. Nine of ten citizens die very quickly. Society has collapsed. The year is 3700: People are born and die in the same place. Families are isolated, formerly a neighbor could live half an hour from them but now someone that lives half an hour away is a foreigner. The respective languages have begun to form dialects and understanding people from different areas becomes harder. The people cling to religion. Life is dark. The year is 3900: The people are now completely illiterate, each family speaks their own language. Understanding others has become almost impossible, the ways of the ancestors are gone. Religion is strong, the people are strong, life is tough and they get tougher. The children are taught stories of mechanical monstrosities built by the old ones that snatch naughty children. Stories of the founding father of their respective nations have become mythological with stories of them doing fantastical feats of strength. Due to illiterance, not much history is recorded anymore. Isolation continues, trust in others is gone. The old languages of their ancestors are indechiperable. This continues for countless years. … … … … … The year is 0: Man takes the first breaths of conscious life. … … … The year is 1000: The people of this world marvel at the monuments and statues their ancestors have built and wonder how they could have possibly built this. … … … The year is 2000: Numerous technological advancements have been made. The world is at 7,000,000,000,000 souls, the people stare at the pyramids and monuments their ancestors have built and wonder how they could have possibly built any of it. Life is good. … … … The year is 2020: Knowledge of the ancient continent of Pangea has been common knowledge for a long time. The pyramids and monuments of the people’s ancestors are still a marvel and assumed to have been built after the breakup of the supercontinent. Life is very good and more prosperous than ever before, any history of the first descendant is shrouded in mystery and forgotten to time, the origins of man has become the greatest question asked in schools. The people have little care for religion, more and more people are rejecting the idea of schooling. They have made it farther than any civilization that came before them on this planet. Life is good. … … … … … The year is 0: Man takes the first breaths of conscious life.


The security alarms blared. The bank vaults were busted open. The shapeshifter of the team, Sadie, had got the money, barely. She was holding a lot of cash in her large bag-shaped hands and she was not happy about it. Tim, with his telekinesis, was holding stacks of cash too. Her team of villains, Nexus of Overpowered Baddies (N.O.O.B), unloaded the money into the getaway car trunk, stuffing it until it was full. Slamming the trunk, Sadie shouted over the alarms, “Why didn’t anyone bring any bags for the cash?” Tim replied, "We got no budget for those!" The gang hopped into the car, nervous and hyped from the crime adrenaline. Her exasperation screamed with her as she sat in the front seat, "How!? They're only 20 bucks." "Well, someone spent it all on car touch-ups," Tim said pointedly at Robbie, the mute get-away driver. Robbie defended himself as he put on his infrared googles needed to drive the invisible car. He texted the group, "Hey, my car is a crucial part of the mission." The team looked at their phones to catch his message. Tim scoffed, "The new car paint job helps us rob banks?" Robbie started driving, daring to go over _one_ mile over the road speed limit, and texted, "It makes us look cool. Reputation's important." Tim and Saddie started rambling together, exclaiming something along the lines of "But it's invisible.”, “They can't even see it..." and “Stop texting and driving!”. Robbie jammed his phone into his pocket, grabbed the steering wheel with both hands and seethed. Jerry, who’s been in the back-seat and watching stuff happening behind the car, stuttered, “G-guys? The police! Ahhh!” Sadie sighed, as though she had explained this for the 100th time (she definitely did), “Yes, Jerry. There’re police looking for us. This isn’t new.” Jerry gulped, “B-b-but they’re making a beeline for us. It’s like they know where we are.” Sadie gasped, “What? Someone’s gotta fix that!” Tim shrugged his shoulders, shook his head and mouthed, ‘Not it’. Robbie’s eyes perked up, surprised at the news. The car’s invisibility aura was working; He’d checked the system thrice this morning. The car sped up, now _ten_ miles over the speed limit. Ah, yes, very illegal. Jerry quickly realised what the problem is and relayed it to the group: The getaway car may be fast and invisible. But the cash slipping out through a gap in the trunk, leaving a money trail behind them, wasn't. An annoyed Sadie said, "Alright, who was in charge of putting duct-tape over that hole?" Everyone except the driver proceeded to stare at Tim. Tim said, "What? Yesterday was my day off." Sadie retaliated, “Fix it. Now.” "Stick my head out of a speeding vehicle while the cops shoot at us. Great idea." Tim mocked. Sadie shot him a glare so he tried to do it anyway. Keyword being: tried. The instant he opened the car’s back window, three bullets came through the car. The team ducked as the bullets smashed themselves onto the car window. Robbie pressed the horn in shock and anger. How dare they ruin the car! His car. Honk. Honk. HONKKK. Tim spoke up, “Thanks for caring about us, Robbie, but not now.” Robbie shrugged his shoulders at Tim’s misinterpretation of his car honks. Panicked, Jerry activated his invisibility belt and turned invisible. He then took out his mini helper-bot and pressed a few buttons. Beeping with approval, it went out of the car to place the duct-tape over the car trunk’s hole. The cops shot at the robot and it exploded just after it finished its task. There, problem solved. Jerry heaved a sigh of relief, “I’m gonna miss that robot.” Tim smiled, “Yea.. that thing enjoyed three seconds of retirement. Nice work, buddy.” He then laid back to take a nap. Behold, the great super-villain team, nearly foiled because duct-tape wasn't used beforehand. Sadie urged Robbie, “Dude, go faster, we have to lose them!” Robbie shook his head no. It was his car and he’s the driver. He did what he wanted. As of then, he was more concerned about obtaining a speeding ticket than being tossed into jail. As if Sadie read his mind, she says, “Aw, c’mon Robbie, we talked about this. No law, or hero is gonna take your car away.” It’s still a ‘no’ from Robbie. The police were gaining on them. Jerry lets out a shriek that sounds like a mouse captured by a cat. Like a parent bargaining with a mischieving child, Sadie says, “Fine, I’ll go to one sports car race event with you if you drive super fast.” Robbie lifts his left hand and puts up four fingers. “Three, and you buy the snacks.” The car instantly speeds up, leaving the cops in the dust. It jolts its passengers forward and their seatbelts catch them back. Jerry smiles, “Ha! See, Tim? I told you seatbelts were-” Tim interrupts with a snore, relaxed at having nothing to do. Thirty miles and five road turns later, the law was still extending its arm out to catch them. In the form of police officers and cars. Sadie said, "Damnit, they can still see us? Bet they use the same infra-red googles Robbie uses. Jerry, you’re the nerd here, got something to help us with that?” “Yep." Jerry took out a device that disables infra-red technology in a 100-mile radius. “Perfect. Yoink.” Sadie snatched the device. Jerry hesitated and tried warning Sadie, “But wait, it affects-” Too late. Sadie rammed its red button without question. “-us TOO!” Along with the policemen, Robbie could no longer see the car and the steering wheel. Time to panic. Everyone screamed in terror (except Tim, he was still sleeping). The car haphazardly swerves left and right. It misses a car, and another car, and another car! And a truck! It seemed to be always inches away from crashing. Jerry jumped out the vehicle, aborting the mission. He landed face-first into the pavement and a passer-by tripped over him. Jerry groaned in pain. Yeesh, his bank robbery mask saved his jaw from being snapped like a twig. He tried standing up, but another person bumped into him. Falling back down his butt, he grunts. He then tried to pick himself up three more times. Yet, for each time, a different passer-by kept knocking him down accidentally, as if he’s an unstable bowling pin. That’s one of the cons of Jerry’s activated invisibility belt. ‘Fifth time’s the charm.’ Jerry thought as he stood up to his feet without any clumsy strangers ruining it. Good job, Jerry. He finally accomplished something two-years-old can do. He then walked into a pole. Ouch. On the bright side, the cops weren’t chasing him anymore. That’s one pro of being invisible. He dusted himself off, teleported back home, sat down on his front porch and sulked. At this rate, he was never going to make his super-villain dad proud. Back to the action. Sadie commanded the car to go into auto-drive mode and to take them to the nearest secret base. Crisis averted! “Phew. Everything is gonna be fine now.” Sadie said. Everything was not fine. The car drove them to the heros' secret base. Yikes.