Hey folks, first time posting a story here. I've already got a compendium of short stories written on Royal Road, so I figure I'll share some of the individual ones here. Feedback welcome! For those that don't know, gamelit is a niche genre of story that takes place entirely in, or surrounding, a video game.   Optimus Live VR headset recognized. *Origin Online* successfully installed. Update available. Game must restart. I grimaced. The Day One patch was just a Band-Aid to hold this game together through launch. They had released a glitchy mess, and I was going to make them pay. Back when we started, I had believed in Origin Online. It was going to be beautiful, the most ambitious and technologically advanced free-to-play fantasy MMORPG the world had ever seen. But now, as its flashy intro soared across the pristine landscape, I had to close my eyes. It was like being unable to enjoy a favorite food after it’s made you sick. I’d sat through this intro hundreds of times during testing, probably thousands. They had refused to shorten the unskippable intro sequence, and *still* it went on. I rapid-clicked, as if by some miracle I’d be allowed to skip it. Title screen > New character > Human > Default stats > Default avatar > Default equipment package #1 > Yes I’m sure > Skip tutorial > Start game. Muscle memory allowed me to race through the setup process, clicking where the buttons would appear like precognition . My new boring character spawned into Origin Online’s starting town, if it could even be called that. I was already an expert, with thousands of hours logged in every square inch of this buggy hell hole. All that time exchanged for silence, platitudes , and a crappy paycheck. The starting town was packed with the identical avatars of thousands of other players who rushed through the setup to get their first glimpse of this incredible new online experience. To its credit, OO’s quantum server never skipped a beat. It really was a marvel of technology. Every player on Earth would exist in a single open world, bigger and more spectacular than anything that came before. Except the starting hovel, of course. Who cares about first impressions, right? OO was so hyped that they talked about its progress on the evening news. Distinguished, white-haired men would drone on about world tragedies, scandals, and disasters, then smile as they came to the latest promise that Claud Vanderstint had made about Origin Online. Claud Vanderstint. Even thinking the name made me grit my teeth. I had 48 hours to reach Level 100, and I had to do it before anyone else. The players around me were gawking at the beautiful VR textures, testing the game physics, or rushing toward the first NPC with a quest indicator. I began jumping, backwards, into the surrounding jungle. They had fixed the infinite acceleration glitch, but only by giving a top maximum speed. The solution was rushed and worse, not very effective. Lush foliage flew past me, tiny fantasy animals scattering in my wake. I knew the route so well I didn’t even need to turn my head. I arrived at the fungus field and snatched up red and blue capped mushrooms as fast as I could. My macro combined them as soon as they appeared in my inventory. At early levels, spamming craftables was the fastest way to gain XP. My level indicator dinged again and again. I checked the option to auto-level, automatically distributing points to the default warrior stats. “Choose a power!” said the game. Players earned a feat upon reaching Level 5. I opened the menu and picked Iron Fist from the hundreds of abilities available. Now my bare fists counted as low quality tools. I beelined for a towering oak tree and rapid-clicked to attack it as fast as possible. My upgraded fists made taking down the tree possible, but not efficient. It took twelve minutes of continuous clicking to down it. I shook out my mouse hand as the massive trunk splintered and cracked, its invisible HP gauge reduced to zero. The crash would be investigated by new players certainly. They could help themselves to the Uncommon Wood, I would be back later. I needed a weapon, and I knew just the one. Reverse jumping toward the Doom Ridge Mountain, I passed dozens of other players. They were having fun, exploring this brave new world and sampling all it had to offer. They were like a thousand digital Adams and Eves. I pitied them. They hadn’t sampled the Tree of Knowledge yet. They were happy because they were innocent. I would be their serpent. It took 45 minutes of reverse jumping to reach Doom Ridge Mountain. The scope of the game was exhilarating, until you realized what an ordeal changing locations became. Then you’d look for ways to skip it and just get where you were going. You’d be led to a quest line that unlocked the option to *pay actual money* for a fast travel scroll. Con man. You’re just a typical con man, Claud. Con Man Claud, good alliteration. I’d have to remember that for when I reached the end. Doom Ridge Mountain contained a high-level dungeon. One of my favorites, actually. The blinding smoke, lava bombs, and rivers of molten rock made the environment as dangerous as the salamander tribe enemies. Even cooler was that attempting the dungeon triggered a volcanic eruption that would rain destruction on anyone near the mountain. I hated what they did to this game. This was such a cool dungeon! There were others too, inspired challenges for dedicated players. Relics left by the developers who poured their souls into OO, before they were replaced by cheap labor to rush the game out. I bunny hopped my way up the mountain to the dungeon’s exit. A large boulder blocked the tunnel, and I wedged myself against the seam. I went into settings and cranked my control sensitivity. I began spinning while I jumped against the boulder and the wall, and my stomach lurched at the whirlwind of movement. My avatar began to twist in midair and jittered between the pieces of geometry. I squinted to minimize nausea. Come on, you bastard. *“Where the hell is the player?!” the character location tracker fumed.* *“Well, mostly they’re over here, but sometimes they’re also a little over there,” said the geometry.* *“Nonsense! They can’t be in two places at once! Pick one and put them there!”* “Yes!” I was beginning to fear the boulder clip issue had been fixed. I ran down the tunnel to the dungeon treasure vault. The Salamander King who guarded the vault was safely on the wrong side of the door. I pulled aggro on him, but he had no way to reach me. I could hear his distinctive tongue attack. He pulled you into his mouth and crushed you for trillions of damage. Unavoidable, unfair and, in this game, basically criminal. I skipped the mountains of gold and gems, grabbed the Salamander Plate Armor, two Rings of Life Fortification, and a Helm of Endurance. All were useful, but the real prize was resting on the altar—the Axe of Earth’s Fire. “An artifact of incredible power, said to require a wielder to prove their worth in order to hold it,” according to the item description. This ‘test’ was to burn whoever picked it up for an obscene amount of damage. If you survived you were worthy, if not bring on the next contender. I used to think it was a neat effect, but in retrospect it was just another trap. I threw an empty chest at the altar. The chest burst into flames and I looted the axe in the recharge window before the test was active again. A bug meant the axe considered just about anything to be a valid target. I was the one to first discover this glitch. It was early on, when we thought our bug reports mattered. My fellow testers and I had managed to get a generic NPC to survive the test and pick up the axe, becoming its true owner and keeping it out of reach of players forever. It had seemed so funny at the time. Now the Axe of Earth’s Fire was mine. Other players would be picking up their first iron weapons by now, ooing and aahing over +1 gear. I was now the single most powerful player in the game. It would take six months of grinding for someone to match me. I’m not done yet, you son of a bitch. The stone moved out of my way with no trouble. After all I was exiting the vault, so I must have completed the dungeon! Next step, waterfall. Easy to find, as a dramatic natural feature they were everywhere. I reverse jumped to one nearby. Crystal clear water fell from a high cliff, creating a rainbow that made an idyllic place to sit and appreciate the beautiful textures. Lipstick on a pig. There was a chance (a small one, but still) that they’d fixed the bug so my setup no longer worked. I hopped onto the rocks, beneath the waterfall. The rock I wanted was third from the left, every waterfall built exactly the same. I stood on the very edge of it and backed up, pixel by pixel. I fell off. My position had to be perfect. I took a deep cleansing breath. I kept trying. After a few more attempts, I managed it. I stood on thin air, my feet just beyond the edge of the rock. The new players would soon discover the shabby geometry. Maybe some already had, falling through the level or suffocating inside trees. But for me, it was time again to practice patience. I started a macro that made me jump, then attempt to swim, over and over. *“Attempting swim up a waterfall?!” The game’s swim mechanic was aghast. “You have nary the skill level to do such a thing!”* *“Now, now. They can do it,” said the XP tracker, “just for a teeny tiny moment.”* *The swim mechanic harrumphed. “They can swim for that instant and not a second longer!* *“Don’t forget the multipliers for swimming with all that armor.”* *“They can try all day, they’re never getting up that waterfall. Mua-hahahahaha!”* I took off the VR headset and wiped the sweat from my face. The macro would take about an hour to get me to Swim 100. Good time for a break. I had to keep an eye on my screen, though. At any moment a mod might notice me, someone might get a notification something was wrong, and my plan would be ruined. My dinner was a jumbo burrito and milkshake. I needed my strength for the next part. My avatar had maxed out swim. Each jump now carried me several feet up the waterfall before the Salamander Plate pulled me back onto the questionable geometry. I was now Level 10. For my new feat, I chose Fresh Meat. Monsters would now be more likely to notice and attack me. There was only one monster I was interested in. I reverse jumped back to the nearest wood where my prey would be lurking. I had to be careful not to let anyone get a good look at my equipment. The wrong questions could lead to me getting banned, but I needed the gear for the next part. I crouched to sneak as the terrain turned to sucking mud. Trees were sparse and giant insects flitted about so fast they seemed to be teleporting. Fresh Meat pulled aggro on them, but my ludicrously overpowered equipment made the fights no more than a click per bug. As I walked through the muck, I heard a grunting sound. A large, lumpy beast shook off the brown goop and grumbled at me. There you are little pig. Come and get me now. The bristle-backed mud hog charged out of its soupy nest, squealing and slashing with its tusks. I dodged attack and waited for it to attack again. The hog launched into an attack sequence of bites, gores, and headbutts. I blocked the attacks to reduce the damage. Then it exposed its flank to me, telegraphing the attack I was waiting for. The hog spun in a blur, a melee area of effect attack. Intended to be used when the hog was surrounded, but still part of its normal line up of moves. I jumped over the hog as it spun, aiming for its exact axis of rotation, and swung the Axe of Earth’s Flame down on it. The pig died in a single blow, dropping a paltry amount of coin. Dammit. The spinning pig glitch was difficult to pull off. The attack needed to be frame perfect, I needed to be in the perfect position, and it had to be during that one specific move. But it was worth it. There was a strange bug when a mud hog died in just the right way, at just the right time. The fight ended, but the hog’s attack was still considered in progress against its last target. It became an artifact, still spinning, but with no stats. The result was a collision object rotating at incredible speeds and doing damage per frame of collision detection. With a frame rate powered by quantum computing, it resulted in nearly infinite damage per second of contact. Traipsing through the mud, I swatted man-eating bugs from the sky and leapt over pig after pig. I gained enough levels to upgrade Fresh Meat to Seasoned, spawning more enemies in my zone. This was a work of endurance, jumping and striking over and over as time ticked away. I had a dreadful thought. What if the Day One patch fixed the spinning pig glitch!? Ooooh, what a bitter irony that would be. I had fought with them to fix the spinning pigs for months. “Got it! Yes!” I leapt from my chair in victory. I was now the proud owner of a spinning pig. It hovered, perpetually just to my right, ready to kill anything that could be killed. I made my way back to the massive oak I had felled near the starting area. The spinning pig tore down trees and disintegrated foliage as I travelled. I managed to avoid any other players, though I was sure they’d investigate the swath of destruction I left in my wake. With a little maneuvering, I managed to drill the pig into the side of a massive boulder, carving twisted paths to conceal myself. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do while I went AFK. Alright, time to get some rest. Then we kill God. I didn’t sleep well. I was too anxious about logging in to find my character deleted with a ban notice, or discovering they’d managed to squeeze in an emergency patch. You’ll be done soon, I told myself. It will be worth the lawsuits, the burning bridges, all of it. My character was still in my makeshift pig cave, apparently undisturbed. I breathed a sigh of relief, then started on the next stage of my plan. I returned to the stump of the great oak I’d punched to death yesterday. Trees had a 24 hour respawn cycle, and it was nearly time. I stood on the stump and waited. It was meditative, listening to the birds and animals that populated the jungle. There was time to appreciate what the game had aspired to be. Blood, sweat, and tears poured into an amazing world. I felt a pang, knowing what I was about to do. But amongst all that verdant foliage, all those spine covered monkeys, poisonous lizards, and collectible butterflies, there was still the spinning pig beside me. For all the love that went into this OO, it was sloth, greed, and arrogance that allowed this hog of unlimited destruction. 24 hours ticked by, and the geometry collision detection threw a fit. *“Two objects occupying the same space at the same time?! Absurd! I won’t hear of it!”* *“What shall we do?” asked the physics engine.* *“Send the player away as quick as possible!”* *The physics engine gave a servile bow.* A great tree erupted beneath my feet and rocketed me directly upward. The game world shrank away as the clouds of the skybox rushed to meet me. I passed through them and entered the realm of the game’s final dungeon, The Palace of the Sky King. Instead of falling back to earth, I began to swim. The mechanics for flying hadn’t been built yet, so for now the whole place was considered underwater. Multiple end-game content quests barricaded the doors of the Palace, great beasts and dragons holding keys that would unlock the doors. But, as I had not yet initiated those quests, the entire area was inert. I passed through the gates like a ghost. A nasally voice crackled in my ear. “Sky King intro dialogue here.” “Dammit, Claud, finish your game !” I yelled to no one. The palace was an empty shell. The walls and floors had placeholder textures. But I had to forgive them, at least a little. This part of OO wasn’t meant to be encountered for at least a year. The quests’ difficulty was so great, the devs expected it to take tens of thousands of Level 100 players to storm the Palace together. No one was supposed to be here for a long time. I floated through the palace, clipping through walls, and into the Sky King’s throne room. There, the Sky King sat upon his throne of storms. Composed of light, hurricanes, and raw power, he held in one hand the golden Staff of Winds, the four winds of the earth churning like tornadoes on the top. His other hand held the Sword of Storms, the weapon with which he would smite the world. The weapon I had come for. He was awe-inspiring, the love child of two genius devs who were subsequently fired for “performance-related insubordination”. I was no bigger than a flea to this titan. I spoke a sort of prayer at his feet. “You deserved better than this, you big, beautiful bastard.” The Sky King was unmoved. I turned, aligning the spinning pig to The Sky King’s foot. A credit to his immense difficulty, he took almost three seconds to die. He never moved, not even a death animation. His status simply changed from living to lootable. My XP counter didn’t even twitch. *“Who shall receive The Sky King’s XP?!” the game wondered.* *“No one! He died of collision! He must have fallen! He’s awfully tall you know, long way to fall.”* *“What of his treasure vault? Shall it be opened?”* *“Of course! He dead, isn’t he?”* A hurricane’s eye appeared behind the throne. It led to the vaults where the most valuable treasures and God-tier equipment would appear. I wasn’t interested. I looted The Sword of Storms from the Sky King’s body and clipped through the floor. Outside the Palace, I swam downward until I reached the normal skybox and began to plummet. Splat. Dead. The pig spun victoriously. The screen went dark and two options appeared: New Character or Continue, in a large green button. I seethed. Here was the core of the matter. I hit Continue, and a new box appeared. “You have chosen continue your adventure! $3.87 has been charged to your account.” They marketed their “Pay to live” system as a way to ensure high-level characters would cycle out over time. But that was where the lies began. Better enjoy it that $3.87 while it’s still yours, Claud. I was revived . Almost there. I unequipped the Sword of Storms and stored it in my inventory, then began scooping up handfuls of the nearest Common item. In this area, that was acorns. Soon I had seven stacks of 55 acorns. For whatever reason, OO really hated the number 55. The odds of glitches increased dramatically if there were 55 of anything, and I knew how to how to trigger a bug 100% of the time. It was on this bug that my whole plan rested. I arranged my inventory so the Sword of Storms was between the fifth and sixth stacks of acorns, then took off my headset and yanked the plug on my computer. The screen flashed white and turned off. I counted to five (superstition dies hard) and plugged it back in. While my computer rebooted, and I started gathering on all the light sources in my room and turned them towards my face. I reviewed my script one last time. I logged in. That wretched intro played again. Click-click-click-click-click-click. Clickclickclickclickclickclick. The Sword of Storms was a unique item, one of the strongest in the game. It had a power that could be used once every 30 days, Wrath of the Sky King. The weather in Origin Online could be anywhere from a pleasant day to a hurricane. Casting Wrath of the Sky King increased the weather’s severity by two steps. Sunny, Cloudy, Windy, Raining, Storm, Heavy Thunderstorm, Tornado, Hurricane, Storm of Judgment. Normally, a player could only summon a Storm of Judgement if they used Wrath of the Sky King when there was already a tornado. But, nestled in my inventory between my stacks of 55 acorns, I had a neat little stack of 55 Swords of Storms. Equip Sword of Storms, hotkey Wrath of the Sky King, cast. I swung the sword in a great arc over my head and the sky began to darken. The wind shook the trees. Wrath of the Sky King affected the entire server at once, except for the wielder of the Sword. But I had to hurry. The mods and devs would realize something was wrong very soon. Equip, hotkey, cast. I discarded the legendary artifact after using it. Poof, gone forever. Now rain poured from the sky in blinding sheets and trees bowed their heads to my power. Equip, hotkey, cast. The clouds began to twist and pucker overhead. Hail fell from the skies. In the distance I saw funnel clouds form and reach their questing fingers for buildings and characters to destroy. Equip, hotkey, cast. Game over, ladies and gentlemen. I smoothed down my hair as arcs of purple and yellow lightning crawled through the clouds. The ground erupted where they struck. Balls of burning ice hurtled down, the rain turned to caustic acid, and the tornados became mile wide monstrosities that hunted their targets. Equip, hotkey, cast. Equip, hotkey, cast. Equip, hotkey, cast. *“I say!” said the weather programming, “We’ve already reached the maximum possible weather severity. Whatever shall we do now?”* *“We follow the rules!” the game’s logic engine replied. “If the spell is used in the presence of a tornado or higher, it causes a Storm of Judgement! I see tornados, don’t you?”* *“Well, of course! But where shall we put the new Storm of Judgement? There’s already one right here!”* *“Oh. I suppose there is. Ah well, just throw it on top of the old one!”* *“Very good! And the others?”* *“Add them to the pile! And don’t forget to award XP to the caster for anything the storm kills!* I watched in awe as the lightning became so dense it hid the clouds. Tornados merged together, as wide as continents. Acid rain fell like with the intensity of a waterfall. Burning hail ravaged the earth in great columns. Everything everywhere died. In less than 30 seconds, I had become the only living thing in Origins Online. My XP bar filled again and again, and small window appeared. “Congratulations! You’re the first player to reach the Level 100! As a reward, we’re offering you the chance to livestream your reaction to every player, all over the world! You’ll have 5 minutes. Please no swearing or your other rewards will be null and void. Click the OK button to begin the stream.” I yanked off my VR headset just in time for my face to appear on the screen, captured by my computer’s built in camera. I smiled at the millions who were watching me right now. Showtime! “Hello, everyone. My name is Rebecca Vanderstint, and I’m the daughter of Origins Online lead creator, Claud Vanderstint. I orchestrated this event to tell you that my father is a liar and a cheat. “I was the principle tester for Origins Online, and I learned things Con Man Claud doesn’t want you to know. For example, everyone knows that resurrecting a character costs money. But are you aware there are invisible stat changes every time you resurrect? That they make you more likely to find rare items, but also make you susceptible to crits and sudden death? Your character becomes more valuable to compel you to pay the ever-increasing fees. And believe me, those fees ramp up fast. OO is the world’s most overhyped pay-to-win. Its designed to be unfair, to rob you, and to take advantage of you for playing it.” I paused to let that information sink in and remind myself not to talk too fast. There’s your game Claud, now for your reputation. “Claud Vanderstint is also guilty of sexual harassment and assault on multiple women on his design team. He has withheld promised overtime pay to employees and fired them when they try to get their money. Their royalties end up in his pocket. And he knows his team of lawyers can drag out a case and bankrupt anyone who tries to bring them to court.” Now for your freedom. “Claud Vanderstint is also involved in tax evasion and fraud. His entire board of directors is in on it. They don’t intend to pay a dime on their profits from OO. Anyone who digs into his finances will find evidence. I swear to testify before any court on any of these claims. Furthermore—" The window closed. Time’s up. I finally settled back into my chair, the muscles in my back sighing in relief. I heard the door to my room open, and I spun around to greet him. “Good game, Dad.


I look at me and her. And him. Back when things were good. Back when he was a boy. Back when things were normal. Back when things made sense. Back when I still felt warm inside. So unlike now. I put the picture frame down, lean back in my chair, and take a swig of whiskey. I try to push away the memories. But they do not yield. They push forth until they engulf my mind, and I feel tears begin to form in my eyes. I try to wipe them away. But they keep on coming. Each one is larger than the last. The memories don't want to go away. Not today. Today they mean business. I get up and walk out of the living room. Then I slowly make my way up the stairs and drop the whiskey bottle on the seventh step. I'm now on the second floor, staring into the open doorway of my bedroom. Where there was once a double bed, there is now a single, dirty mattress on a rickety frame. My bedroom used to be alive. But now, much like all the other rooms in the house, it was just a desolate skeleton of what once was. I barely even slept in there anymore. I mostly just slept in my recliner. Well, being passed out is more like it. I turn away from my bedroom and I look at the door on the other end of the hall. His room. Hesitantly, I approach. I stand there for a few seconds, quietly staring at it. I run my hand down my unkempt face, my beard prickling my palm. And then I rest my palm on the door. I glance down at the knob. I reach for it but then stay my hand. I stand there, looking at my slightly shaking hand. I shut my eyes tightly, and take a deep breath. I'm about to do something I haven't done in a very long time. I grab the knob and turn it. The door opens and I look into the dark room of my son. I take a single step inside, and I switch on the light. It's exactly as he left it. That night. I rub my red eyes and I step fully into his room and sit on his bed. I scan everything in his room. The posters. The clothes are strewn on the floor. The old toy rack. The shelves are stacked with various things. The video game console. Underneath his bed, I see his favourite book from when he was a young child. A book about prehistoric life. He loved dinosaurs. As I stare at the book, I do something I haven't done in a very long time. I smile. It's a small one. But one regardless. I open the book and I start reading it out loud. Every single page. Every single little detail. As I read, I glance at my side, expecting to see him there, wide-eyed, fascinated, taking in every single word and phrase. But he isn't there. I dropped the book on the floor, and I fell atop my son's bed. And I see the memory I hated the most, begin to take shape in my mind. Our annual summer barbecue was two days away. We thought we'd gotten everything ready. But it turned out that we hadn't bought enough sodas. My boy was sixteen, and he offered to head back to the store to buy some more. We gave him the money and off he went. He was talking to the cashier when the bastard barged into the store with a handgun. He shot my boy through the head, and he shot the cashier, and he shot two other teenagers who were there too. The two teens survived their injuries, and the cashier did too. But my boy, my sweet little boy... he didn't. That fucking gunman didn't even take anything. He just shot them all and ran off. He luckily didn't get far though. Some cops managed to intercept him, and he got torn apart in the resulting shootout. God, the memory of the morgue. My wife crying on my shoulder. My son laying on that metal table with a hole in his head. We didn't want to believe it was him. But lying to yourself isn't healthy. You had the face the cold, hard truth. No matter how awful it was. Our son was gone forever. Our marriage fell apart afterward. We just couldn't go on. We were both constant reminders to each other. Constant reminders of what we'd lost. I loved that woman. That beautiful, incredible woman. But I didn't want to cause her any more pain. And she didn't want to cause me any more pain. This all happened five years ago. For five years I've been alone. Hiding away from everything. Hiding away from all the memories and the pain. But today, I did something I thought I'd never do. I faced them both. The memories and the pain. And I finally stepped into my son's room after so long. And I managed to smile. I pick the book back up and put it on top of my son's bed. And then I walk to the door and shut off the light.


The day was young. The sky was dim and overcast, much like an old antenna TV that couldn't find a signal. The snow begins to let down, accumulating pretty quick. Ryan was on his way home from college for winter break. He was so excited, he'd just managed to get this new game his brother Luke had been dying to play, for him. With Christmas coming, gifts in his back seat he was ready to go home and forget school for winter break. As many have learned, sometimes events don't pan out quite how we expect, and this is no different for Ryan. The snow kept coming, changing to icy hail. Ryan's car wasn't exactly the safest on the road and was pretty well… 'used'. And like any other day with it, something went wrong. Only this time it wasn't a check engine light that stalled his car, it wasn't the heat stopped working. No, this time his wiper malfunctioned. Snow piling up fast, he starts to slow down. Perhaps this would have worked if he had only replaced his breaks last month as he intended. His speed declines but in not with any haste . Banging on the windshield trying to get the wipers moving again, he finally has success, if only it had happened half a second sooner. The wipers move only to reveal a tree branch piercing his windshield. A large crash is heard throughout the streets. Ryan's airbags deploy, forcing him back into his seat . The neighbors come rushing out to the scene, Each one of them dialing 911. It wasn't long before an ambulance and fire truck showed up tearing the car apart to free him. Ryan flowing in and out of consciousness only remembers glimpses of the event. He gets put on a gurney and rushed to the nearest hospital. By the time he reached the hospital Ryan was out cold. He doesn't remember much after that, just that whatever they did felt like they poured ice into his veins, all to almost immediately feel like he's been sent through the gates burning gates of hell. Maybe it was PTSD that caused Ryan to change, maybe some brain damage, but the next thing Ryan remembers is being surrounded by family and friends. He mostly kept to himself, and wouldn't utter a word to anyone. Not to mention that after the accident he couldn't move without help. It was seldom that Ryan would leave the living room, and only went places when his family absolutely forced him to go. Really though he was quite content doing nothing sitting in the living room, just knowing he was surrounded by family. Even if he didn't show it. After a few weeks of him being home the contents of the car came back. The Christmas gifts seemed in perfect condition, and Ryan hoped so much these would put a smile on his family's face. Ever since his accident the house seemed kind of glum. First his mother; A pair of earrings in the shape of a snowman. It doesn't seem like much but his mother had always been obsessed with winter. She loved the crisp and cold air, and coming inside for hot chocolate with extra whipped cream. It was all around her favorite season. Before she even knew it she put them on, looked at her boy and said "Thank you Ryan. I love them" her eyes mist over as her boy remains emotionless. His father was next; a new fishing pole. During the summer the two of them would go out to the lake on a small boat, and go fishing. Those were some of Ryan's fondest memories. He absolutely loved the serenity the lake brought. His father started to tear up. "Your mother and I were talking about going up to the lake this year. We thought you'd like it. We thought.... I don't know. We just thought you might enjoy going out to the lake again." To which again Ryan showed no change. Maybe the next gift, the one he was so excited to give would change that. Ryan and Luke were really close before he left for college and this was his attempt to rekindle that. The game he was so excited to share, it had been sold out everywhere. There was a note inside the wrapping 'Hey, I know we havent gamed much since I left but I got 2 copies! Just shoot me a message and we can play!' Luke started to laugh and cry all at the same time and looks right at Ryan. "Yeah we gonna play this now? You havent moved in weeks! Go ahead and pick up a controller!" Luke scoffs storming out of the room. The weather begins to turn from what his mother used to consider a winter paradise to a more tepid heat. Perfect fishing weather. Sure it's a little brisk but that never stopped Ryan and his father from going fishing before why should it now? Ryan's mother makes a nice little picnic set up, his father grabs his new pole that his son got for him, and Luke helps Ryan into the car. Not much chatter on the way there, but they did listen to the new CD Luke got for his brother for Christmas. . The lake was quiet, serene and oh what a view. The sunrise perfectly reflected on the lake front showcasing it's beautiful orange sky. The mother puts out some sandwiches that she made earlier and the father casts his line out, just like the old days. For the first time in a while you could see the family actually enjoying themselves. Spending a day out together was definitely something they needed. But like a days even this one must come to an end. The sun had begin to set. The family all gathered round and hugged each other. "Guess this is where we say goodbye huh.." Luke says in tears "I'm really gonna miss you bro" his father opens the receptical containing Ryan's ashes. "Goodbye son" his parents barely manage to says as his father allows the ashes to float away in the wind.


Heavy rain came down hard against the wet pavement. She was cold, wet, and miserable. Stood out in the rain like this wasn’t how she’d expected tonight to end. Being out here in the storm was much better than being back in there though. A mix of tears and rain clouded her vision. She could barely see, having to squint to check her phone. The Uber was almost there. Laying next to her were a pair of oversized duffels. Everything packed hastily, barely fitting inside the bulging bags, were sat in growing puddles of rainwater and filth from the street. Awful weather for an awful night. The bags took on an odd shape, things poking this way and that. She’d been so flustered and barely had time to pack. That’s not entirely true. She had plenty of time, she just couldn’t stomach being in that flat any longer. She had to get out, even if there was a terrible storm outside. She’d rather take her chances with the rain than be up there. She tried not to think about it. To think about him. As much as she tried the thoughts wouldn’t shift. Playing out the breakup over and over in her head. What if she’d said this instead, or done that? Maybe it wouldn’t have ended that way. So many other ways it could have gone. Maybe in one of them they would still be up there together in the warmth of the flat. Her mind reeled with the countless what ifs that intruded themselves upon her. She couldn’t think straight, it was almost enough to make her sick. She pulled out her phone to try and take her mind off things. She was met with her lock screen, an image of the two of them together. Smiling and happy. Another wave of tears broke free and mingled with the rain running down her cheeks. Through the haze she could see a car pull up in front of her. “Ride for a Lucy Waller?” a gentle voice struggled over the howling wind. Lucy simply nodded, choking back the tears, grabbed up her bags and dragged them towards the boot. Seeing her struggle, the driver jumped out and offered to give her a hand. He was a typical middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a thick beer belly. Waddling over, he took up Lucy’s bags and helped get them in the car. A surprised look wrote itself across his face as he lifted the bags out of the wet and into the dry boot. They were so heavy even he had trouble tossing them into the back of the car. “My word girl, what you got in there? Everything but the kitchen sink I imagine.” The man chuckled to himself as he slammed the boot closed. All Lucy could do was offer him a pained smile and a slight nod. She couldn’t bring herself to speak, her throat was still raw from all the crying. The driver recognised she was distressed and gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder then toddled off to the driver’s seat. His comforting pat didn’t help. It was everything but what he intended. If anything, it made her feel awkward and weird. Hands shaking, she managed to pop open the car door and climbed into the backseat, closing the door on the rain and the life she was leaving behind. Through the rain-streaked window she looked up at the block of flats. All the windows were as black as the night, bar one. His window. She’d half expected to see him stood there looking down, a dark shadow peering at her from high above, but there was nothing. The curtains were drawn, and no one was there. She knew he wouldn’t be able to watch her leave, not after how it all ended. She took a deep breath and turned to face the front, telling the driver she was ready to go. The journey home was a quiet one. The driver, after having tried and failed to comfort her once, didn’t try again. She didn’t mind. Leaning her head against the window and watching the headlights streak by was enough to sooth her aching heart. City life flashed passed them in a blur of yellow and grey. People were still out walking, or rather running, in the rain going about their nightly business. A loud wailing grew as a pair of blue flashing lights shot down the opposite side of the road. Then another, and another. The sirens still echoing down the narrow streets long after they’d disappeared out of view. For a moment her heart stopped. Something crept out from her subconscious mind into her waking thoughts. An unsettling feeling washed over her. She was worried that she had left something behind. The sudden realisation startled her almost into a panic. What was it? Surely it couldn’t be anything important, otherwise she would have remembered it, right? It was probably just her toothbrush or something trivial. Something she could easily replace. Unless… Panic truly started to set in, but she couldn’t check her bags, not until she was home. She would just have to wait. The rest of the ride home was stressful. All the while, the only thing she could think about was what she could have left behind and how she couldn’t bring herself to go back to his flat, not after leaving like she did. She just hoped it wasn’t something crucial. The kindly driver helped her unload her bags out onto her front doorstep and with a soft smile he took off. She’d make sure to rate him highly. 5 stars perhaps. Pushing open the front door with her foot, she hobbled down her dark hallway towards the back of the house. She threw her bags down with a wet slap onto the kitchen floor. Bending down, she opened the cupboard under the sink and rummaged around until she found what she was looking for. Putting on the rubber gloves, she turned to the face the bags, now sitting in a murky brown puddle that was starting to smell. Lucy sucked in a deep breath and unzipped the first bag. A few metallic items clattered against the tiles. Brushing aside the stained tools, she reached in and unfurled the dirty bedsheet. Her eyes stung as a waft of putrefaction escaped from the bundle. Cocooned in the folds of tainted linen were hunks of cooling red and grey flesh. Lucy plunged her hands in, right up to the elbow, and began sifting through the viscera. Everything was where it was supposed to be. Two hands, two feet, various ribs and other bones jostled together between the hunks of meat. But that feeling was still lingering. She’d have to check the other bag. Swivelling in the growing pool of fluids slowly spreading across her kitchen floor, she reached for the second bag but stopped. Her heart sank and she turned ghostly pale. One of the zips was partially undone. “No…” the whisper caught in her throat, her airways tightening. Without a second thought, she attacked the bag, throwing it open. This bag was packed with more care since this one contained most of his organs. Lucy didn’t stop for a second. Her gloves now a bright red, covered in flecks of grey and brown dove into the bag of organs. Where was it? It had to be here. Everything else was here. She grew more frantic, throwing clumps of torn muscle and sacks of wobbly flesh out of the bag in a frenzy. She emptied the bag onto the floor, adding to it with her own stomach contents, but searched diligently nonetheless. Lungs, kidneys, and greying tracks of intestines spilled out and made a dull bloody collage against the backdrop of bright white tiles. It wasn’t there. She couldn’t find it anywhere. She’d left his heart behind. She sat back and cried. Deep howling sobs wracked her body. Trembling uncontrollably, she edged backwards and leant against the fridge. She was fucked. She’d left his heart behind. But she had been so careful, how had she missed it? She made sure to go over the flat more than once, to make sure nothing like this would have happened. It’s not like she meant to do it in the first place. She didn’t mean to kill him. Their argument had got heated, and she had lashed out with the knife before she realised what she’d done. She looked down at her shaking hands. The hands that killed her boyfriend. The hands that, instead of reaching for the phone and calling the police, grabbed for his tools, and got to work. Hacking, breaking, pulling his body apart. Wrapping the pieces in old bedsheets and towels. Stuffing bloody chunks and broken bones into the duffel bags and carrying them outside, away from the flat. She didn’t know what to do but sit there and cry. And that’s what she did. Sat in a pool of her dead boyfriends’ innards sobbing into her cursed hands when something caught her eye. She looked down the length of her hallway and saw, through the frosted glass of the front door, a blue flashing light. A fresh bout of tears ran down her face as a shadow blocked out the light and rang the doorbell.


I grew up in the 1970's in Northern Virginia, my Dad commuted into DC every day for work. My Mom, Dad, bro and sis and I lived in a little apartment. Since then I've been all over the US and traveled to more than 40 countries - I would never stoop to say we were poor. We had a home, a car, Christmas happened, some years we got to go to the beach for a few days. For sure there were kids at school who had more toys, better clothes, more exciting vacations and parent's with cooler cars. But we got by and we managed to have fun. My Mom did most (all) of the cooking. When my Dad was cooking it was something weird - breakfast for dinner, or frozen turkey TV dinners, he was a good Dad, loved by many but not known for his meal prep skills. But - the man could bake. He baked bread (basic white loaf bread) and he was famous for his made from scratch lemon meringue pie. My Mom almost did most (all) of the grocery shopping. Once my Mom sent him to the store twice in one day - both times he couldn't remember what he was supposed to get. So, he bought a flour sifter. As one does. He was no dummy - his mind was just always full of things like navigation in space, women as priests in the Catholic Church (he was for it), and all of the books every written by George Eliot. Every now and then, when my Mom went to do the weekly grocery shopping (she also kept the budget and knew when we could spend a little extra) , she would find some kind of treat. And, every now and then one of those treats turned out to be a box of Duncan Hines Blueberry Muffin Mix!!! I remember her taking out of the bag and showing it to my Dad. The next Saturday morning somehow we would all be in kitchen early - making muffins! Well, not all of us I suspect some of the muffin making parties were designed so that she could sleep in on a weekend morning. My sister was the oldest and was certain she knew everything. So she was in charge of reading the directions, opening the package, mixing, turning on the oven and telling everyone else what to do. My Dad told her she had to let my brother and I help. He got the job of opening the can of blueberries. I was just baffled by the whole thing. Especially the can. It was just a can, about the size of a cat food can or a tuna can (both of which made me uncomfortable) and it had no label, no markings, just a can. And inside it was this thick gloopy dark purple stuff - I had seen real blueberries and this made no sense to me. No idea, it probably takes 20 minutes to make those muffins, but it seemed like a major undertaking. Eventually though the time would ding! The kitchen smelled like the most amazing bakery in Paris (pretty sure I had no idea where Paris was at the time - but somehow I just knew that). My Dad would put on the oven gloves and pull the trays and out dump the muffins onto the counter. And we'd grab them burning our fingers, rip off the papers and - this is the best part of this whole story - but huge globs of room-temperature butter on them! That weird purple goop had magically transformed into blueberries and the muffins were perfect - I questioned if my sister might really know everything (turns out she doesn't but I love her!). I haven't thought about those stupid muffins in 40 years. They probably aren't very good. Not sure they even sell them anymore, seems like you can buy muffins anywhere these days and they look bigger and nicer and better than those old 1970's muffins. My Dad passed away a couple years ago, right in the middle of Covid. He had been suffering from Parkinson's for several years and was deteriorating. When the time came, the only comfort we had was that he in a better place an no longer suffering. Covid just made it difficult to hold a real funeral, and a proper send-off. I think that's weighed on all of our minds. I try to keep that in mind, but I miss him and get sad sometimes. This morning, like any random Tuesday. I got in my truck and drove downtown to my office. Like any random Tuesday I stopped at the Starbucks in the lobby of my building to pick up a coffee to get me through the morning of online meetings. It was crowded and the line was long. Someone had ordered a muffin and they could not be located. The Starbucks girl was holding it up and yelling "Blueberry Muffin! Who's got a Blueberry Muffin??" I felt like I was hit by a spaceship traveling at the speed of light and was transported back to that little kitchen in Virginia. And we were making blueberry muffins! It was all there in front of me, the smells, the butter, the cat running towards the sound of the can opener as it opened that magic can. I didn't break down, I didn't cry. But when it was my turn and the girl at the counter asked how I was, I said "Oh just allergies, haha!." It was a hard moment - I'm a 50 year old man, we don't do "feelings". But as I walked to my office, it occurred to me - this is one of the first times I've thought about him since he left us - that wasn't just sad. It was bittersweet. But it was happy. Those few seconds were the highlight of my day. It was fun. It was us. It was how we used to be in what seemed like a much simpler time (though I'm sure it wasn't as simple for my folks as it was for us). You can read stuff about grieving, people can tell you stuff. But all you can do is go through it in your own way. It's taken me a few years, but I think/hope/feel I can forget about the Parkinson's and all of that, forget the hospitals. None of that matters. Fuck Parkinson's. I'm going to eat a lot more blueberry muffins.


Silvia blinked for a moment, as her eyes adjusted to what she was seeing. Her head throbbed as she brushed her fingers against the rough metal surface of the heart shaped locket. It's golden exterior, dull and dented, the dingy old bauble having seen far better days. Gingerly holding it up to her ear she could hear a faint ticking inside. It made her nauseous. "What do you think you're doing?" It took a moment to register the sound, her mind still reeling. She turned to find her sister shuffling impatiently near the door. "It's almost time for another security sweep. If there's nothing else in this vault, we need to leave." Silvia closed her eyes and tried to focus. "Yeah I...uh sorry Vee. Got a little distracted. I found something made of gold and it seems to be mechanical. It may be worth something, but it's the only usable thing here." She takes one last look at the necklace before shoving it in her pocket. This locket seems oddly familiar, she wanted to examine it longer but if they got caught by Reagan and his men something like that would be the least of their concerns. "C'mon" Vee beckoned, peaking out of the door to the vault "No one is out here yet, there's still time to get back to camp." Silvia stands up, wobbling a bit from another sudden wave of nausea, and gives one last look at the inside of the otherwise picked over vault and meets her sister at the door. Vee gave a curt nod and they walked back into the interior of the bank, climbed back into the maintenance vent, and scrambled out onto the roof. The sun was just beginning to set, they had left just in time. They didn't say much on the way back to camp, the two of them working in tandem to keep lookout for any of the heavily armed soldiers that patrolled the city. The dilapidated buildings and burned out cars littered around this part of the city provided more than enough cover to remain in the shadows. Ducking down through the street, skirting through alleyways, and when needed dropping down into the sewers, all things considered it was a relatively quick escape. It took them roughly an hour to get out of the city proper and into the dense muddy woods on the outskirts. Within a few minutes they came to a cave. Hidden amongst a large pile of rocks they came to a door and Vee offered a swift sharp knock. A light knock back was the only answer. Clearing her throat Vee responded, Guided by his patient hand We will salvage what we can We stay the course and here we stand We are the children of Atavan At this the door swung open and a small boy, about 7 years old looked up at them in disappointment, his small hands wringing the bottom of his tattered old superhero shirt. "It's just you two." He sighs, rolling his eyes and stepping out of the doorway. "Did you see my dad out there? He went salvaging and he isn't back yet." Silvia leans down, and gives him a soft pat on the head. "Sorry Danny, we didn't see him on our way in. I'm sure he'll be home soon though." "I hope so, he's been gone a real long time..." Vee interjects with a deep sigh "He's fine! Your dad's probably just wandering around drunk, he's always drinking this time of day anyway." Silvia gasped "Vee, he's a kid! Whats wrong with you!" Danny smiles sadly. "It's ok Sil, she's right. He does drink a lot, I guess. I don't mind it, as long as he comes home safe. You two go ahead, I'm gonna stand guard until he gets back." Vee just nods and turns away, walking toward the camp, while Silvia ruffles his hair and gives him a soft smile. She rushes up to her sister and is able to catch her halfway down the corridor. "Why are you always so mean?" Vee stops but doesn't turn to face her sister. "What exactly is mean about telling the truth?" "It won't kill you to be kind for literally a second of your life. You know how hard this is, sometimes people need it!' "Sometimes people need a reality check." At this, she does turn and stares directly in Silvia's eyes. "I don't want Danny to think for a goddamn second that his dad's behavior is acceptable. If he learns now he won't grow up to be like him and he'll be better off." "But it's not our place to talk down about his father. He is only a child, Vee! And if the council had a problem with the drinking they would have …" Vee cuts her off angrily "The council left us for dead and so did Atavan! Stop pretending they're coming back or that they even care what we do here. The only ones looking out for us are us. You’re just as naive as he is, and you both need to grow up and learn what the real world is like." "Vee… I…" Silvia blinks away tears. "No” Vee sighs “We have work to do. If you need me I'll be in Gareth's tent debriefing him on our salvage today. You clean off that thing you found and figure out what to do with it." . . . . . . . Silvia wiped her brow and dropped her cleaning rag. The locket was now polished, though still looked a little rough for the wear. Its hinges seemed to be perfectly intact despite the denting and damage but there was no latch anywhere on it. It clearly seemed like it could be opened to access the inside. She got a small flathead screwdriver, wedged it into the seam, and softly pried it open. Inside the locket was a faint blue glow and two identical watch faces. On the right face the numbers on the watch were strange. There was a combination of letters and numbers that seemed to constantly shift as the hands spun past them even some letters she didn't recognize that had to be from other languages. On the left face the numbers rotated slowly around the hands. Still shifting and changing but rather than the hands moving, the numbers themselves were in constant motion. She picked up the watch and touched the left face, when she heard a scream. Silvia clutched the locket in her hand and rushed outside her tent. Everyone else in the settlement was either already standing in the middle of camp or coming out to investigate just like she was. She caught Vee's eye as she came out of Gareth's tent, and they exchanged a frightened glance. The stomping of boots could be heard coming from the entrance to the cave. A group of soldiers, fifty or so strong clad in the city's insignia of a dragon, entered the camp. All of them impossibly large in their thick plate armor, holding heavy artillery rifles. In the front of this group dead and center was a hard faced man with slicked back jet black hair and an ornate tattoo of a dragon on his face. To his left, two soldiers were half walking, half carrying a man in chains who seemed to have been beaten. As they got closer she could see it was Danny's father. To the man's other side Danny struggled against the grasp of a soldier who was carrying him under one arm. Vee pushes her way to the front of the crowd and aggressively addresses the man. "Reagan, how did you find us, and why are you here?!" At this he laughs and signals his soldiers to halt. "Well hello beautiful. I'm here because I found this-" He snaps his fingers and the guards throw Danny's father to the ground. "-half drunk buffoon wandering around the edge of my city." He puts a heavy boot on the man's face and he sobs and slacks under the weight of it. "The only reason I didn't kill this pathetic excuse for a man is because he led me here." Danny screams and struggles "Dad! You let go of my Dad you monster!" Reagan signals and the guard throws Danny to the ground as well. Vee rushes to his side. She makes sure Danny is ok, and then stands between him and the soldiers."What do you want with us?" He scowls and steps up to meet her. "I'm sick and tired of you little rats scrounging around my city looking for crumbs. This time one of you has taken something valuable to me. And I want it back NOW." "I don't know what youre talking about!" "Oh you know exactly what I mean. The Amulet you stole. If you took it, you know damn well what it’s worth. I want it back right now and I will kill each and every last one of you little rats until I find it." "Please, we don’t know anything about an amulet. Leave us alone." Vee whispers, her voice cracking. Reagan scowls at her and snaps his fingers at the guard. "Fine. If that's how you want it. Kill them. Start with the kid." A soldier raises his gun at Danny, and before anyone else can move or speak, he fires, and Vee jumps in front of the bullet. She falls to the ground in front of Danny, and every denizen in the camp panics. The soldiers fan out, people are running and frantically searching for escape. The sounds of gunfire and pain ring out in the cavern. Silvia desperately pushes through the crowd to reach her sister, the herd of desperate people pushing against her like a turbulent current. By the time she finally reaches them, Danny has his shirt on Vee's stomach and is desperately trying to stop the bleeding. "Sil… she… she won't wake up. What do I do, she won't wake up.." She sits down next to Danny and holds her sister's hand. It's warmth is slowly fading. "No… Vee please. You gotta hold on. I know how stubborn you are. If anyone can make it...if anyone can..'' mid sentence she feels her sister's hand slack in her own. She holds her sister's hand tighter, her tears blurring her vision. "No…oh god no…Vee, why did this all have to happen? I don't understand." Silvia looks up at the panic and chaos around her, slowly realizing she's still in the middle of an invasion. Her eyes come across Regan loudly arguing with a guard. "I need that Amulet, when you shoot them search their fucking pockets for it, don't just stomp over them like some kind of moron. If you break it we'll have nothing. We need it intact!" Silvia looks down at her left hand, despite everything the locket is still held fast in her grip. She opens it and stares at the glowing faces. He wants this so bad, there has to be something it does. Some way to use it. She puts her finger on the hour hand on the left face of the watch. "You! Hey what is that you've got!" The soldier yells, holding up his rifle and pointing it at her. As he pulls the trigger, she softly turns the hand of the watch, and prays for something to happen. . . . . . . . Silvia blinked for a moment, as her eyes adjusted to what she was seeing. Her head throbbed as she brushed her fingers against the rough metal surface of the heart shaped locket. She covered her mouth with her hand, stopping a sob before it could escape, tears streaming down her face. She's inside the vault again. "What do you think you're doing?" She turns to her sister weeping, barely able to speak "Vee...I'm sorry… I'm so so sorry." "What are you talking about? It's almost time for another security sweep. If there's nothing else ….


The Archipelago publishes every Wednesday. See the pinned comment for links to the contents. \ The skeletal remains of the campfire taunted me. Now nothing more than a memorial to my failure. As daylight arrived I set about trying to retread where others had and work out how to make a fire. I tried simply rubbing them against each other as hard as I could. Then I decided that maybe the bark was preventing success, so I picked away at the outer layer to reveal the woody flesh beneath. I applied as much friction as I could, enough to produce heat. But no smoke. Never fire. I reasoned maybe I needed a different type of wood. Maybe the ones I was using were too porous or too dense. I returned to the forest and came back with a few different types of branch and tried again. Still, nothing. With each attempt, I kept up the short repetitive thrusts of my arm, pushing as much energy into the wood as I could until the burning in my muscles was too much, until I could grit my teeth against the pain no more, and I let go. As the day wore on, each attempt grew shorter and shorter till the pain was instantaneous, the first brush of the wood enough to cause my arms to spasm and falter. My back ached from being arched all day and my legs and chest stung from the cold chill that ran through them. Yet, despite all the exertion: no smoke, never fire. I had no more to give. I stopped for the evening, my muscles hot through effort yet my skin cold from exposure. I lay down and stared at the sea, trying to ignore the stones digging into my kidneys. Slow, peaceful waves rolled over the horizon, crawling towards me, till they brushed against the shore just a few metres away - so close, yet never touching - before they retreated and returned out to sea. I traced those waves back, back across the ocean, and back through time, to where this all began, back on Kadear. I remembered when I was a prisoner in the Citadel, tidying one of the council’s homes. A song had played from that artefact. The first miracle the Archipelago had shown me. The words from that song had stayed with me across the islands. *I had a good idea* *Let’s lay these bones to rest* *Build it all over and start again* *Cause I know, that if you dare to hope* *That if you dare to try* *To rebuild the pieces of your life* *Then you’ll find, the things you held so dear* *The things you held so close* *Were never really yours* *And what’s left* *That vacuous empty shell* *Is ready to be refilled* *With all the love you should have had* Here I was. My bones laid to rest, stuck on this island. But how well those words had mirrored my journey to here. I found out my dreams of the citadel were a lie, and I lost everything. A moment on Yotese Over Haven came back to me, a moment of regret. In a fit of anger I had told Alessia that everything since Kadear had been loss. “Everything?” she had said, the question heavy with an unmentioned hurt. I ignored it. I ignored it because I knew I was talking nonsense. Sometimes, when anger and hurt overtake you, you can’t admit that there can be any good. There can only be pain. In reality, since I left Kadear I had experienced so much grief. But, that vacuous empty shell was refilled, with so much love. Despite every bit of hardship, despite the death of friends, I had somehow never been more full. Love from Xander, Kurbani and her children. Love from all the people of Deer Drum. And love from Alessia. Love for Alessia. Here, alone, hope fading at the same rate as the light dimming on the horizon, I no longer had the energy to run from thoughts that had been circling round my mind for several islands now. The woman who had saved me so many times. The woman who had survived the hard seas through bravery, but also tenderness. The woman who put others first. The woman who believed in me and my stupid mission to explore the origins of The Archipelago. I thought of the way strands of hair blew across her face in the breeze. I pictured her wry smile when she teased, the tongue perched on her teeth. I remembered how serious she was about everything she did, and how much fun she had doing it. That love that had filled me, wasn’t common kinship. The ignored cognitions boiled over, no longer suppressible by the distractions of another island and another chase. I didn’t love Alessia. I was in love with Alessia. And she might be dead. I had feared losing her twice before. On Talin Barier when I heard of the attack on the island where she had been. On Granite Vowhorn when we parted ways and headed into the warzone. She would survive a third time… wouldn’t she? I had seen that mast hit her. I had seen her fall to the water. I hadn’t seen her resurface. A new pain formed in my chest. Not for my own peril but at the thought of what else might be in those oceans. Suddenly the waves in front of me weren’t calming, they were taunting. Gleefully celebrating that they held the wet, dark grave of the greatest person I knew. Was she dead? She couldn’t be. She wasn’t allowed to be. Because I loved her. And love could keep people alive. Couldn’t it? I closed my eyes, keeping the waves out and the tears in. I took deep breaths, feeling my chest heave through the strange concoctions. Perfectly still. Cold. Alone. Grieving and hoping. I tried to sleep. I had little success. ——————————————————————— The cold was beginning to make me weak. After three days without heat, my bones felt heavy, weighed down with a frost that had crystallised the marrow. I was struggling to maintain body temperature, my blood pumped fast and hard as the skin tingled from the cold outside and the heat beneath. I was also losing weight rapidly, what fat I had being burned off just staying warm. I needed to replace it. The leftover meat from the previous bird kill had run dry, and if I wanted to eat again, I would have to use what was left as bait. The kills had been a matter of learning the moves, understanding how and when to run for the prey. But as I lay still among the rocks again I wondered if I would be able to make the same steps. Just how quickly were my muscles weakening and my reactions slowing from the creeping frost. I would soon find out. A bird landed, I jabbed the stick, the gull rolled over, and I set off on my sprint. Each push of my legs felt like a snap, the same pain when you bend your knee slightly the wrong way, and you get a jarring thud through the limb. My lungs panted coarse air that stung against my trachea. I ignored the pain, outstretched my arms, and leaped for the bird. I grabbed a wing, a victorious yelp escaping my lips just in time for my torso to smack against the rocks. A stone rammed into my abdomen, and my body went limp, the fingers loosened, and the bird flew away. It took four attempts. With each one the pain subsided, but it didn’t feel easier. The aches and stings merely replaced by a numbness, my body unsure if my legs were even there. Still, I won. I would eat. Plucking the bird felt like a relief. After the many, many failed attempts at starting the fire, the routine of a task that I could do was a kindness. This time, I also tried to keep the feathers, lining them around the area where I slept. One bird’s worth wouldn’t provide much warmth, but it had to be something. I would take anything. However, as I finished preparing the meat, the problem I had been avoiding became an inevitability. There was no fire. I couldn’t cook. I stared at the plucked, but importantly, raw flesh in front of me. The pale skin was lined with bumps where the feathers had been ripped out, pale veins and patches of white fat could be seen below the surface. The skin felt rubbery and wet. The thought of eating the raw white meat already turned my stomach. The same stomach longed for me to cram down the meal as quickly as possible. My mind tried to process the two contradicting signals of don’t eat that, and eat that now. I turned it slowly in my hands trying to find the best place to start my meal, but that only made my eyes spot new things to be appalled by. Bloody sinew draped across bones, organs ready to spill out to the ground. There would be no way to ease myself in. I closed my eyes and bit down on the meat, tearing away at the soft, squishy flesh. Fresh blood dripped down my chin, watery and warm. It was refreshing yet the taste clung to my tongue like a fungus. It pooled and mixed with my saliva as my nose smelt the iron. Slippery bits of meat rolled in my mouth. It felt like they wriggled - though dead, not dead enough. I could feel the tendons and arteries snap between my teeth, the muscles rip and release their contents into my throat. I swallowed just as the nausea rose to meet the food. But I managed to hold it down. Hunger, the drive for energy at all costs, won out. I knew raw meat would go bad quicker, I couldn’t save any for later, and so I kept eating. I kept chewing away at the gamey, yet fishy meat until my stomach could hold no more. Till even my hunger ridden body begged me to stop. My head tilted back, triumphant and smug, my chin and neck red and sticky. I had over-delivered on the need. Satiated a drive so hard that every signal in my body pleaded for it to end. I exhaled with conquest, and I turned to look at the sea. My hands immediately dropped the remainder of the bird. A ship. I leaped to my feet. The ship was miles away, clinging to the edge of the horizon, yet its size meant it was still visible. It was a great metal beast, one of the warships sold by Tima Voreef. They had little chance of seeing me this far away, but maybe one would be looking out with a telescope. If I danced enough, jumped enough, screamed and shouted, just maybe they would see me. With the raw gull still folding in my stomach, I dug into my reserve energies, and waved my hands high in the air. I hollered, an inevitable futile shout. My screams fell into the oceans as I tried to muster the energy to jump even just a few inches. With each leap I could feel the still digesting meat bounce and slosh within me. Acid rose to the oesophagus, and my throat slowly burned. I reached down to the cold, dead fire - how much I wished it were alive now - and grabbed the two largest sticks I could find, waving them as extensions of my arms. The extra weight ached my biceps, and I could feel my elbows contract with each lift, my screams more now through resistance than excitement. The boat stuck to its path, hanging at the very edge of the earth, as I continued waving slow great arches with the sticks. Eventually the branches were too heavy and they dropped to the ground, clattering against the stones. My tired arms continued to wave, a small resurgence of life now free of the extra weight. I couldn’t jump anymore, and my screams had become a squeal, yet I made myself big, and made what noise I could, as that boat continued its slow, slow, painful journey. I watched night come and light fade - hope with it. I watched the lanterns on the boat flicker on one by one, evidence of human life, proof that rescuers were there. But they never turned, and eventually the ship disappeared off the edge of my world. I collapsed, my legs giving way as the last strands of muscle capitulated through strain and defeat. My head landed against the stones with a thud, and I could feel my vision shake with the impact. “Where are you, Alessia?” I cried, my voice stuttered. Above me the stars drifted in and out of focus. “You were supposed to be here by now.” She didn’t respond. She had three weeks to find safety, get the boat repaired and come find me. Now is when she should arrive. If she could arrive. I picked up a stone next to me, and with a grunt threw it at the sea. A pointless exertion borne of nothing but anger. More joules wasted in fits of emotion. “Please. I’m not strong enough to carry on here. I need you. I need a lifeline. Please.” My chest shuddered as beaten tears reached my eyes, phlegm bubbling in my mouth. I felt something shift in my stomach. My body froze with the moment. The mourning stopped, as a more physical urge took precedence. I rolled over, just as the contents of my stomach reached my mouth. Bits of lightly-digested raw gull spewed out over the rocky beach, the liquid running between the stones. My stomach spasmed in agony, as my mind felt dizzy with the smell. My head flopped back, too tired to shift away from the acidic smell drifting towards me. In the darkness, I could already hear happy flies gathering at the banquet. My demise, their feast. More wasted joules.


As they neared the meeting point with Billie, Madeline got her map out of her backpack. She’d marked the coordinates on with a small pencilled-in cross — a shopping mall on the edge of the city. She and Lena agreed to approach from opposite sides, each taking a separate entrance. As she walked through the empty parking lot, Madeline stared up at the towering structure looming over her. She hadn’t exactly liked malls at the best of times. Blaring lights and loud music, masses of people meandering around mindlessly… She preferred the quiet comfort of a library or a cafe. But somehow it was even worse now everything was silent and still. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there were too many rooms and too many entrances. Sure, that meant hiding places and escape routes for her, but it also meant places Poiloogs or people could spring out from. Still, Billie was waiting for her in there. She had to trust her friend knew what they were doing. The main advantage — and the reason she supposed Billie had chosen it — was that with a building this big, they could all be inside and still not be close enough to trigger whatever it was the Poiloogs detected when people gathered. Madeline paused when she reached the entrance, looking around before peering inside. Everything seemed calm. She stepped through the shattered automatic doorframe, wincing at the sound of glass crunching underfoot. When no one came to investigate the sound she relaxed slightly, edging further inside. There were a number of shops to choose from when it came to picking a location to settle in and wait with her walkie-talkie. There was a jewellery store to her left that had been pillaged of everything valuable before everyone realised that gold and gemstones weren’t as important as food and water. Multiple clothes shops caught her eye — she could probably do with a change of trousers, a T-shirt, and… well, everything. Then, of course, there was the bookstore. It was hard to ignore the beckoning of all those stories, worlds she could lose herself in and words weighty enough to knock out any foe. She wondered which Billie had chosen. Her friend was presumably already here. Madeline had given up trying to beat them to a meeting long ago. She chuckled to herself as she imagined them squirrelling themself away in some sporting goods store, getting excited about all the new ways to tire them both out. Figuring it was best to stay near the entrance, Madeline eventually chose one of the clothes stores. She wove her way through the display, carefully poking at the larger piles of items, until she reached the back of the room. Once there, she tucked herself away between the shirts hanging on metal rods protruding from the wall and took out her walkie-talkie. “Hello? Lena? Billie? It’s Madeline here.” “Mads?” Billie’s reply came almost instantly. “And did I hear Lena’s with you?” “Glad to know I still warrant some attention,” the medic’s voice came through, dripping with amusement. “Half of me thought that both of you would forget I existed as soon as you were back together.” Madeline rolled her eyes. “Like I could forget the woman who saved my life.”. “Well, it’s good to hear you’ve been looking out for each other,” Billie said. “I was worried we’d lost you for a minute there, Lena.” “You wish!” the woman replied. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.” Warmth swelled in Madeline’s chest as she cradled the radio in her hands. It felt good to be back together, all three of them. Though they might mask it with bravado and jokes, over the past few days, she’d worried first that she’d lost Billie for good, and then that she’d lost Lena. She hadn’t realised how used to them and their banter she’d grown. But as much as she wanted to revel in this moment, she knew there were more important things to discuss. “So, now that all that’s out of the way…” she said. “How did the meeting go?” There was a brief pause during which Madeline thought her heart might climb up out of her chest and into her mouth. “It went well,” Billie replied. “The plan is all ironed out. Now we’ve just got to enact it. After one final meeting, of course. You know how we love our meetings.” Madeline chuckled, grateful as ever for her friend’s ability to ease the tension with a little humour. “Where’s the meeting?” “Back where it all began. After all, if we want to make sure we’re finding where Liam and Joe — and everyone else folk in the group lost — were taken, we figured we should start from the same location.” Madeline nodded to herself. It made sense. It was what they’d agreed between them. She just hadn’t quite realised they were there yet. Everything had happened so fast while she’d been stuck on the sofa healing. “There’s just one more thing I wanted to… errr… clear with you, first.” Even through the static on the radio, Madeline could hear the nervous quiver in Billie’s voice. It squeezed at her chest and set her heart racing. “Yes?” she prompted. “So, you know that the plan requires someone to get captured for us to track them?” “Yes…” Madeline could feel the tension winding tighter and tighter inside her chest, tying her heart in knots. “We said that naturally one of us would be the one to do it.” *Of course, when we said that, I’d fully expected to be at all the planning meetings so that I could make sure it was me,* she added to herself. “Well, with you being injured and everything it just made sense…” There was a brief pause, but it didn’t matter, Madeline knew what was coming next. “I said I’d do it.” Madeline clenched her fists and pressed herself back even further against the wall, swiping at the shirts hanging around her in an attempt to hold back a scream of frustration. “And you didn’t think to check with me first?” she asked through gritted teeth. “You just made this decision for the both of us?” “Well, we weren’t exactly on speaking terms at that point. And it wasn’t like you were around to check with anyway…” “So it’s my fault?” Madeline was surprised at the fire in her own voice, the words burning a path from her chest and trembling in the otherwise still air of the abandoned store. “Of course not! You know I didn’t mean it like that. Look, I’m sorry, okay? But it’s done now so—” “I’m coming with you,” she said firmly. She knew Billie too well to try and persuade them out of it, but that didn’t mean she had to let her friend go in alone. Besides, if any part of tracking the captured volunteer failed, this way she didn’t have to lose someone else. And it was probably her best shot at finding Liam without having to rely on anyone else. A long silence followed. Madeline could imagine the cogs whirring away in Billie’s brain, tucked away in some other corner of some other abandoned store in the mall. They’d be trying to think of anything they could say at this point to persuade Madeline to stay safe and let them take on the risk. Then, if they were as smart as she knew they were, they’d be realising there was no point even trying. It would have made her laugh if she wasn’t still so full of rage. Eventually, the hiss of static came. “Fine,” they said. “Excellent!” Lena’s voice over the walkie-talkie made Madeline start. She’d allowed herself to get so distracted she’d almost forgotten the medic had been listening in the whole time. “We can all agree that you’re both reckless idiots with more bravery than sense… So, what now? I hope you’re not both expecting me to volunteer to join you too because I personally *like* being alive and free.” This time, Madeline did laugh. She was sure her friend would have plenty of choice words about everything she’d just heard the next time they were alone together. And probably for Billie too. Oh, how she wished she could be a fly on the wall for that conversation. “Now?” Billie’s voice came over the radio. “Now I suppose we set off back to where Liam and Joe got captured. That’s where we’ve arranged the final meeting to take place. And that’s where me — and Mads, apparently — will get ourselves caught.” A tingle of static ran over Madeline’s skin, her body filling with nervous excitement tinged with a healthy dose of fear.


TW slight gore In the history of the world, only one person ever wished to know their fate. It was such a simple command, one that seemed too easy for the consequence. But destiny was not simple. The effortless questions always led to the most precarious answers. Fate did not always mean death. Some people were destined for more, and some for far less. Fate did not reveal how you were going to meet your end, rather if you were going to lead a life worth living before that. There was a reason humans did not have that foresight. The brain was too fragile, it would weigh too heavy with all of the choices it was being presented, every option now riddled with this road or that one. Everyone liked to believe that they were smart, but that only applied to things they had control of. Now, before that day, nobody had ever wanted to know their fate, they were too afraid of being able to manipulate chance. After that day, nobody had ever wanted to know their fate, they were too afraid of trying to outrun it, only to fail, as they were always bound to. They say that the wise man is one who knows what he doesn’t know. A foolish man is one who believes they can change that. On that day, the man was tired. He had read every book and every page he could. His fingertips were tinged gray where the ink had smudged on his skin, papercuts littering the area around them. He had no companions, as he thought of everyone to be thick headed and dense. How could he discuss the intricacies of astrophysics and ancient philosophy with those who did not know what true knowledge was? His research had led him to this place. A place of wonder and wish, a small crack in a big canyon just large enough for a man to crawl through it. It wrote of the deep red rock and desolate plains marked with a tall cairn at the top of the chasm. The earth tried to warn him. It blasted terrible winds and torrential rains, but nothing could move a man with a set mind. After he squeezed through the rock wall, he was in an empty cave. There were sconces on the wall, the flames dancing above the wick. It felt like all of the air was sucked out of the cavern, his breathing coming out in low, shallow breaths. He called back to the text he had read just the day before, but there were no further instructions after this point. But he did not feel defeated. Only a stupid man would do such a thing. He sat down on the rough ground, crossing his legs. He placed his hands on each knee, touching his index and thumb tips together. He cleared his mind of thoughts and took as deep of a breath that the walls would allow. Meditation was the fastest way to a blank state, to unlock answers one might not think of with the ideas of the world plaguing their thoughts. He didn’t know how long it had been before he saw it. He felt like he had been suspended in time, his mind floating across the universe, his body an empty shell of a man who could not be contained in this realm. The best way to describe what he saw would be everything and nothing all at once. It felt like an overload of his synapses firing while shutting down. A feeling so immense there were no words for it, and that made him believe if he could not describe it, was he feeling anything at all? It was at that moment he knew why there were no more instructions in the book. Nobody ever made it past this point. What did a man who knew everything want? He did not need money, as it could not buy him things he did not already have. He did not need love, as he thought that emotion was a distraction. Those were the two things that seemed to make the world go round, he thought. And if he did not desire either, was he even human? Did his knowledge propel him above them so far that he did not need to wish for something that would be everything to them? He wanted something he could not learn in books, could not find outside his door. He wanted to know his fate, and if he did not like it, he wanted to change it. “What is it that you seek?” the man heard in his mind. “I want to know my destiny.” He felt the ground rumble underneath him. “An intelligent man such as yourself should understand the risk with this decision, yes?” It sounded like his voice layered thousands of times, an echo reverberating in his head. “There is no risk in seeking to know everything. There is only risk in having the opportunity and turning your back,” he replied. There was a long moment of silence. “Very well.” He saw his birth, as if he was his own mother, watching his eyes open for the first time. He could feel what it was like to be seconds old and bombarded with lights and people and sound. He could see himself cry, and he could feel the tears running down his cheeks in the cave. He flashed through every memory he had, some he recognized and some he didn’t. He saw the day he became truly alone, turning to books so that no one could leave him again. And he saw himself sitting in the middle of the cave, his dried tears marking a clean path of skin. And he braced himself for what came after. Would he live a quiet, fruitful life as he had been for the past years? Would he conquer far away worlds? Would he go and spread his gospel as the man who saw the closest thing to a god? He could feel his heart start to race, the knowledge feeling so forbidden yet wishing to be absorbed by him. His back was on the ground, his eyes staring up at the stalactites hanging from the ceiling. Did he black out when he saw his future? That wasn’t possible. He was ready. He had seen everything before this moment with such clarity he felt like he had lived his life all over again. He sat up and looked around, the flames on the wall burning brighter than before. But he couldn’t see the crack in the rocks. He walked over to where he entered, smooth stone staring back at him. He ran his fingers over it, trying to find anything to grab onto. It was as if it was never there. He circled the whole room, convincing himself that he got turned around when he made his wish. But he went around three times, and still, there was nothing. It must be a test, he thought. He sat back down in the middle of the floor, meditating once more. “Yes?” he heard. “What is the reason for this test?” he asked. “What test?” “There is no exit from this place anymore. I understand it is to test my skills, but how does that benefit us?” He heard a small laugh. “You cannot see past your own desires, can you? Here you are, seemingly stuck in a cave, and you believe it is because you are being tested.” This confused the man. “Well, yes. I don’t know what other reason there could be.” “Do you want to know why that little book of yours was never completed?” His own voice started to terrify him. It was not layered with different octaves of his own tenor, but with the screeching of something that did not belong to this world. “Because there has never been a man as smart as me.” He could feel the change in the air, feel the rage and hate that now filled the small cavern. “You like to believe you are above mankind. You think you have mastered all there is to know, that it was time to know something unknowable. Do you want to know why nobody has ever wished to know their own fate?” He could feel his lungs grow tight. “Yes.” No. “Because it is not something you have the right of knowing. You are so greedy, taking anything you want, anything you deem as yours. Even the universe, it seems, is not out of your reach. But I will not let you believe that you are one of us. I will not let you glimpse this power that has never, and will never, be yours.” Was he going to die? He was not scared of death, but that was before, when he thought he would know what it would be. “What are you going to do, then?” he asked, his voice wavering. “Well, I can share it with you now, I suppose.” The air dropped to a chill. “The fate of a man who wishes for more, will never be one to explore. He is a true monster in the making, believing the world is his for the taking. Fate is not a thing to change, but something that will stay the same. This has always been your end, for this is what you are destined. From the day you were born, to this moment forlorn. We were always meant to meet, and this is where you accept defeat.” The words rang in his head louder than anything he had ever heard. He could feel blood start to drip down his neck, his ear drums rupturing. He was still sitting with his legs crossed, but he was floating high, high, higher. He could feel his blood start to boil, and his bones start to break. He could feel himself screaming, his throat becoming raw from the harshness of it. He now knew why he saw his whole life just moments ago. His small eyes, so curious about the world even just as a baby, was the last thing he saw before his limbs were ripped from his body, a dismembered star hanging in the air. They say that the wise man is one who knows what he doesn’t know. A foolish man is one who tries to change that.


Amalia looked across the cafeteria. Everywhere, her people were running about, cramming their faces with food. While she herself was starving, the remnants of a pastry dangling from her lips, she had to take a moment to take it all in. For months, they hadn't eaten much more than a single meal each day, forced to work in the fields and factory. They made ammunition, picked potatoes, and did whatever their captors wanted. That last one was a rule as well as a task. She was only fifteen years old, which meant she was a potato harvester. And it seemed her days of picking potatoes were over. Her mother and father were gone; only her older brother remaining. When she first came here, she simply accepted her reality. It was the new world, a world where the powers that be did what they wanted. They told you what to do and how to do it, and if you so much as showed an ounce of defiance, you were shot. It occurred to Amalia that everyone here would have been shot, including her brother, as she watched him crack open cans of corned beef. He scooped the meat out with his bare hands, shoving it into his mouth by the canful. He stopped and looked at her, smiling a big, cheesy grin. She smiled back. Surveying her surroundings, she looked at others enjoying themselves. There was Bartek, devouring a small chicken while dipping slices of bread in its grease. Over by the coffee machine were Julian and a couple older women, dumping milk and sugar into large mixing bowls and drinking the sweet concoction with gusto. Not a single coffee mug was in sight. Little children lined up as Sister Maria passed out apples and other pieces of fruit. The children were laughing, the innocence of their faces reflecting in her tears. Amalia was suddenly overcome with emotion. She collapsed behind the table that she was standing at, sobbing and holding a croissant. She was at a loss. She was inconsolable. Before long, a group had surrounded her. Julian commenced stooping down with her brother, the pair gently placing her on a stool at the table. Looking to her friends and the last of her family, she shouted, the words and emotions breaking forth like a waterfall. "What do we do now?! This has been our life for so many years! What on earth are we to do now?" She wailed. The other Jews looked at each other, for many did not know the answer. But Bartek, in his wisdom, smiled. He ripped off the Star of David armband and threw it behind him. The band somersaulted through the air as the group of Jewish children cheered. He grabbed Amalia by the shoulders from across the table, placing his head against hers, before saying the sentence that would stay with her for the rest of her life. "We will do the best that we can, child. One day at a time.


CAUSALITY Henry N. Silva Mars, 2157 Dr. Evelyn looks upon the wasteland… Mars wasn’t meant to still be like this. It’s been a century since colonization began. And yet, nothing much has changed. Still a red desert planet, still too cold, still too hostile… The young scientist keeps her eyes fixed on the horizon. Another dust storm is coming, the size of a mountain, thick enough to prevent her from seeing the strong lights of the other colony towers… With a sigh, she turns around, making her way out of her chrome apartment and into an elevator, descending to one of the community floors below. Soon enough, she finds herself sitting at dark bar, it’s walls drizzled with strands of neon. She orders her usual, synthbeer and a 3D-printed burger, and sits quietly, tuning out the hustle and bustle of other colonists all around her, as she waits for her order… And then, a voice appears from behind her, “Dr. Evelyn?” The young woman swings herself around, only to find standing there an aging military general, his uniform covered with flair. He speaks again, “I need you to come with me.” \*\*\* General Victor leads Evelyn across the wasteland… She does her best to keep up, unused to wearing her bulky breathing suit for such a long period of time. “Couldn’t we have taken a travel rover?” She asks, pantingly. Victor briefly turns around, his face completely hidden by reflection, and then faces forward once more, resuming to lead the way. Eventually, the pair reach a small, manhole-sized cave entrance. Victor steps aside, motioning for Evelyn to jump in, “After you.” She follows his orders, finding herself leaping straight into a large, underground chamber of some kind, her fall broken by the planet’s weak gravity. She then proceeds to examine her surroundings. Plenty of other suited colonists have already set up camp there, all of them government officials and military personnel, no doubt. Evelyn takes immediate notice of all the equipment scattered about, before refocusing her attention on the towering walls around her, illuminated by UV light-stands. Her jaw drops as she realizes that the walls are covered in hieroglyphs… Ancient hieroglyphs… Victor lands on his feet behind Evelyn. She immediately turns to face him, “I don’t understand! What is this place?” “This place,” the general begins, “needs to stay off-record. You’re here for a very important assignment, Doctor. One that must be kept secret, at all costs.” She points to the markings on the wall to her left, “Who put those there?” “Who do you think?” The general’s tone suddenly deepens, becoming more serious than even before, “You don’t believe this planet has always been dead, do you Doctor?” Evelyn doesn’t respond. Instead, she proceeds to make her way slowly to one of the walls, taking a much closer looks at the glyphs. Quickly, she is able to make out depictions of Martians, or whatever she’s supposed to call them, “They look much more humanoid than I would’ve expected.” She walks a little further, stumbling upon a much larger glyph depicting two faceless figures, wearing armor of some kind. “Doctor,” the general calls to her. She turns back around, unable to find him in the sea of suited officials, until he waves his arm to get her attention. Evelyn heads back towards Victor, who then leads her into one of several dark, narrow catacombs there in the underground. Soon enough, they find themselves in another illuminated area, much smaller than the main chamber. Only one other colonist is there, a man. “This is Dr. Alan,” the general announces. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Dr. Evelyn,” Alan says with a wave. “I’ve heard great things about your work.” “What work, exactly?” Evelyn asks, still processing everything. “Those fancy seeds of yours, I mean.” “Oh, the genesis seeds.” She pulls out a handful of small, rather normal-looking seeds from her travel sack, strapped around the left shoulder of her suit, “Yes, just a handful of these seeds can generate an entire forest, but it takes centuries. I’m still trying to find a way to speed up the process.” “Which is exactly why you’re here,” Victor explains. “We think we can help you, Dr. Evelyn, and that you can help us. Dr. Alan here has been trying to better understand what the ancient Martians were like, and we imagine that you yourself would like to learn the causality of Mars’s long lost ecosystem, would you not?” “It would certainly help with my research, yes. But how exactly can we do either of those things?” Alan takes a deep breath, before answering her question, “We can… We can go there, Dr. Evelyn.” “Go where? What do you… Oh!” Evelyn nearly faints, as she begins to understand, “But isn’t that… Dangerous?” “Not at all,” Victor chimes in. “Our research and previous experiments confirm that time is, in fact, a closed loop. Everything that is meant to have happened has happened, and everything that is meant to still happen will indeed still happen.” Evelyn breathes in heavily, doing her best to calm her own nerves, “Well, if you say so… But how do we even… How do we get there?” Without saying a word, Alan picks up a strange, metallic device off a nearby table, wrapping it around his forearm. A touchpad plate on the device suddenly springs to life, which Alan proceeds to click away at. He then reaches out his other arm to Evelyn, “Grab on.” She wraps her arm around his. General Victor takes a few steps backwards, saluting them both, “Best of luck.” With a deep inhale, Alan presses the touchpad once more. Instantly, Evelyn’s vision is consumed by white, electric light, which then vanishes as quickly as it came… She and Alan find themselves above ground, surrounded by lush, green forestry. “Wow,” Evelyn looks around, in awe at the sight of it all. “How far back did we go?” “Far,” Alan nods. “Very far… You think this air is safe to breathe?” “We might as well keep our helmets on,” Evelyn answers. “Just to be on the safe side.” Suddenly, the pair hear a cluster of footsteps, not too far away. “Come on!” Alan motions for Evelyn to follow. They make their way through a series of trees, before arriving at a handful of bushes. Carefully, they crouch down, peering their way through. On the other side, they find a dozen or so primitive humanoids, dressed in furry animal skins. The Martians, no doubt. “Amazing,” Alan whispers. “If I didn’t know any better, I would almost say they were human.” His curiosity getting the best of him, he slowly begins to stand back up, “I’m gonna try to get a closer look.” “No!” Evelyn rises with him, trying to pull him back down, but it’s no use. For in that very moment, the natives suddenly look over, noticing them both. “Ah!” One of the Martians screams. He and all of his companions there proceed to run away, howling in fear. Evelyn scoffs, “Nice going!” “Sorry,” Alan lowers his head, sighing with shame. “Should we head back home?” “No, not yet. I still need to get a better understanding of how all this green got here in the first place. We need to go back even further.” Alan lets out another heavy sigh, “If you say so.” They lock arms again, as Alan clicks away at the touchpad on his arm. A familiar white light overtakes their vision, vanishing within seconds… The two scientists-turned-explorers now find themselves in a familiar red desert, still above ground. “I said to go further back!” “This is further back,” Alan clarifies. “You don’t see any settlement towers around, do you?” “Ah, right,” Evelyn acknowledges. Suddenly, they both notice a familiar, mountain-sized dust storm, closing in on them. Alan turns to his travel companion, “We gotta go home, now!” She nods in return, “Okay!!” He begins to set the return controls on his touchpad, as the winds pick up exponentially. In the mist of all the chaos, Evelyn’s travel sack blows open. Before she has time to react, several dozen genesis seeds are blown out of the bag, taken away by the wind… “No!” She tries to go after them, but then Alan wraps his arm around hers, slamming down on the touchpad. The same white light from before overtakes their vision, for another second or two, and then, the pair find themselves back in their underground base. The roaring winds of the storm replaced by sheer silence… General Victor clears his throat, “So… Did you find the answers you were looking for?” Evelyn lowers her head and sighs, “Yeah… I think we did.