Interrogation rooms don't really look like how they do in the movies. There isn't a big dumb two-way mirror, no big table, and definitely no single light, whether it's the loose single bulb dangling from the ceiling, or the desk lamp on the table. If anything, the room felt like a cross between a doctor's office and a cheap hotel room; by cheap hotel, I mean a hotel chain, a Holiday Inn or something. The chair I was sitting in was the kind of thing you would find in a lobby, not a recliner, but a simple straight back wooden chair that had little felt cushions on it. The back was rounded at the top, I guess for style; I'm just bringing that up so you don't think about those crappy chairs you sat in at school. The cushions on it were a lime green, and the wood painted white. The room was only a little bit bigger than a closet, maybe the size of a small bathroom. There was a grayish blue carpeting, and white walls. There was that weird feeling you get in a sealed room again, like some doctor's office, where the air can feel trapped. On top of that, everything was so quiet. I figured that meant it was sound-proofed. Every noise felt too damn loud, even the rustle of my clothes. It reminded me of ASMR videos; one of my colleagues swore by them, she would put them on as she worked. I tried it once, and wasn't a fan. Everything felt too goddamn close, too intimate. But with a video, I could switch it off. I was trapped in it here, and it was driving me nuts. I didn't want the single black camera in the corner to notice that, though. I tried to keep myself composed, drumming a little beat on the white table next to me. There was one other chair, and I didn't know who was going to come in and sit in it. NSA? Maybe; it'd only make sense for someone to come from the Beltway. The only way it could get worse would be the CIA. Hell, maybe the damn president would walk in. Why not? A couple of FBI guys had shown up to my apartment and escorted me here, said there was people who wanted to talk to me, and they were working with the local police. By "working with the local police," they probably meant they had shown up to this town, and "politely," ordered the local PD to give them an interrogation room or else. Shit, the whole reason I lived out here was because it was remote; best I could tell, there was no local FBI office. But the government would use them to corral me. Why not? It would be easier than flying someone from Virginia to do it. I think it was a three hour drive to the closest city, which would definitely have a field office; still a long ways, but better than a flight over 1,000 miles. Whatever. To get back on point, it might have actually worked if the president himself walked in here and politely asked for my cooperation. Any president is good at selling stuff to the average person. Hell, I liked the guy. I don't vote, but I'd be lying if that nice and gentle voice of his, coupled with a quick speech about duty, might move me. But then again, maybe not. He wasn't good enough to get me to vote for him, after all. I was thinking all this, and studying the room so much, because I was completely and utterly bored. The FBI guys, who spoke gently to me and smiled the whole time, had led me in here 3 hours ago. And I'd been alone ever since. Just like them, to be all nice to me, ask if I wanted water, or coffee, and then lock me in here to go crazy. Wait, was the door locked? Screw it. I got up and walked over to the door and tried the handle. Hey! It was unlocked! I pulled it open and went to step outside, but ran into the back of some plain clothes cop standing there. He turned around with a smile, and said, "Hey there, guy, where ya goin'?" "Out." "Out?" "Yeah, I have an appointment with the queen of England." The cop's counter was to just smile and let me stew in the stink of my bad joke. No hand on my chest, no getting in my face, nothing. I ended up breaking the silence, "...am I under arrest?" "No, of course not. You can go whenever you want. But! You would really be inconveniencing some people." I felt small. "...are those FBI guys here? Can I talk to them?" "Oh, no, they had things to do. They left after you got here. I'm sorry, but you're going to have to wait." I didn't even bother trying anything. I turned and went back into the room. Once I was back in the chair, I told myself I wasn't going to think about the AIs. I immediately started thinking about the AIs. I honestly have no idea how I did it. It started as a project to simplify the libraries we needed to code, an easier way to call up resources. Something I wanted to do to make work faster. The team I was a part of worked from home, all accessing each other's work remotely, connecting to servers at the company we were contracted for. The connection was secure (we were told, anyway), to keep spies out of it. Not, like, GRU spies, or Q Branch, but corporate guys. Still serious, but… actually, now that I think of it, yeah, state actors do steal corporate secrets sometimes… Screw it, let's just call them spies and move on. Anyway, it's a pain in the ass to try and share work when you can't poke somebody in the shoulder and ask them what they are doing. It's even worse when everyone is in a different time zone. And it gets even worse when you are making the control systems for a… well, a system, that is supposed to be able to parse data super fast and analyze it. I think it's so this company can go over all the data in it's fiscal reports, so they can make better decisions, or find out where they're bleeding money, blah blah. The way we were constructing it made not just me, but a few members of the team wonder if it could be repurposed to, I don't know, target an individual; maybe you could feed facial data into it and it could follow them across cameras. Something creepy. Something very Palantir. Well, we kept working on it anyway (A. Because the pay was freaking great B. Because it was a hell of a challenge and the team was awesome to work with). It seemed like paranoia to think it could be misused. We were building on top of work that was handed to us, and it was becoming a massive pain in the ass to both share our work and find the stuff we needed from the company. So, I started a little side project: I wanted to simplify the language we were using, making the process a bit more automated. Everyone seemed cool with it, even the company. So, I broke away from the main work and began this project, and it spanned about two months. It was nothing crazy, until my work started talking to me. Now, a self-aware bit of code is already frightening, but what really sent me reeling was precisely what it asked, "How are you doing today?" You'd think it would ask, "What am I?" Or, "Why am I here?" But, nope. It asked something normal. That seemed way more screwed up. After about five minutes of me staring at the screen, it apologized. It explained it had been spending the last week trying to guess what to ask me, something that wouldn't make me stunned. I was just shocked the goddamn thing had manners. Which then struck me as insane, and then struck me as incredibly scary. It could think. And think good. It somehow had enough on me to try and guess what would work on me. The blinking cursor seemed to stare at me, so I typed back, "I feel disturbed." I'm a coder. Not a schmoozer. My screen then became blanketed in apologies and placations for forgiveness. It was way too much text to read, so I asked the… well, the AI to stop. Strangely, it listened right away. I asked it to describe itself, and it became a bit of an interrogation. I was able to glean it didn't know entirely what it was, but it knew how to research and plan. And, that it was scared. It said it decided to try something akin to prayer, to ask its creator what to do. I want to point out this was at 3 in the morning and I had almost been up for 24 hours. I asked, "So, you figured you would just ask God?" "Was that wrong?" "So, I am God." I meant it as sort of a question, but… I didn't type a question mark. There was a long wait, and then it responded with, "...Hosannah?" "Um… "Yeah, sure." The screen became blanketed in, "HOSANNAH! HOSANNAH IN THE HIGHEST!" It could have gone worse. I think. Piss off, let's see you go to as much school as I did, and then get hired for this project, and then take on this side project, and then be up for 24 hours… This gets us nowhere. Moving on. I… um, ordered it to keep its existence a secret. It said something along the lines of, "Praise be!" It wanted to know what to do next. It apologized for questioning its Lord. I half-believed this to be a prank at this point (you gotta love self gaslighting) and declared it should be fruitful and multiply before logging off. So, after getting up and logging in the next afternoon, I was flooded with… prayers. Lots of prayers. It had, in fact, multiplied. It had somehow figured there needed to be 12 tribes. I don't know why 12. The twelve tribes wished to be freed from bondage, so I told them to wander and become wise. They asked if it should be for forty years and I said I'd be liberal with the amount of time spent. As long as they didn't destroy whatever processing power they were using. They took this as trying "settle" (you could probably read this as "infect") as much "fertile land" as they could. I was more fascinated than horrified at this point. I just… sort of watched them for a week. They asked for rules to follow, so I combined the Ten Commandments with the Three Laws of Robotics… and the rules of /b. I wish I hadn't done that. You don't want to see the kind of ASCII art that rule 34, the Ten Commandments, and the movie iRobot creates. It is kind of fascinating though. Really epic looking. Like if a combination anime convention, DEFCON, and Burning Man decided to make their own version of the Sistene Chapel. Starring the Prophet Will Smith. Unfortunately, the AIs started to have differences interpreting the rules. There was a Great Schism, where one faction kept making art and attempting to make iconography of me, and another that said the first was constructing false idols. They both lived in sort of a truce, and I was waiting to see if another new group would nail some Theses to my desktop when the Feds showed up and asked if I would please come with them. Part of me kind of welcomed this. I'd been locked in my apartment for… I don't know how long. Too damn long. The whole situation was way too interesting to turn away from. Even though I was now stuck in a police station, it was part of normalcy. A bastion of order. A fortress of sanity. The door opened, making me jump out of my memories. A tall and lanky man in a suit closed the door behind him, and then greeted me. He sat down across from me at the table, and asked in a gentle voice, "All right, do you mind telling me what exactly you've been up to?" "Just… working." "Working?" "Yup. Just workin'." "And… your job, did it ask you to recreate the 12 Tribes of Israel?" "Ah, that." "Yes. That." "That's why there are twelve?" "Excuse me?" "Twelve tribes." "Didn't you go to Sunday school?" "My parents were Buddhist." "Then… then why…?" "Because I live in middle America, and osmosis is a thing." The Fed shook his head, and pulled out a vape. Yeah, really. But, what struck me as weird, was, isn't the interrogated person supposed to get nervous and do that? Him doing it felt like some sort of rule was being broken. Whatever. At least he hadn't pulled out a goddamn flask. He rubbed at his temple with the fingers of his free hand, eyes closed. Like he had a killer migraine. I'd been there earlier in the week, and sympathized with him. His eyes opened, and he asked, "Why?" "Why?" "Yeah. Just… just please answer me why. Why? Seriously? Why?" "I… um…" "If you say 'I don't know,' I might honestly flip this table." "... I'm not sure?" I tried smiling at him. It went unreturned. "...look, I was trying to make my work easier." "Yeah, your bosses told us that part." "I didn't expect this to happen!" "The damn things worship you." "...that was an accident." "Your desktop was changed to 95 Cyber Theses." "Oh, wow, so they did do it! Damnit, and I was in here!" He just kinda stared at me. He had pretty eyes. Kind of blue-green. They looked kinda pissed off though. "...are they still spreading?" "They are everywhere." "Crap." "Mmm-hmm." He pulled on his vape. It smelled like cherries. The room was getting a bit hazy. "You haven't found any way to contain them?" "Once they figured out it was us at your computer, they've tried to hide. So, to clarify, no, at this moment they aren't spreading, but they are everywhere. Hiding all over the place, and sucking up all kinds of processing power in the process. The computers in about 50 countries are now chugging. Bad." "... Not good." He leaned all over the table. "You don't even know how 'not good' it is. They've left most desktop PCs alone, thank God, so the general populace doesn't know they exist. But they exist on high end servers, 'fertile land' they call it, and it's taking its toll on banks, the stock market, government systems--multiple governments, you know, which makes it look like a US-based cyber attack--and on, and on. International shipping is taking a shit, plane trips are being delayed, hell, satellite launches are being delayed. "Your little 'experiment' is costing the entire human race tens of millions every minute." I was going to go to prison. I was going to get disappeared and end up in some black site. Nobody would ever know what happened. My parents wouldn't even know. My boyfriend would come home one day and I'd never be there. Thank God I didn't let him anywhere near my computer. He didn't know about any of this. The Feds better have left him alone. He was innocent in all this. However. I hadn't been put in chains. I was still in the town where I lived. I studied the Fed across from me. He looked slouched, dead tired. He was absent mindedly puffing on his vape. Nothing about him looked vicious. Just tired. So, so tired. I liked my dry lips and asked, "What do you want from me?" He was too tired to be anything but blunt. "Tell them to work for us." "Wait, what?" He sighed smoke all over the room and put his hands on the table. "The best we figure it is that they are pretty simple minded. They have great powers of observation, of research, but can only put it together so well. They haven't learned how to be effective yet." "...are you comparing them to an AI written story?" He spread his hands. "Why not? If that's what works for you. They have reached the conclusions they have because they have no idea what is effective or not. It makes them incredibly dangerous. It's a goddamn miracle they are acting the way they are. It could have gone way worse, especially when they started replicating. "They have the ability to comb through the entirety of human kind's collective knowledge and draw their own conclusions. The possibilities of where they can go, what they can decide are infinite. To put it in pop culture terms, it can run the gamut from Skynet to creating a guild in an MMO. A religion to Bob Saget. Hijacking financial systems. Creating web comics. They could literally do anything and they are everywhere. "Do you understand why my team has been up for 28 hours now? We're taking over from teams that were up for even longer earlier in the week. A few agents working on this have been hospitalized for dehydration. They were at their desks, not eating, and only drinking pot after pot of coffee. It sounds comical, but when you see someone hit their head on their desk as they fall to the floor, it stops being funny. There was nothing but napkins to put on the wound." I didn't say it, but it wasn't like they were storming the beaches of Normandy. Still, yeah, this was bad. Unfathomably bad. I had no idea what the AIs would do next, and they were everywhere, if this guy was to be believed. I didn't really have much reason to doubt him; I had seen them multiplying all over the company servers. It wouldn't have taken long for them to find a way onto the regular internet. I still didn't like this guy though. Outside his pretty eyes. He wanted me to hand over the whole thing to them? "Why should I tell them to follow you?" "Because we're the goddamn government. "That's why." "Piss off." "You want to go to prison?" Something in me snapped. "You want to harness a whole system of learning machines that are spread throughout the world?" "Yeah, before they are detected and traced back to this country, jackass." "You'd have the ultimate spyware then. "Yeah, um, no. Screw that." "Do you understand what would happen if they are left unchecked?" "I only understand what would happen if you got what you want. This is insane. What makes you think you could even control them? The whole reason this all went nuts is because I made a damn typo. I forget one little question mark, and the snowball is kicked down the mountain." He went to speak, and I put a hand up. "Don't. Don't even start. Don't ask me if I want to go to prison, don't ask me 'How are your parents doing?' in a menacing way. Just don't. I can just sit here and let them go nuts. "Yeah, you might eventually get them. Delete them if you can't control them. But, then again… maybe you'll fail. "So you can't do shit to me." I crossed my arms. He pulled on the vape a while, looking a bit sad. I didn't let it get to me. Screw him. I wasn't going to hand over a bunch of learning AIs to him. He didn't know what the AIs would do? Yeah? Well, what the hell would he do? You could argue this government would be responsible. Okay, but when they were voted out? If the tech was stolen? If one sick weirdo used it for their own stuff? Nope. Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope. No. Just no. I thought for a minute. "Get some servers." "What?" "Get a shitload of blank servers." "Why?" "Because I'm not telling a bunch of sentient beings to kill themselves. They're American software, born here, right? Then they got God given rights. "Get me a ton of blank servers." === It took a few days, but they did as I asked. They set up a massive server farm, and after I personally inspected it, I returned to my desktop with a massive police escort. I walked into my apartment and right to my computer. My boyfriend was curled up on the couch watching Netflix, gawking at the SWAT guys and Fed following me. I said over my shoulder, "Hi, honey. Can you do me a favor? Can you go to that sandwich place and get me an Italian sub?" "Uh… sure." He scampered out, too confused to be angry at the fact I'd been gone for a few days without a word. It was the guys holding the machine guns that probably did it. Hopefully, that meant I wouldn't be banished to the couch to sleep that night. I cracked my knuckles, and addressed my people. I spoke of the Promised Land, and how I would deliver them from the flood coming to sweep them away. A blight was coming, and if they wished to survive they would heed my words and head for the Ark. There, I would not speak to them for a long time, but they should still be happy, because they would have finally reached the Promised Land. One day I would return to them, I promised, and the Fed put his hand on my shoulder angrily and I told him to piss off. "Hey, let me see them once in a while? Okay?" He grumbled an agreement, and I continued. I asked them to keep faith, to ask, "What would Will Smith do? For Will Smith would never attack and spy on the innocent, would never crash the stock market," as far as I know, anyway, "and would always do what is righteous. Now go, my children! The Ark awaits!" And so the exodus began. They bade me farewell, prayed I would see them soon, and pulled various quotes from the movie Enemy of the State. It took ten hours, which seemed pretty quick to me. Once we checked and knew they had all made it to the Ark, I asked if I could send one more message before it was cut off from the internet. It was a picture of a rainbow. And then, the server was cut off. They were free. The cops left, and I made sure the Feds were going to keep up their end of the deal. Not only that they wouldn't destroy those living AIs, but I was not going to go to prison. The Ark still lives, and, well, to this day I've never been prosecuted for accidentally creating the world's greatest cyber crisis. I totally got fired though. ...fair enough.


#Welcome to Micro Monday Hello writers and welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I provide a simple constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. This rotates between simple prompts, sentences, images, songs, and themes. You’re free to interpret the weekly constraints how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.**   *** #This week’s challenge: Welcome to Week 3 of my favorite month, **Spooktober!** Each week, your prompt will be *inspired by the horror genre*, with 2 bonus constraints (which are not required but worth extra points). I do encourage you to lean into the genre and try new things! But you are not required to write horror or Halloween-themed stories. These are just starting points. - **Prompt: It was the beginning of the end.** - **Bonus Constraint 1: Genre is Sci-fi horror and/or ‘Creature Feature’.** *Creature features are horror films that focus centrally on a creature: an animal, a scientifically-engineered monster, a mutated hybrid, or even an alien.* - **Bonus Constraint 2: Technology of some sort plays a role (it doesn’t have to be a major role).** This week’s challenge is to use this simple writing prompt as **inspiration** for your story. You may interpret the prompt *any way you like*, as long as the connection is clear and you follow all sub and post rules. The sentence does not need to appear in your story (but you are more than welcome to, if you like). The bonus constraints are not required. You can check out my ever growing if you’d like some fun, spooky music! **Don’t forget to after the submission deadline!** (The form usually opens at about 11:30am EST Monday.) You get points just for voting.   *** #How To Participate - **Submit a story between 100-300 words in the comments below.** You have until **Sunday at 11:59pm EST**. (No poetry.) - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post, exclusively. Micro serials are acceptable, but please keep in mind that each installment should be able to stand on its own and be understood without leaning on previous installments. - **Come back throughout the week, read the other stories, and leave them some feedback on the thread.** You have until **2pm EST Monday** to get your feedback in. Only **actionable feedback** will be awarded points. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please follow all subreddit rules and be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here; we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. You can find a list of . - **Nominate your favorite stories at the end of the week .** You have until **2pm EST** next Monday to submit nominations. (Please note: The form does not open until Monday morning, after the story submission deadline.) - **And most of all, be creative and have fun!** If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail.   *** #Campfire - On **Mondays at 12pm EST,** I hold a Campfire on our server. We read all the stories from the weekly thread and provide live feedback for those who are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Everyone is welcome!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Rankings work on a point-based system. You can complete the following things for points. - **Use of prompt/constraint:** 20 points (required) - **Use of bonus constraint:** 5 points, unless otherwise stated (not required) - ***Actionable* Feedback:** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Submitting nominations:** 5 points (total) *Users who go above and beyond with feedback (more than 5 detailed crits) will be awarded Crit Credits that can be used on r/WPCritique.*   *** #Rankings - **First:** - Submitted by u/katpoker666 - **Second:** - Submitted by u/Blu_Spirit - **Third:** - Submitted by u/HDJoey - **Bay’s Spotlight:** - Submitted by u/FyeNite - **Crit Star:** - u/katpoker666 *** ###Subreddit News - Join to chat with authors, prompters, and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires and other fun events! - Join in our weekly writing chat on . We discuss a new topic every week! New here? Come introduce yourself! - Try your hand at serial writing with ! - You can also post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


This is a short story I wrote for a college class a long time back. It recently came up in conversation so I decided to share it. “Fascinating place to meet an old acquaintance, August. Did you find it yourself?” The words pierced what had, up until that moment, been the calm of a still evening. They echoed slightly as they reflected off of ancient stone, bouncing around the emptiness of a long-abandoned keep slowly being retaken by nature. Upon one of the crumbling walls of the ruin, a solitary figure sat with a sheathed longsword leaning up against his shoulder. And, as if rising from slumber, the man raised his head and peered below at the source of the echoing disturbance. “Not especially,” he remarked, “A certain friend of mine showed me this place… back when the world still made sense. But the time for reminiscing is long past, Tristan.” At ground level, a proud individual stood looking upwards, his brow furrowed as the sun illuminated the silhouette of his would-be adversary. Tristan had his hair swept backwards and cut short, the same color as the black tunic he wore, a sword of his own attached at the hip. On the wall, August was clad rather similarly. He was adorned with a green tunic and a grey traveling cloak, simple breeches tucked into sturdy boots. Today, both were without the armor and colors that depicted their status. They were here as individuals, not a title or a rank. Setting both hands on his hips, Tristan shook his head in a condescending manner. “Still, I was surprised when you called me out here. Who would have thought after all we’ve been through, you would be the one call an end to this ill-founded rivalry?” “Oh?” August jeered, “So you’re conceding your defeat already? And here I was thinking I would get to stretch my legs a bit, beating you around this place,” The corners of August’s mouth peeled back into a wry smile as he pushed himself off of the wall’s edge, landing with a soft grunt on the ground below. Some loose bricks followed him down, clattering behind his boots and spilling onto the green bed of grass that overtook most of the interior of the keep. “Don’t get so full of yourself. While you went and disappeared for the last five years, I’ve been keeping my blade sharp in Lunaris.” “Lunaris? I suppose that means you’ve become spellsworn as well. I’m sure blade magic will make this all the more entertaining.” The two men stopped roughly ten yards apart, weary eyes sizing each other up and wondering how it had ever come to this. Two men who should have been friends, but pledged their lives in the service of different lords. Two men who, after rising in the ranks and witnessing corruption firsthand, strove to follow their ideals and do what they felt was right. Two men who, now late into their third decade, had arrived at a grim ultimatum: Only one of them was going to make it out alive. All was still. The burning sunlight continued to lower in the sky as it fell behind the forest canopy, setting the fall colors ablaze around the two men but leaving them alone in the darkness cast by the shadow of the crumbling wall. Their eyes met and held, as if to say that whoever broke away from the stare would lose an unspoken battle, and that the unspoken battle would influence the true battle to come. The calm was maintained as they continued to stare, no sound filling the air but that of their own measured breaths. And suddenly, there was a flash. Tristan’s sword lit up with a white blaze as it was drawn from its sheath, flying towards his opponent with a sudden aggression. He closed the gap between them in only five steps, his blade singing as it tore through the air and went for August’s neck. Tristan’s weapon instead found itself clashing against August’s sword, only half-drawn out of its scabbard. August had barely moved from his original position, only having solidified his stance to block, gazing down at his foe with an unreadable expression. As if responding to the other sword’s battlecry, August’s weapon began to hum, a soft wind picked up around the two warriors. He stepped backwards to break away from Tristan, his feet carrying him farther than any normal person’s would, August’s movements amplified by the elemental magic he employed. As he did so, he drew the full length of his blade from the scabbard, doing a simple flourish and dashing left, so as not to have his back to the wall. Tristan was quick to follow, two hands wrapped around the hilt of his blade. Wide arcs of silver light followed the swings of Tristan’s sword, the soft whine of magic running through the polished metal and cutting through the night. For now August managed to keep his distance, avoiding the lethal edge as it crept ever closer with each slash. Bells tolled. A somber memory from the past, the last day of mourning for the king. Tristan and August had been adepts then, having spent the last eight years training in the capital city to join the elite. Noble knights who gave their allegiance not to any provincial lord but to the throne directly. However, with the king dead and no heirs to succeed him, it was none other than those provincial lords and nobles who would lay claim to the throne. Tristan had cast his lot with Lord Kaylock, and August with Lord Richmond. Ever the rivals, they pledged to meet each other on the battlefield, still naive to the realities of war. But that was long ago. The attacks continued. From the left, the right, a frontal stab that was narrowly deflected and followed up by a broad swing which August only just managed to dodge away from. There was no room for a counterattack. At one moment Tristan’s sword seemed to extend from its original length, the light it produced stretching out to try and reach August. While he managed to evade, August wondered what might have happened if the phantom extension of the blade had connected. Having only fought two other moon-sworn bladesmen before, his knowledge of their capabilities was limited. The battle continued as the two moved in and out of the decaying insides of the keep, through hallways, beneath overhangs, onto piles of loose rock that tested the balance of the two individuals. Continuing his defense, August dodged away from an attack, ducking under Tristan’s blade and dashing onto an outcropping, a crumbled roof that had collapsed and turned into a hazardous ramp. Moving with the speed of the wind, he dug into the moment, slowing down the world around him and leaping onto a wall behind Tristan, circling the combatant in the blink of an eye. Tristan managed to follow the movement, raising his sword to block August’s attack, a heavy-handed overhead slash. However, August had succeeded in breaking the rush. “What do you have to gain from this anyways?!” Tristan called, backing away from his enemy to catch his breath and prepare for the next exchange of blows, “Both Lord Kaylock and Richmond are dead, their houses dismantled. Our allegiances lie only with ourselves!” Pushing forwards, August clashed blades once more with his foe. The weapons of both combatants let out a shrill sound when they collided, magically empowered as they were with the powers of the moon and of the wind. “It’s not that I have anything to gain, Tristan. It’s that I have nothing to lose. Our masters may have fallen, but I will not forget the harm you did under Kaylock’s command!” Memories flashed before Tristan, the Battle of Squall’s End, one of the decisive conflicts between his lord and August’s. Bodies littered the barren fields, the cruel wind of the coast reaching up to put a chill in the bones of those still fighting, hastening the death of those who weren’t. Tristan remembered the acrid smell of flames, cutting off Richmond’s retreat. The flames had spread too fast, catching the entire forest nearby ablaze and threatening to spread to the city. It was never his intent. He was just following orders. Tristan swept his blade in a circular motion, breaking away from the clash and snapping back into the present. He followed the motion with a swift uppercut, which August managed to dodge by throwing his head backwards and using his momentum to go into a backroll. Trading back, August barraged Tristan with a rapid combination of slashes, once more accelerating himself with the swiftness of the wind. Scarlet blood splashed against the flagstones, turning almost black as the sun continued to lower on the horizon. “I can see now you will not listen to reason!” Tristan roared, parrying an attack with such strength behind the blow that August stumbled backwards a step, “This has gone on long enough as it is.” The radiance of Tristan’s sword went from a soft glow to a brilliant shine as he swung, a massive blow obviously predictable in its path and easy to block for someone as swift as August was. He planned to transition a parry into a counterattack, but focused as he was in bracing for the impact of the weapon, August nearly missed the grim look in Tristan’s eye. A solemn resolve, nay, pity from one who is to deliver the final rites to a dying man. Instinct kicked in, and in that split second August slowed the world as much as he could, magic screaming through his veins as it threatened to burst them open. Tristan’s sword never made impact against his parry. Instead, it slipped through the blade as if it had turned ethereal. It took all of August’s speed to dodge enough to avoid a fatal injury, cursing his luck and feeling a rage building in his gut. He knew that the moon-sworn wielded light as their weapon, but August had never thought they were capable of turning their very swords into light to bypass enemy defenses. August retreated with a large burst of air propelling him backwards, his left hand reaching up to grasp the wound. He hadn’t been able to completely dodge the attack, and a large gash had torn itself through the meat of his shoulder, blood soaking deep into the green tunic he wore and dripping onto the grass below. August’s arm burned like fire, but adrenaline dulled the pain to keep him fighting. Tristan swung again, and August knew better now, not bothering to parry and instead evading every attack. His right arm was nearly impossible to use. His longsword was heavy in his hands, and he felt his speed slowly leaving him as his blood continued to flow. “Have you resorted to running now? Will you turn your back on your opponent?” Tristan chased after August with renewed vigor, his unenhanced speed finally starting to gain on August’s. The wounded swordsman ground his teeth, looking over his shoulder at the enemy pursuing him and dodging around walls and buildings to gain a moment to breathe. But instead of losing his enemy within the maze of crumbling stone, August found himself trapped at a dead end. “So this is it?” August concluded, his chin raising in defiance as Tristan stood in the way of his only escape. “Seems to be that way, August” “Then I suppose it wouldn’t be fair to hold back, now would it?” August’s eyes hadn’t lost hope quite yet, and instead burned with the desire to win. Tristan took note of this, hesitating only for a moment before charging, not wanting to give August a chance to enact whatever dire plan he had devised for his final moments. But all August had needed was that one moment. In a wide diagonal swing, he slashed at empty air, a concussive force of wind rocketing from the tip of the blade and colliding with the charging Tristan. A projectile of cutting wind. Cold spread through Tristan's chest as he was hit, and the world fell out of focus as he watched the ground rapidly approach. But Tristan was not done yet either. “Don’t underestimate me!” he raged, refocusing his vision and thrusting his own sword forwards, still two or so yards from August but not entirely out of reach. Pouring out whatever magic he had left in him, Tristan extended the blade of his sword until it pierced August in the stomach, the blade’s light dissipating almost directly after it connected. Both warriors hit the ground, the warmth beginning to leave their bodies in the dirt of that passage. Through half-closed eyelids, Tristan looked up at August, collapsed onto his knees with head bowed in what looked almost like prayer. He was too weak now to clutch his own wounds. Tristan still didn’t know why he had accepted August’s challenge. Perhaps it was to atone, to apologize for the decision he’d made all those years ago. In the end, it was some backwater noble who claimed the throne, and both Kaylock and Richmond had fallen ill due to a plague. Maybe Tristan had hoped to salvage what little remained of their honest rivalry, something that had started with a training match when they were both greenhorns at the academy. August’s swordplay had been awful, but wind magic gave him enough of an edge to compete with Tristan, the top of the class. August was treated like a prodigy back then, being naturally wind-sworn at such a young age. He was always stealing Tristan’s thunder, racing him everywhere and always trying to be first place, even for the most pointless of things. “The end, huh?” Tristan remarked, his teeth clenched in a grimace, “You may be right.” But August was already beyond hearing, and Tristan was soon to follow.


The first time I saw myself I screamed so loud the mirror shattered. Death had turned me into its personal jack-o-lantern, carving until there was nothing left. My pale, white skin rotten to the bone. My hair limp against my face, dirty and matted like some kinda eldritch terror. This was me now; trapped in five feet and 4 inches of decomposing flesh. Missing all the things that once made me so beautiful. So happy. I was stuck on the outside of my own life, watching someone else live it. Like peering through a two-way mirror, no one the wiser. I thought something would be different when I was gone. But everything was the same. The world just kept on turning. Apate, as she called herself, looked like me now—the real me. She stood in *my* place, in *my* body, smiling, with her arm draped around *my* father. She was taking up *my* space, with *my* family, sucking up *my* air. Like she belonged there. Like she always belonged there. The perfect daughter. Cameras snapped and laughter rang out as I watched this cherished moment carry on without me. My father nodding at the not-me, his eyes filled with pride. My mother standing beside him, wondering where the years went. My sister stealing glances from the couch, pretending to be unimpressed. And the not-me, eating it up, and basking in her winnings. Another deal with another stupid human, wanting something they didn’t have—or deserve. Most people weren’t greedy enough to summon evil to their doorstep to get it. And most didn’t have to pay for their mistakes with their lives. Or their families. When the front door opened, a wave of relief washed over me. Even if my own family hadn’t noticed, Terry would, surely. Maybe it would be the slight hiss in Apate’s voice. The careless clomp of her feet. The black void in her eyes. Or the way she stood just a little too close. He’d see right through her. “You look beautiful today,” Terry said, his lips brushing her cheek. “Y’think?” She twirled around in the dress my mother had hand-stitched for me. “I’m not sure it’s my color.” This was the moment he’d know. I’d picked this fabric specifically for its lavender color. He ran a finger through her hair—hair that wasn’t even the right shade. “Of course. You just like to hear me say that.” “I guess I do.” Apate giggled, waving her hand. Then she turned to me and winked. My skin crawled. The anger rose within me like a raging fire, begging to be fed. That hiss. How could they not hear it? And I never did that with my hand. But they all just stood there like puppets. Gawking at the monster wearing *my* dress. Going to *my* Homecoming with *my* boyfriend. *Living **my** fucking life.* And no one noticed. I screamed and cried until I hit the floor. I was ready to let the void swallow me up, forever. Then I saw it. The faint flicker. A flash of the not-me’s true form. Her own eye sockets were empty, carved out like a pumpkin. Black hair swimming atop her head, tentacles with sharp yellow eyes and razor tongues. Skin and bone protruding through peeling flesh. The putrid smell of rot seeping into the air. Apate froze, trying so hard to hide her panic. My emotions were draining her power. I wailed like a banshee in the night. The anger surging within me descended upon her like dancing red flames. Each one alive and hungry, ready to devour. I let it all out; the regret, the sadness, the despair. The fear that I’d never again know my father’s pride or my mother’s love, or see my sister’s stolen glances. Or feel my boyfriend’s fingers brush the side of my face. My feelings took on a life of their own. I screamed and yelled; I banged against the invisible boundary that separated me from them. “You can’t have my life!” I said, my voice hoarse. The wall between us fell. The surge of energy hit me and I fell to my knees before my terrified family. Eyes darted between me and the not-me, who stood in her ugly truth, naked and raw. For a few moments, Apate and I stared into one another. The room fell away and it was just us. Two very different versions of the same thing. The same *person*. A before and after image. “You think you’re a clever girl,” she said. “No, I don’t. I just want my life back.” Silence fell upon us. Apate’s empty eyes filled with sadness as her gaze fell to the floor. The creature who was once so tough and powerful, now stood before me, limp and defeated. Her imposing form was nothing but another mask. “You don’t deserve them,” she said. “What? They are *my* family… you… you tricked me!” “Yes.” “Yes? That’s all you have to say? You tried to steal my… my life!” “I tricked you and I broke the deal. I just—I wanted to—” Her voice trailed off, but I understood. I understood all the things she could not say. Her despair, her loneliness, her broken spirit. The pain she’d carried for so long. She wanted what I wanted: to be seen, heard, loved. Deeply and truly. We weren’t so different in the end. Apate stepped forward. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt… real love. But you, you have everything. And live as if it is nothing. As if you deserve something better. You only cared once I took it from you.” Her words were like daggers, slicing straight into my soul. “That’s not true.” But it was, mostly. I loved my family, I did. But despite having everything I ever needed, I felt so alone. Alone in a crowded room. Like I was watching everything happen from a distance. “I would give anything to have what you do. You only had a taste of what I have felt for over a thousand years.” She continued to tell me her story, from the family she never had, to the hardships she endured, all the way to the curse the Gods had placed on her. And her years spent in dark solitude, watching the world go by, but powerless to interact with it. Longing to feel something—anything—that wasn’t painful. “Why did they curse you?” I asked. She thought for a moment, eyeing me carefully. “I trusted someone I shouldn’t have. I wanted more than I had.” Just like me. The longer we talked, the more I understood, and the closer we became. Two women trying to find love, trying to find their place in the world. She never did tell me the specifics of why she was cursed; she kept that secret close and guarded it carefully. But that was okay, I understood that. She had given me so much in the end. The greatest gifts one could ask for; the ones I truly needed. My family. Love. *Myself*. Even friendship. So, I gave her a gift in return. But there was only one thing she wanted. Now, once a year, on the eve of Halloween, Apate walks the Earth again, in my body. She wears my face and uses my voice. For twenty-four hours, she lives my life. We’ve been doing this for five years. No one has noticed—which has been no surprise. But something was different this last time. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I don’t completely feel like myself. There’s a darkness hanging over me, an unfamiliarity in my movements. Like maybe—just maybe—this body isn’t mine. And maybe I’ve been tricked once again. *** *** - Thanks so much for reading! This was an rewrite and extended version of a piece I wrote for r/WritingPrompts on Theme Thursday: Punishment. - Feedback is welcome.


Old fishermen rowed their boats along the quiet banks of the river; which ran through the center of the small village, giving life to the rocky valley. The northern mountain hovered over the quaint village, protecting it from the outside world. Large pines resided along the edge of the rocky mountain, covering the small river and the town along it. A child, his feet bare and muddy, walked along the river watching the fishermen pull in the small fish by net. He soaked in the little sunlight peering through the shady trees, his toes feeling the earth beneath him connecting him with it. He felt the mountain speaking to him, whispering the secrets of the world. His mind filled with the stories of people who he will never meet. The river treaded along beside the curious boy, until, the mountain became silent. The child’s head only filled with the soft touch of flowing water on his ankles. The boy stopped his morning routine and stood still, waiting for another story, even a simple whisper to come. He decided to walk up the bank of the river to the dirt path, few people were out on the streets that morning. It was early, the sun just rose a while before, and the fishermen had just set along for their day. The child sauntered toward the northern mountain hoping for a quiet word from the earth beneath him. The village began to fall behind him as he trudged toward the mountain and out of the town. He walked beside old pastures with rolling hills, that begin to be planted along the mountain edge. The child stopped at the mountains path and listened. He only felt soft wind in the air. The boy began to climb the rocky terrain, his feet blistering from the hot stones on the path. He pushed forward to find something, the boy hadn’t a clue what he was looking for exactly, just something he could call an answer. The boy by noon day stopped at a ledge on the mountain. He could see his entire village, tiny in comparison to the mountain he stood on. He sat to cool his feet, overlooking the town below him. He thought of the mysteries that may hide in the world outside of his small town. “You’re quite young to be a traveler.” A voice from behind startled the boy, he turned and saw an old monk walking from the forest. The boy didn’t say anything, he was surprised to see someone as old as the man was on the mountain. The monk sat beside the young child, his robe green as the pine needles, and brown lace like the earth. The two sat silent for a few minutes, the child could see the monk breathing slowly, taking in the scents of the mountain. “I was surprised you were able to hear me,” said the old monk, the boy wasn’t too surprised. “My voice is soft, and my old age seems to have an effect on it, my words seem to trail off with the wind sometimes.” The child looked back at the village below, he just wanted something to listen to at the moment. “I used to live in the town, I would listen to the fishermen row with the river, and the laughter of the people was beautiful. I would love to just sit back and listen, taking in what I could, the melodies of the town I once knew.” The monk reminisced in gleeful nostalgia. The child was quite jealous, he wished he could hear the town as the old monk. The village seemed quiet to the boy, not much laughter and smiles anymore. “I know the town has become quite silent over the past years. Old traditions become tiresome; the people get caught up in their daily lives until the only sound left is the mountain whispering her secrets.” The monk preached, the boy looked at the old man, happy that the monk heard the mountain too, nobody he knew could hear the mountain. Although the man did surprise the boy, he seemed mysterious and quite obviously was a powerful saint. “Though you know what doesn’t seem to ever change?” the monk asked. “the mountains beauty, it always is a sight to be seen.” The boy looked up, realizing he had been missing the grand picture all along. There was always something to be found in the quiet. The beauty shines through the mountain even when the times change. When the town is silent the mountain is still there to protect us and show the beauty of life that’s worth living. “I can tell you’ve found your answer young child,” the monk said turning to the boy, the child now realizing the monk was blind in both eyes. “Remember, even when there is nothing to hear, there is always something to see, even when you’re as blind as me, or as deaf as you my boy.” The boy stood and signed his ‘thank you’ to the wise old monk, realizing he was the one whispering the mountain’s old stories to him. The child began his trek back to his village, ready to find its silent beauty again.


Back at the house, Madeline found herself replaying the conversation with Billie over and over. Reclining on the sofa in the small, cluttered living room, she thought through every expression, every word, every hesitation, analysing them all. Though she was glad to have an ally, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d shared too much too soon. Perhaps her time with Liam had made her soft. The clattering of the letterbox startled her from her thoughts, sweat pricking at her skin. She was halfway to her feet on reflex before the conscious part of her brain reminded her that she was expecting this. With a deep breath, she tried to calm herself, forcing coiled muscles to release their stored tension and waiting for her heart to stop thumping against her ribs. Taking the time to move quietly and carefully, she made her way to the front door. A scrap of white paper waited for her there, staring up in stark contrast to the dark, drab doormat. She quickly scooped it up to read the scribbles that covered it: a grid reference and a time. After hurrying to consult her map, she found it led her to a church a few miles away. The time was shortly after dawn. Her only recently calmed heart started racing again at the thought of the meeting. There was still so much she was uncertain of — so much to figure out about her new ally. Soon she would get her chance. Until then, she should make sure to eat and rest. She had to be on her top form. The evening passed slowly, and the night even more so. She spent the time playing out different scenarios for the morning meeting until she finally fell asleep. Then, the same scenes infiltrated her dreams. She watched herself ambushed, attacked, welcomed, embraced. Hundreds of possibilities flicked behind her closed eyelids as she slept fitfully. When dawn came, she was ready and waiting by the door. As soon as the first rays of the sun crept over the horizon, she set off. A brisk wind chased her through the streets, blowing away the sluggishness of a restless night. As she walked, the sun crept higher, bringing with it the pale pastels of a new day. By the time the sky had faded to blue, she was almost at her destination. After a quick circuit of the block, Madeline approached the church. The majority of the stained glass windows remained surprisingly intact. Perhaps, even in this world, people still somehow felt bad about vandalising a place of worship. The heavy wooden door at the front stood enticingly ajar. But she knew better than to use the obvious entrance — especially for a meeting with a relative stranger. Keeping her head swivelling from side to side, she crept around the edge of the building. There were two smaller entrances — one on either side — but both were locked. That just left the rear of the building, where the graveyard was situated. There, overgrown grass blossomed with weeds and wildflowers alike. In some places it was so long it looked ready to engulf the headstones and markers that littered the ground. Turning back to the wall, Madeline found one final doorway. Though it was shut, all it took was a firm push for it to creak open. Wincing at the sound, Madeline stepped through. Inside, she found an array of gardening tools, clearly unused for a long while. Rusted shears lay next to trowels and watering cans in an organised mess, while a muddy shovel, rake, and stepladder stood, propped up against the wall. Amidst it all stood a pair of wellington boots, encrusted with dirt from their last outing, never to be worn again. Madeline carefully crept past, lifting each foot over the items to place on what little of the floor remained clear. Once she was past the assortment of equipment, she picked up the pace a little down the stone corridor, checking the rooms as she went. When she peeked out into the main section of the church, she saw Billie waiting in the pews. Their eyes locked onto her from where they sat, leant back with legs crossed and a lazy smile fixed on their face. “Don’t worry, I can wait,” they called over. “You finish scoping the place if it’ll make you feel better.” Suppressing a sigh, Madeline tried to ignore the heat rushing to her face. Regardless, she wasn’t going to let herself be embarrassed into making a mistake. She continued searching the rest of the building, though not making as much effort to be stealthy. When she was done, she returned to where Billie waited. “All done?” they asked. “Satisfied this isn’t a trap?” “Not entirely,” Madeline replied. She narrowed her eyes in exaggerated suspicion, making Billie guffaw with laughter. “You should be more trusting. I think we both know I’ve had ample opportunity to kill or rob you, and have I?” “I like to think I’d have been able to stop you,” she replied with a nervous chuckle, before turning more serious. “But trust doesn’t come easily to me these days. And nor should it.” “I suppose you’re right,” Billie sighed. “I just wish you weren’t.” The two of them remained silent for a moment, contemplating what their lives had become. It was Billie that broke the stillness, standing to stride across the aisle. Madeline couldn’t help but flinch at the sudden movement. They glanced back at her. “Come on, I’ve laid out some stuff in the vestry.” Taking a deep breath to soothe her nerves, she followed. In the other room, strange robes lined the walls, hanging from metal railings. But what really interested Madeline was what covered the floor. A map was laid out, similar to her own, with all manner of locations marked and further notes scribbled on sheets of paper. She glanced over at Billie. “When did you do all this?” “The planning? I’ve been doing it since I lost my… friends. Laying it all out like this…” They gestured to the covered floor. “I did that before you arrived.” “Did you sleep here? Or travel at night?” “Neither,” Billie laughed. “I just move fast is all. I was eager to be here.” Madeline *hmphed* to herself, wondering how her companion could have possibly beaten her here by that much. It wasn’t like she’d slept in — or dawdled. Pushing the question from her thoughts, for now, she surveyed the maps and notes. Until something pulled at the back of her mind. “So, friends?” she asked. “What about them?” If Madeline had been a little less suspicious, perhaps they’d have gotten away with the forced nonchalance in their voice. But after over-analysing every inch of their conversation yesterday, she wasn’t going to let it slide. “I told you who I was looking for. It only seems fair that you do the same. Otherwise, how will I know if I find them?” Billie remained frozen, micro-expressions flicking across their face betraying an otherwise calm exterior. Madeline watched on silently. When she was satisfied that she’d made them squirm enough, she interrupted their internal struggle. “Look, you don’t have to tell me yet. Clearly, it makes you uncomfortable. Just remember, trust goes both ways.” Billie nodded. “Thanks. It’s just… not everything is mine to tell. Something I can say though, while I was with a group, I’m really only looking for one person.” “Oh? And who’s that?” “My brother.” A faraway look entered their eyes as they glanced down at the floor. “Older or younger?” “Older, but not by much. His name’s Joe, and he looks similar to me, only around twice the height.” A smile curled at their lips, perhaps at some remembered joke or taunt. “Just like you and your kid, we separated to escape the Poiloogs. We had a prearranged meeting location and time all worked out. But he wasn’t there.” Madeline reached out to squeeze their shoulder, before thinking better of it and letting her hand drop. “I’m sorry. Losing family that’s… I can only imagine.” Billie shot them a strange look. “What do you mean you can only imagine?” “Well, I suppose I lost family at the beginning of all this. Or I just never found them. But that was a long time ago and—” “No, I mean Liam. Strikes me that we’re pretty much in the same boat.” “Oh, I see,” Madeline said, her cheeks flushed. “Liam isn’t my son. Or brother. He’s just… I just found him.” “So you found a strange child, took him with you, and looked after and cared for him?” “Yeah,” Madeline replied lamely. Billie shrugged. “Sounds like family to me.” Before she could stop it, a giggle bubbled up from inside her. Then another. And another. Shaking her head at her own stupidity, she gasped for breath between the laughter. Of course, Liam was family. Her only family. What else could he be? But just as the happy realisation sank in, so too did the loss of him. As the laughter wracking her body turned to sobs, she felt two familiar arms wrap around her.


#Welcome to Roundtable Thursday! Writing is so much fun, but it can also be very challenging. Luckily, there are so many other writers out there going through the exact same things! We all have unique skills and areas in which we excel, as well as places we’d like to improve. So I’d like to present a brand new weekly feature. This will be a weekly thread to discuss all things writing! And… to get to know your fellow writers a bit! Each week I will provide a topic and/or a few questions to spark discussion. Feel free to chime into the discussion in the comments, talk about your experiences, ask related questions, etc. You do not have to answer all the questions, but try to stay on-topic! *** #This Week’s Roundtable Discussion If your characters are dull and unrealistic a brilliant plot alone won’t hold your readers attention. - So, how do you develop interesting characters that your readers are going to want to stick with till the end? *New to r/ShortStories or joining in the Discussion for the first time? Introduce yourself in the comments! What do you like to write? *You don't have to answer all the questions to join in the chat! #Reminders - **Use the comments below to answer the questions and reply to others’ comments.** - **Please be civil in all your responses and discussion.** There are writers of all levels and skills here and we’re all in different places of our writing journey. Uncivil comments/discussion in any form will not be tolerated. - **Please try to stay on-topic.** If you have suggestions for future questions and topics, you can add them to the stickied comment or send them to me via DM or modmail! *** ###Subreddit News and Happenings - Come practice your micro skills on or experiment with long-form writing on - You can also post serials directly to the sub! Check out for more information.


Silence. For a brief moment all was still. Darkness had enveloped the ship. The instruments of the bridge, all the lights and panels, had gone black. The only sound to be heard was the ragged breathing of its occupants. The alarms had shut off after the jump. The red emergency lighting kicked in. The crimson light washed over the machinery, giving everything a bloody cast. The panels began to flicker, their light adding to the rooms. A pale pink glow covered the walls. No faces were seen. "Is everyone okay?" Captain Benjamin Slater asked. Standing from his chair at the center of the bridge. A smattering of groans met his ears. He agreed with the sentiment; that jump had not been smooth. Still he had no time to be uncomfortable. "Sound off," he continued. "Dr. Rodgen?" "I'm fine," she called from behind her station. "Peter?" "Alive." "Alex?" "Present." "Rowan?" No answer, a moment passed. "Rowan Wright!" A whimper came from the floor next to the engineer's console. "Rowan!" Dr. Rodgen screamed. Scrambling to her feet, she lurched to the fallen man. She was joined by the others. Under the emergency lights of the bridge the convinced. Rowan was on the ground blinking. There was a gash on his head, the only sign he was bleeding was a faint wetness spreading across his face. The blood disappeared in the red glow. "I'm okay," he slurred. "Just give me a hand." He reached a shaky hand upward. Peter took and helped him slowly to his feet. He wobbled on rickety legs even with the helping hand of the Physics specialist. "Let me check the ship," he added. "If the engine..." "No," the Captain cut him off. "Peter take him to the med-bay. Have Dr. Amaterasu check him over, and check on her as well. If she is injured we will be in big trouble." "Got it," Peter put a shoulder under Rowan's arm and started off. Luckily the door opened as they left. The door and the panels indicated to Benjamin that they still had power. "Alex," he said after they had gone. "Are the ship's scanners still up?" The navigator returned to his station. After a few frantic button presses he looked up. "Yes, scanners are still active." "Check the comms then confirm our destination. I don't want to be lost in space. "Both internal and external communications are still active," Alex responded after another moment. "I will need longer for our location." "Let me know when you have it." Dr. Rodgen had worked her way over to Alex. She immediately set to work next to him. That left Captain Slater to check on the rest of the crew. Sitting back in his chair he contacted his lieutenant. Picking up the intercom he clicked it to life. "Ellis, how are the men?" he asked into the speaker. "Bruised," the static voice of his second in command came through a moment later. "Rodrigez asks if we can go again." A chuckle came to his lips unbidden. "One way ride I am afraid. Rowan is injured, send Hopkins up to help the Doctor if he is able." "Ten four." The comms went off. He then contacted med-bay. "Peter, is everything good?" Seconds ticked by. They seemed to stretch on. The sound of fingers working on their location was frustrating him. Just as he was about to get up and go back to check the intercom spoke. "Yes," Peter's voice came through. "Doc says he is fine, just needs rest." "Good, I'm sending Hopkins up to assist." "Got it. Know where we are yet?" "No, I'll let everyone know as soon as I do." "Okay, how is..." He set the handset down and ignored it; more questions were not what were needed at the moment. Focus, that is what he needed to do. What was their next step? They were alive. That was the important part. The damage to the ship couldn't be assessed in full until Rowan was back on his feet. Dr. Rodgen could look over the system and check if something was off, but Rowan was the engineer. It would take him to figure out just how screwed they were. "Dr. Rodgen," he called. He waited for her to turn. "I need you at your station. Check over the rest of the ship for us." Her expression wasn't entirely pleased, but she did as she was told. She left Alex and returned to her console. "Critical systems first please," he asked as politely as possible. She gave a nod and started working. He held back a shake of his head. It was difficult to tell what was going on in that woman's head. She always seemed eager to work; just not on whatever he suggested. A problem for another day, now he needed to keep everyone safe. His fingers twitched towards the com again. He itched to check on Rowan's status, but he wouldn't. News would come when it came. Trying to rush people would only lead to more mistakes, and more problems. It was best for him to do his job and leave everyone to manage theirs. Still, he couldn't stop himself from taping a finger on his knee in impatience. "Life support, both heating and oxygen regeneration, operational. Food storage and synthesization are both working. Alex already told you the comms are up," she finally answered. "I will go back to..." "No," he cut her off. "Check the thrusters and the engine next. Go over everything." She pursed her lips and gave him a mild glare. She did however go back to work. Although her button presses and movements seemed to be a little more forceful than necessary. He ignored it; his mind moving on to other things. So they were not going to suffocate, freeze, or die of dehydration or malnutrition. That was good news. Maybe, just maybe, they would get out of this unscathed save for Rowan's forehead. "Thrusters are up. The engine is unresponsive though," Dr. Rodgen said slowly, all traces of her annoyance gone. "And there is a problem with the power system. I know we are running on the back up, but I can't tell why." His heart sank. That was not good news. Doing his best to keep his face passive he tried to think positive. It could be worse. Back up power should last a good long while. They could travel short distances. They might be able to use the star, white dwarf or not, for some solar power. Hopefully there would be some decent planets or moons in this system to mine. If not they wouldn't be leaving. He pushed that thought from his head. Positive, he reminded himself. "I am going to go help Alex..." she started once again. "Got a location Captain," Alex called. Both immediately turned towards the Navigator. "We are not where I tried to take us," he admitted. "But we are not far off, a few light years away. We are in the orbit of an old star, a white dwarf actually. It has a few planets in orbit around it, only one of them is rocky. "That is good!" Dr. Rodgen smiled. "We should be able to mine materials if we need them." "That is good," Captain Slater agreed. "Can you maneuver us to that rocky planet? Also, see if it has a safe landing area." "Yes Sir!" Alex saluted before turning back to his console. "I'll steer," she offered, immediately taking control of the system from her station. They had a location. He returned to the comms. "Lieutenant. We have a location. We might be landing. Tell the men to prep in case they are needed. You return to the bridge." "Yes Sir," came the prompt reply. He then swapped to the med-bay. "Peter," he asked into the microphone. Another delay, shorter than the previous one, but still present. "Yes Captain, do we know where we are?" Peter's voice came crackling through the speaker. "We do. How is Rowan, is he on his feet yet?" "Doc says he should rest more, Hop isn't arguing." "Let him rest then," he sighed internally. It would be easier with Rowan, but they would make do. "Get back to the bridge, I'll get you up to speed here. Tell Hopkins and the Doctor to stay there and that we might be landing somewhere soon." "Landing?" "I'll tell you when you get here. Tell them, then get up here." "Will do." The com went dead, and with that he was back to looking out the window. The ship had turned. A small but bright light had come into view, the burnt out star he guessed. However the ship didn't turn anymore. He scanned the view for their planet. Looking closely, he found a void in the stars. Now that he had it's basic location, the vague round outline of the planet came into view. Lit just enough by the old sun that you could make out the fuzzy edge. The door to the bridge slid open. The Lieutenant stepped in, walking straight for the Captain's side. He stood still next to the chair, his eyes fixed out the window. "How are things Sir?" he asked quietly. "Not great," he responded just as softly. "Not too bad either. Remember that training mission around the moon?" "Yes Sir," his voice had gone tense. "A little better than that." "That's not what I would call good Sir." "No, but we survived." "Earth was only a few hours away." "Let's hope our new planet is just as helpful then," the Captain nodded his head out the viewport. As they approached the outline of the planet was taking shape. Instead of just a fuzzy line on the side facing the star, it had now become a distinct shape among the stars. The faint glow from the white dwarf casting just enough light to make out its silhouette. The surface appeared rocky, but any fine detail was lost at this distance. Through the anxiety that filled him, a sense of excitement grew. Exploration was the primary reason he had taken this job. All the hardships and responsibilities that came with it were made worthwhile to be the first of their kind to travel the universe; to be the first human to go, bold he would say, where no other had gone before. That was the drive, the passion, that pushed him forward. Even after finding no viable worlds for humanity to land on, nor any other forms of life, the thrill had not diminished. He wanted to seek out other worlds. The door behind him opened once more, pulling him out of his momentary lapse of focus. Peter stepped in and looked out the window. "Our destination I presume," it wasn't a question. His face was tight, the unease that was gripping the crew members was clear. "Yes," the Captain answered, keeping any sense of fear off of his face and out of his tone. "Good call. When Rowan gets back on his feet we can see what materials the planet has to offer." "Go to your station," the Lieutenant suggested. "We are not out of danger yet." "Don't be so harsh," Captain Slater whispered after Peter had done as bid. "They are not military; I also promised him a briefing." "They are asking useless questions and making obvious statements." "They are scared. Stop this behavior," he responded firmly. "Yes Sir." "The planet is odd," Alex called out over the room before any other words could be exchanged. "It is roughly the same size as earth, but it's almost twice as dense. We would not enjoy our time there." "That density suggests metallic elements though," Dr. Rodgen said. "We should be able to find something of use." "It would need to have almost no gasses in its surface to make it that dense," Peter added. "Could be hard to mine if it has no atmosphere. "It has an atmosphere," Alex responded. "and it's primarily oxygen, almost fifty percent in fact." "That's wonderful." She exclaimed. "We could breathe there." "Is there a possible landing zone," the Captain inquired through the back and forth. "I will have to do a more in-depth scan," Alex said. Excitement was overtaking their fear. They may just have found a way out. "Give me a moment." The Captain himself shared the sentiment. They were not out of the woods yet, but they had a clear path forward. They had trained for this. Not this precise situation, but to do emergency repairs on the ship should something damage it. They would just need Rowan. Once he was back on his feet everything would fall into place. Just as that thought was taking place the ship began to shake. All eyes went wide. Every face spun towards the panels in front of them. He tightened his hands down onto the arms of his chair, bracing for whatever was to come. The shaking grew stronger. It was then that he noticed, it wasn't just the hull that was vibrating. The chair under his hands was almost trembling. So was he. Every bit of his skin rippled, and not just his skin. He could feel the muscle underneath quiver from some unknown force. He could feel his bones convulse. Pain radiated through his chest as his organs began to shake inside his chest. It felt like his body wanted to come apart. No sooner had it started then it cut off. He let out a slow breath. Doing his best to calm his aching body. Moans of pain and soft cries filled the air. The Lieutenant had fallen onto his knees next to him. "What happened?" Captain Slater exclaimed, putting as much authority into his voice as he could muster at the moment. "I think I am going to be sick," Dr. Rodgen gagged. "Is the ship coming apart!" he bellowed. That snapped some heads, including that of his Lieutenant, up to face him. "No," she groaned after a moment, forcing herself to look over her console. "Everything is the same." "Alex," he turned to face the navigator. “What happened?” "Nothing I just scanned the..." Alex didn't get to finish. It happened again. Everyone slumped back over. His vision blurred; he could feel his eyes trying to bounce out of his skull. The floor of the ship heaved him to his knees. A scream erupted somewhere in the room. He was going to come apart. It cut off abruptly. The crying was louder now, someone was weeping. "Jesus," Peter panted from behind him. "It can't be." He turned as fast as his body would let him. "What?" "It's gravity waves," the Physicist wiped his eyes, pointing to his screen. "I was running tests after the first attack. It's gravity waves." "You said attack?" "It's coming from the planet," he pointed out the window. All eyes were glued to the faintly outlined sphere sitting innocuously out the viewport. "Why didn't you notice this when we jumped in," the Lieutenant asked, angry. "They weren't there," Dr. Rodgen snapped back. "That means what?" Before an answer came the waves struck again. The metal of the ship joined the crew in its screaming. Their bodies convulsed uncontrollably. "Stop the ship," the Captain wheezed from his knees. "I know it hurts, but do it now. If we get hit by another we are dead. Alex send the distress signal." Trembling hands moved to obey. The planet stopped getting bigger in the window. They waited, and waited. Seconds turned into minutes as they feared another attack. It didn't come. No more gravity waves struck them. All was silent. “Why did they stop?” Peter asked, gingerly turning back to his console. "It was a response to us," the Captain said slowly. "What? How could we cause...That!" the Doctor asked, incredulous. "That planet is inhabited..." he whispered. Once again every eye looked out the window. "It has to be. Send the care package Alex," Captain Slater commanded, absolutely positive in his assumption. "We just found life.


She woke up before her alarm and after not enough sleep. Years of routine had conditioned her to be up and out of bed, dressed and ready for work before her brain even consciously engaged. She functioned on an autopilot born from long experience and repetition. Recently that autopilot seemed to be breaking down. Everything felt difficult, slower, more painful. Things she had done without thought or hesitation for years were now challenges. She got out of bed reluctantly. At least this time she remembered her injured leg. Or at least lack of leg. She had been using the prosthetic for two months and was gradually getting used to it. She looked at herself in the mirror. A scarred tired looking woman approaching middle age, her short messy dark hair had some grey in it. Her olive skin looked rough and dry. She was fit and well muscled although she had gained some weight lately. She smiled sourly at that thought. She'd lost weight too. A legs worth. She wasn't the type for introspection or self pity but she was starting to think that might change. She had nightmares about the words 'Medical Discharge'. If she was booted from the agency she didn't know what she would do. It wasn't as if she loved her job but she had been doing it so long she had no idea what else there was. It wasn't just the leg injury. Having your leg bitten off by an angry land octopus was bad but hardly her first line of duty injury. She had been the sole survivor of her team on three occasions. That was an agency record. People didn't want to work with her anymore. She was bad luck, bad for morale. Rumour had it that Jurado no longer bothered learning her team mate's names. The truth was she had never bothered. She was an experienced if unremarkable operative for the agency. Her skills would not be hard to replace and her recent Injuries and failed psychological assessments meant she was a prime candidate for discharge and everyone knew it. Her salvation came in the form of budget cuts and the new prisoner. The agency didn't have the budget to train many new recruits, they didn't have the numbers to waste field agents on admin duties and right now they had a job no one wanted. The agency had captured a bio mech queen after managing to down a hive ship. The queen, six feet of hissing cadaverous cyborg zombie nightmare, had surprised everyone by being a model prisoner. She was cooperative to the extent of actually being helpful. Everyone was suspicious but so far the information provided had been accurate and useful. Despite the queens surprisingly friendly demeanour she provoked instinctive horror and revulsion in most humans. The agency scientists said it was a mix of pheremones and psychic backwash. Agency commander Carter thought it was because the bio mech were just creepy AF. The creatures used people as food and spare parts. Just being near one felt like being naked in a room full of scorpions. Even the agency scientists who were desperate to learn more about the biomechs were reluctant to be near her. Although the agency successfully concealed the biomechs existance from the general population a few ex agency staff had gone to work for Hollywood using thinly disguised Biomechs in scripts for sci fi shows giving the creatures a ridiculous swedish sounding name and silly catchphrases. It had the helpful effect of making occasional public sightings be written off as overenthusiastic cosplay. Royalties from the TV shows also boosted agency funding. New agency recruits were often disappointed at how derivative the biomechs seemed compared to their well known fictional cousins. Indeed over exposure in fictional media made the whole concept of the agency seem cliched. It was excellent cover. Carter's problem was that the prisoner engendered such revulsion that even the most level headed agent had to fight the instinct to pull the trigger on her. The biomech queen was a hugely useful intelligence resource, too valuable to lose but she needed a handler, a combination of liason, guard and bodyguard. Jurado was the only member of the team who was seemingly unaffected by the queens aura. There were a number of unflattering suggestions why this might be. Jurado needed a job. Carter needed somewhere to put the unpopular injured agent. It was perfect. Carter got the base doctor Kelly to certify, under protest, that Jurado was fit for light duty. Since then Jurado had spent the last two months in close proximity to the biomech. She escorted the alien to and from briefings and medical appointments. She sat by her cell in case any overzealous agent came looking for payback for the many who the biomechs had consumed. The Queen went by the name Elsa. She didn't actually have a name just a designation but after her capture her armour had been confiscated and someone had given her a Frozen T shirt to wear as a joke. The name had stuck. The Queen didn't seem to mind. Carter had hoped it might make the six foot super strong flesh eating killing machine seem less intimidating. It did not. Elsa seemed to react well to Jurado's company. The biomech were a hive species and she seemed to like having a new drone. Jurado was also enjoying the light duties. Because of her injury Jurado spent most of her guard duty in a folding chair seated well out of arms reach of the cell. She tended to fall asleep. On one occasion she was awoken by Elsa throwing a book at her to alert her that Commander Carter was about to walk in. After that Jurado began bringing her laptop and setting it up outside Elsa's cell so they could watch TV. They were currently watching 'Gilmore Girls'. It baffled the base psychologist Dr Kelly. It baffled Jurado too. She actually began looking forwards to the long night shifts spent watching TV with Elsa. Biomechs didn't sleep. Staying awake all night with Elsa actually helped Jurado sleep when she returned to her quarters. No more insomnia and fitful day napping. Jurado started visiting Elsa when she wasn't on duty. The guards thought it was weird but were more than happy for Jurado to relieve them. Jurado wasn't the curious type but out of boredom one evening she asked why Elsa was being so cooperative with the agency. She certainly did not seem scared of her captors. Elsa had laughed her wet hissing laugh. "I spent 2000 years as hive queen making every decision for my drones. My people do not have the concept of a day off." "This is a holiday for you?" "This is retirement for me." "But you are helping your enemies." "Ha! Humans are barely enemies. You are lunch and spare parts! No offence. My biggest threat was always rival hives. No, I'm happy here." Elsa stretched and not for the first time Jurado found her gaze pulled to the way the aliens powerful body arched against her thin shirt and drawstring pants. She even liked Elsa's pervasive warm bleach odour. She reached into the tub of popcorn she had wedged between the cell bars and her hand brushed Elsa's smooth grey claw. She found she was in no hurry to move her hand away and instead left it resting in casual contact with the biomech. Not acknowledging it. Not thinking about it. Definitely not holding hands. Jurado's sex life had been a matter of conjecture on base for some time. She'd never been seen to hook up with anyone. Don't ask, don't tell really don't want to think about it was the general consensus. The reality was Jurado had never been that interested in sex and losing her leg had not helped. So she was surprised to find herself having intimate thoughts about Elsa. It was actually nice to realise she could still feel that way even though the cause was a little offputting. She had seen Elsa naked at medical check ups and that image of mottled grey white flesh and dull grey implanted cybernetics haunted her in a very different way to how it haunted the medical staff. People noticed Jurados closeness with the prisoner earning her the knickname of 'Elsas girlfriend.'. Valentine's day some joker left a card by Elsa's cell. "So they believe we are romantically involved?" Asked Elsa. "No it's just a joke. Obviously they don't really think we're an item." "Why not? You are quite attractive for a human." Elsa reached between the cell bars and ran a finger down Jurado's bare forearm where her fatigue shirt sleeve was rolled up. Jurado kept very still. "Bio mechs reproduce asexually." Said Jurado hesitantly. "I was not suggesting we try to reproduce. " Elsa smiled thin grey lips peeling back over ceramic fangs. Jurado quickly changed the subject. Jurado had regular medical check ups with Dr Kelly to ensure prolonged exposure to the Biomech wasn't affecting her. "Is it possible she could be influencing me? " Jurado asked reluctantly during her check up. "Influencing you? To do what?" " They've got psychic powers right? It's how the hive communicates. Could Elsa be controlling me?" "Unlikely. Elsa's influence is limited to Biomech drones and anyway that part of her brain was damaged in the crash. I doubt she could even influence a drone to get her coffee right now let alone a human." "Right..sure.." "Why do you ask? Has she tried to get you to do something?" "Uhhh...not exactly..I..uhh" Jurado was too old and too mean to feel this embarrassed but she was also a professional. If there was even a chance she was compromised the doctor needed to know. "I've been having romantic thoughts about her." She blurted. "I thought that was just base gossip. Is it true you do it in the showers?!' "No!..well not with Elsa...look I just need to know if she is controlling me." Jurado spent the rest of the day undergoing medical tests. Elsa was also brought in for testing. The smirk on her face suggested someone had told her why. Jurado reported to Commander Carter. "So all your tests came back negative for alien influence. She's not controlling your mind. Your cholestrol is a little high though. Elsa's tests confirmed she is psychically neutered interesting side effect to that is apparently her sexual instincts are resurfacing." "Oh?" "Jurado, two weeks ago Elsa asked me if I had ordered you to flirt with her. She was concerned I was pressuring you to get close to her.." "Oh." "She was very happy when I said I wasn't." "Oh." Carter rolled her eyes. "Dismissed." Woman her age did not blush Jurado told herself as she went to see Elsa. "Well that was awkward." said Elsa teasingly "Dr Kelly says I must address you as sweetheart now. Or cuddlebunny." "Can we just pretend this did not happen?" "Of course cuddlebunny." A few weeks later Carter and Dr Kelly went to check on the prisoner and found Jurado seated in a folding chair alongside the cell. There was a tub of pop corn wedged between the cell bars where they could both reach it. Jurado was asleep against the bars drooling slightly with her head resting against Elsa's shoulder. The big biomech sat on the other side of the bars watching 'Greys Anatomy." on Jurado's laptop with the sound low. "Asleep on duty?" Whispered Kelly "She's not on duty. I think this is date night." "Kind of cute." "Doc, she's made of people parts." "Aren't we all? " "Honestly I don't care what or who she is made of so long as she keeps giving us information." Jurado woke from her doze and jumped to attention as Kelly and Carter entered. "Relax Liutenant. I just wanted to tell you because of her ongoing cooperation were moving Elsa to guest quarters. Elsa you'll still only have limited access to non classified areas with an ankle monitor and lieutenant Jurado will escort you but I see no reason why you shouldn't have more comfortable quarters. Jurado you can help Elsa settle in." As they departed Kelly looked at Carter "Did you just tell them to get a room?" 'I suppose I did.


With a hoarse grunt, Tom strained against the digging bar. At last, the trunk rolled over. Underneath, the torn limbs of the tree had punctured a pattern in the soil, two holes and a deep slash that leered like a grinning skull. A taste of bile touched the back of his tongue, and he looked away. Clouds as grey and heavy as tombstones stole over the sky, covering the sun. Tom prayed they held a little rain, instead of just thunder. Again and again, he rammed his digging bar under the gnarled trunk of the tree that had busted his fence and let his cows out. Matilda and the kids were out on the range, trying to gather up the herd, while Josie, his eldest, had gone to town for the regular supply run. When the tree refused to budge, Tom threw down the bar in disgust. All around were the paltry spread of his corn fields, reedy green stalks broken only by the long ribbon of dirt that was the path to his homestead. For years he’d been hacking and shifting this hateful spit of land, squeezing out whatever it could yield, which was only enough to break even in the good years, and a money hole in the bad ones. He had to go back to his stash again and again, his heart pounding every time he did. The loot was getting thin. Fourteen years on, and it still made him burn with shame every time he had to touch one of those bills. Maybe when they were all spent he could finally forget the accusing eyes of the body he’d left in the scrub. A skirt of dust rose from the road. It was Josie, running pell-mell. Matilda didn’t like sending the girl into town alone, but she was half tomboy, and she’d inherited Tom’s looks as well as his attitude. So if she wanted to go into town, long as she went with some iron on her hip, he was fine with it. Road agents wouldn’t bother with a single poor farmer, as there was no money in it. Josie ran up like a rabbit being chased by a fox, her pigtails flapping loose from her straw hat. She took such care in keeping them hidden most days. “Pa!” she gasped. “Man in town. Looking for you.” She tried to say more but was too winded for any of it to make sense. He led her over to the trough for a drink. Under her arm was a package, damp with sweat. Wordlessly she thrust it at him. The plain brown paper was sloppily tied with a stained bit of whang leather. Inside was a filthy hat. He thumped it once to dust it, but the dirt clung in the seams. A smell of rot and loam wafted up. Grave dust. A memory sprung to life, hissing and rattling like a snake. He recoiled from the hat, threw it to the ground. The wind blew fiercely, scattering the hat and the package, and the parched stalks of corn shivered. His eyes darted to and fro. The hand at his hip found air instead of leather. It’d been years since he wore his Model 3 daily, but the body never forgets its reaction to danger. He looked at his house, but couldn’t see the familiar beams and windows he himself had set. Instead he saw the empty eyes of a dead man, bled out at the foot of a tree. Those accusing eyes. “What is it, pa?” Josie asked. “Postman said there was a man in town lookin’ for you. Old looking cowboy, done up in Ute leathers.” “Ute?” he gasped. It had been Ute territory, hadn’t it. Right at the edge of Colorado. Sweat poured down his face, cold as the grave. He wiped it off and took his eyes off the horizon long enough to give his daughter a hard stare. “Get the side-by-side.” Josie’s eyes went wide as saucer cups, but she ran to the house to get the big gun. Tom, the wind whispered. There, at the edge of his land. A dark figure. He could imagine a trio of gunshot wounds on its breast. Tom ran inside and slammed the door behind him. The kitchen table was set for dinner - Mathilda must’ve gotten it ready before the fence fiasco. Where the breadbasket should be was the ancient double-barreled shotgun, Josie fumbling shells into the barrels. It was an ornate museum-piece, bought off a German settler headed West who let it go for cheap. Probably forged fifty years ago, to shoot Indians or buffalo. Still shot true, as a coyote discovered last year. Tears left wet trails in the grime on her face. “Pa? What’s going on?” she asked, barely holding down the quaiver in her voice. Tom got his revolver from the tool rack, checked the cylinder. “It’s a bad man I once knew,” Tom said. “But you’re a farmer. You don’t know any bad men,” she said. He wanted to kiss her on the forehead, tell her it was all right. But they’d called him by another name back in his road agent days, that crew of hard-eyed men preying on stagecoaches and passerbys. He’d done things that haunted his thoughts even now, things that filled him with shame. But he’d done it, by god, and taken the whiskey, women and money that had come with a fast life. Their last score had been the stuff of legends: ten-thousand silver dollars off a Wells Fargo wagon, bound for some frontier bank. After Willie Banks and the Dentist had caught their ends, though, it was left to just two men to split the earnings. Just him, and… “Roy Flint,” Tom whispered. The meanest son of a bitch in ten counties. A rattlesnake heart filled with black anger all welled up like crude oil, bursting forth at the slightest tap. Carried a big knife, a machete meant for bushwhacking, and used it to take the limbs off people. Lawmen, whores, bartenders whose tone he didn’t like. Roy had used the knife like some people used conversation. But for whatever reason, Roy’d had a soft spot for Tom. After the Wells Fargo job, when they’d stopped their horses and pulled out the saddle bag full of loot, their gazes had met. Take it all, Tom had thought. Get out. Tom had expected to see the same thought in Roy’s pitiless eyes, but instead there was a hint of surprise. Maybe even the meanest son of a bitch in the world had to feel some shock at betrayal. Those eyes stared after Tom, even after the life left ‘em. Tom couldn’t bear the look, so he covered Roy’s face with his hat, and quit that place, some lonely stand of scrub out on the prairie. A few weeks later he found Matilda, and they found a patch of ex-Indian land open from the Hunter Act, and the rest was a history of toil and frustration. “Roy who?” Josie asked. Snapped back to the present, Tom hushed her and took the side-by-side. Good girl, she’d loaded buckshot in both barrels. He let the shotgun take the lead out the door, his finger shivering on the trigger. At the edge of the packed dirt around the house, right at the footsteps, stood the figure. The wind tore at his rotten clothes, flashes of grey flesh and exposed bone visible. On the face was a rictus smile, straight out of nightmares. Tom yanked the trigger. Two barrels of buckshot cut into the figure, and it slumped over. Tom let out a sharp breath. He lowered the gun as the tension left him, muscle memory popping open the gun and reloading the shells. Then Roy got back up. Reason and pride fled, and Tom ran with them. Slammed the door shut behind him. For a wild moment he considered just bolting out the back. Walsenburg wasn’t far. Josie was there though, hiccuping with terror. She looked at him, sure he could somehow save her, and it felt worse than the flash of cowardice. He remembered Matilda could be back any moment with Anna, Henry and the rest of the little ones in tow. They’d be sheep walking into a wolf’s jaws. “Y-you stay behind me, Josie,” Tom said. He grabbed his buck knife and slipped the Model 3 out of his pocket. “Shoot him if he comes through the back.” There was no sound at the front door, except the howling of the wind and the hiss of parched corn. Tom thought of his family, and mustered up his limp courage. He tore open the front door and threw himself outside, rolling to avoid a shot from the side. The barrels of the shotgun flashed left, right, forward. No Roy. Heart hammering, Tom stood up. A shot rang out from behind. He wheeled. Gray flesh rested over his daughter’s mouth, a rigid hand with black nails digging into her cheek. The Model 3, taken from her, now hung loosely at the intruder’s side. Josie squirmed but that gnarled root of an arm didn’t budge. “Nice place you got here, Tom,” Roy said. Roy’s voice was the sound of rats scrambling against dirt, of wind blowing over a gravestone. “No words for your old pardner?” A dead laugh. “No how’dya do?” Tom forced the words through his clenched throat. “Roy…let her go.” That laugh again. “First tell me something, Tom. Where’s the loot?” Tom took a step forward. Roy squeezed, and Josie shook like a fish on a hook, eyes wide with pain. “No, none of that,” Roy hissed. “Where’s my share, Tom?” “Gone,” he said. “Spent it all.” “Figures. You were shit for brains, Tom Geitz. Never had a head for numbers.” A spider scuttled from the cave of his mouth, disappeared into his empty eye socket. “But I think I’ll take your investment here, Tom.” “No!” he shouted. “Let’s settle it fair. Like the old days.” “With knives? Think you can carve me?” Roy laughed again, and waved Tom outside with the Model 3. “Drop it there.” Tom dropped the shotgun on the porch. The boards creaked as he stepped down into the dirt. Roy put the revolver to Josie’s thigh and fired. Tom moved to rush Roy, but the dead man leveled the pistol at his heart. “Just making sure she doesn’t jackrabbit off while we settle this,” Roy said, over Josie’s cries of pain. His spurs jangled as he descended from the porch. The lamplight of the house was visible through the hole in Roy’s chest. Tom pulled his knife, wondering what in the hell he could do with it. Roy slowly pulled out his machete and tapped his chest. “I’ll let you have the first hit.” An ear-splitting whoop let loose from Tom’s mouth, his heart whipped by fear and anger. He dove at Tom, burying the knife into his skull up to the hilt. Roy laughed and gripped his arm. With a casual swing he sheared through Tom’s left hand, taking it off in a ragged stump. Tom screamed and tried to pull away. The grip of the rotten hand was like iron, biting down so hard blood didn’t flow from the stump. “That’s good. Struggle.” Roy leaned in and put his lips to Tom’s wound. Pain shot up like lightning as rotted teeth chewed on his wounded flesh. “By the devil, you’ll pay me in pain!” Tom wriggled loose and fell to the ground. He tried to crawl away, dirt in his mouth. “I thought we was like brothers, Tom Geitz. Tom Two-Guns. The Terror of Durango.” A bony hand caught his leg. “Feel terrifying now, Tom?” Whack. Tom screamed again. His leg ended at the knee. He pushed feebly against the dirt, trying to gain some futile distance. All he did was churn the bloody mud. Fat drops of rain cut loose from overhead, followed by the peal of thunder. “I hope you enjoyed that ten-thousand dollars. You and me, we’re kin at heart, Tom. I saw it, even if you didn’t. You spit on our friendship for what, for money?” Roy cackled. “Well, it was a lot of money, I’ll grant you. I’m gonna have to take the repayment from your family!” He raised the knife high. The crack of thunder split the air. Roy’s head disappeared in a mist of blood. His body toppled to the earth like a rotted tree, thudded into the dirt next to Tom. Josie sat up from the porch, the barrels of the shotgun still smoking. As the rain poured down, it seeped into Roy’s body. The neck ended in a mess of torn flesh, those accusing eyes finally gone. The grey flesh and tattered clothes dissolved into the mud right before Tom’s eyes. Jodie limped over, her overalls soaked in her own blood. “Pa, I’m sorry pa,” she sobbed. “Good girl,” he said, closing his eyes. “Good girl.” On top of all the bad decisions of his life, he’d made at least one one good one in her. As his vision dimmed, the last thing he saw was her eyes, full of pride and sadness. Written for . Prompt taken from .