As I walked into the office, it looked spick and span and modern. I didn't know what to expect. I had searched the net for many days to get the address of this place. The receptionist, a brunette looking all of her thirty-odd years, greeted me. "Welcome to SFD office Madam, can I help you?"                                                            "Thank you, I am Mrs Silverking. I had called earlier you gave me an appointment to see Mr Salvatore." I said.                                                            "Please take a seat, Madam. I will confirm your appointment and send you to him." I sat down thankfully. Feeling tired, frequently was a symptom I was suffering from. My doctor had told me that there is not much they can do to cure my cancer as of today.                                                  The receptionist called on the intercom and spoke. "Mr Salvatore, one Mrs Silverking wants to see you. You will see her now? I will send her to you. Thank you." She disengaged her intercom and called me. "Madam, Mr Salvatore will see you in his cabin. Please proceed to the seventh floor. You will see his office right in front of you."                                                            The elevator was a modern soundless model with touch-enabled switches. I got in and pressed the number seven. Soft classical music was wafting into my ears as I stood in the chill atmosphere of the cage. There was no one in the elevator at that moment. I reached the floor and walked out. Right in front of me was an office marked Mr Salvatore, Executive Director, SFD.                                                As I walked in, I saw another brunette manning a desk. “Mrs Silverking, I presume,” she said and asked me to step right into the inner office.                                                It was a plush office. The Director was an expansive man in his fifties. He had black hair, probably dyed, and a receding hairline. He was plump as the comfortable chair he was sitting in. He gestured me to take a seat, and I did. The door closed itself softly.                                                "Yes, Mrs Silverking. I am so happy that you have subscribed to our deluxe package. You said on the phone you needed some counsel about preparing to go down. I am here to help you. I will ask Rina to get you our literature for going under. He gave a crisp order to his secretary, who scurried in immediately with a sheaf of papers neatly packaged. Salvatore inquired, ‘Coffee for you, Madam?’, noting my acceptance, he told Rina, “two freshly brewed cups of Americano please.”                                                "Have a look at the kit, Madam. Most of the information you need and some FAQs are in the kit, there. You can have a glimpse at it and then ask me any further doubts or questions you may have."                                                Skimming at the literature, I got a rough idea of how I need to prepare for my going under. The intro pamphlet mentioned the purpose of SFD: To prepare clients and put them to sleep using the latest Hypothermic techniques. It seems that they had begun this about 12 years ago. Apart from the front office and administration, they had medical, legal and Rehab departments. The legal department dealt with making legal documents like wills. Vetting and preparing the clients was the responsibility of the medical department. Their Rehabilitation section dealt with the reinstalling of clients back to mainstream. Their promise was, ‘all client services in one place’.                                                "We will schedule you to meet our legal and medical experts tomorrow. We scheduled your flight down to be next Monday if all the checks are fine. Any further questions, Madam?" Salvatore asked.                                                "Will I be down for ten years as I have contracted to? Then when I come back, will they restore all my rights?" I asked. I knew the answers but wanted some reassurance. "Surely you will be reinstated fully, Madam. You need to have no fear. We have already restored over twenty-five clients in the past two years. We will be continually doing this as clients complete their tenure. We will resuscitate you, on October 15th 2020, for instance. It clearly mentions all this in our contract, which you are going to sign. We are also taking the signature of your next of kin so that there will be no problem. Your son Frank Silverking is signing, I am told, on your papers. Everything is legitimate and clear, Madam. We are a client-friendly organisation. We are here for your sake."                                                We were sipping our coffee as we talked. I put the cup down. "What are the things I need to do before I come here to stay down for ten years, Mr Salvatore?"                                                "Well, Madam," he continued as he slowly sipped his coffee, "you need to make sure you provide for your pets and your property. As your son stays in your house, he will look after the essentials. Please inform all your friends and loved ones that you will not be available for them for the next ten years. You can tell them you are off to South America if the truth would seem strange to some of them”                                                “Will I be able to come back to my life? Will medical science advance by 2030 to get a cure for my cancer?” I ventured to ask feebly.                                                “We are in touch with your doctors and also with the scientists at the cutting edge of research too, Madam. They assure us that the treatment may be ready in 6 to 7 years. They would have done a few trials also by the time you come back, I am sure.” Salvatore seemed confident. It was his job to be so, I thought. He continued, “I will ask our doctors to have a session with you about the research that is being done on therapeutics in Cervical cancer research in the top universities of the United States today. They will be able to convince you better than me. Will there be anything else Madam?”                                    “What about the costs involved Mr Salvatore? I have paid up the entire costs. I suppose that also accounts for any escalation that may take place in the ensuing decade.”                                    “Yes, Madam. Our accounts section is clear about this. Thank you, Madam, for trusting us with your most precious life.”                                    Indeed, I am trusting this corporation with my life. I began to have some qualms about it. “Am I doing the right thing?” I asked myself for the umpteenth time.                                    Going home, I started to settle my accounts at every front. “Should I be writing an obituary for myself too?” I wondered as I did this. It felt as if I am preparing to die. “Maybe I will be able to come back. If not, then how? Then it is almost like I am going to die.” I thought as I pondered my future.


What an easy dare, Cole couldn’t help but think. The dare was to kiss the town’s graveyard cat. It was Halloween Night, and Cole was hanging out with his friends. They were seated in the living room under his older sister, Ciara watchful eye. They had felt too old to go treat-or-tricking even though they were only 13 years-old. Yet, they still need a babysitter which happened to be his sister who was 18 years-old. “So are you going to accept the dare, Cole” His friend Tyler smiled. He was a tall, Asian guy with red dyed hair. He always had a great smile and every girl in school liked him. He was kind and playful guy who could sing and dance. He want to be a famous singer one day. And he was Cole best friend. While Tyler ruled everything performing arts wise, Cole ruled over everything sport wise. He was a great football player, soccer player and swimmer. Cole wants to be a Olympic swimmer. They both enjoyed watching horror and thriller movies. And They both enjoy celebrating Halloween. “Of course he is,” Daniel scoffed closing his book. He was short, pale guy with curly brown hair and freckles. He was a bookworm and movie buff. Daniel also was smart and funny guy of the group. He wants to be a movie star. “Yeah, Ciara can you take us to the town graveyard?” Cole asked. He was average height and had light brown skin. He had black straight hair in pulled into a man bun. Ciara looked up from her bowl of caramel popcorn and her phone. She narrowed her green eyes at them. She sighed. “Fine, I’m bored anyway,” Ciara pulled her black hair into a high bun, her skin was light brown like her brother Cole but unlike him, she was short. Even for a women. They arrived at the town’s graveyard at the top of the hill in the middle of the town. It was always strange to them and everyone in town why there was a graveyard in middle of their town. It was well kept graveyard and one of the town main attractions. But the graveyard cat was not the most graceful cat in the world. It was gray shorthair cat with one white eye and the other piercing blue. Everyone in town did their part to take care of the cat, some even tried to have it washed and netured but to no success. This was very free cat who only sometimes liked the humans around it. Cole and her sister would hang out the graveyard sometimes when they were young. They would visit their grandfather’s grave and talk to him about their day and the gray shorthair cat who come sit in their laps and purr as they pet him. No one knew why Cole and his sister Ciara who hang out with cat and sometimes fall asleep on their grandfather’s grave. Especially, since they never meet their grandfather Harry and their mother did not know much about him. Harry had died when their mother was young. Bethany, their mother had told them he had saved the town but no one know what he did to save it. They just know that after he died, the town was the safest and lavish town in the South. And his sister Ciara and her friends named the cat, Thunder. It really stuck for everyone in the grades below them. Even some of the adults would call the cat Thunder even if they do their best to avoid the cat at all. The adults even some of the elderly people were freaked out by the cat. One day, maybe they’ll figure out why that is. But for now they just write it off as adults being weird. They weren’t the only ones at the graveyard tonight some of their schoolmates were. Ciara shrugged, “Well, I’m going to say hey to Pa. Have fun with your dare and don’t get into trouble, 30 minutes here and we go home” “Got it,” The boys agreed and nodded watching her walk off. The graveyard cat was not hard to find. He was sitting on the bench on a tree. “Well, go on kiss Thunder over there,” Tyler chuckled. Daniel shook his head. “I heard the last person who tried to grab him got their face clawed up,” Cole shrugged and grinned as he walked over to Thunder, the cat. “I’m not scared of a little danger,” He took a sit on the bench and the cat tilted its’ head then narrowed its’ eyes. I’ve been waiting for you. Cole jumped up off the bench and back away from the cat. “Did you say that?” Cole couldn’t help whisper. His friends and a couple of his schoolmate looked at him strangely. Yes, don’t make a scene. Cole blinked at the cat who was staring at him intensely. He laughed looking around his friends seem to relax and his schoolmate started ignored  him and going back to their conversations. “So, Cole are you punking out?” Tyler asked with a grin on his face. Cole shook his head. “You wish,” He took a few brave strive forward and grab the cat. Cole apologized to the cat before kissing it on his dirt covered fur head. “Why, can I hear you in my head?” Because, it’s time for you to decide. You and your sister are descendants of mine. And you must choose, just like your sister did, your mother and your grandfather. Power or Time? Cole couldn’t help but be confused by the question. “What do you mean?” Cole asked, his friends were started laughing as he talked to Thunder, the cat. You are 12 years old. At this age in our family line, you are granted 3 advantages in this lifetime. Do not ask why because I can not say, you must learn. these 3 advantage come only come 10 years, with only one question and a single answer from you. It stops when you answer your finale question at 32 years old. Now, your answer. Would you like power or time? Cole nodded. Looking over at his friends just as his sister came up behind them and gave a sly smile and winked him. “Power,” Cole answered. Thunder, the cat blind left white eye glowed at bright blue even brighter than his other right blue eye. Cole could feel something within him spark to life, as sense he didn’t have before. The energy around him and this cat who happened to be his ancestor had flared. It had changed, this was his ancestor and he could feel it in his bones. He could feel his power. And he could sense his sister power, Cole glanced at his sister Ciara. Her eyes were glowing blue and a smile on her face. Ciara put a finger to her lips in a silent gesture and tilted her head to his friends. Cole nodded and thanked Thunder, the cat who is one of his ancestors. He and his sister both promise to visit Thunder tomorrow. His friends didn’t notice anything different about him, other then somehow he stood taller and had different layer. They couldn’t put their finger on it. But Cole and Ciara both knew that different layer, that his friends couldn’t seem to name. It was power. And it all started on Halloween night with a grave dare.


Ryan peered over his newspaper as Jesse entered the coffee shop and walked to the counter. Hating surprises, Ryan always sat where he could see the door. ‘What’s he doing here? Does he never stop?’ Ryan knew his nemesis always appeared without warning. Though it sometimes felt there was no escape, he prided himself on always finding an out. ‘Look at him. He can go anywhere, any time, and savor a rich, extra foam cappuccino, while I pinch pennies on the go. So unfair.’ In no hurry, Jesse stood as if modeling his tailored suit, awaiting his turn. He could afford the few minutes spent to get his coffee made to order. When his creditor addressed the barista, Ryan took his chance to slip out the door. Hood up, he huddled against the wind and sipped his black coffee as he jaywalked to the park. ‘He won’t be there. Who would go there in this cold?’ Ryan found a tree and leaned against the downwind side. He kept his eye on the coffee shop so no one could sneak up on him. ‘This sucks. How can I enjoy a simple coffee in the morning?’ Ryan chuckled. ‘Of course, I could pay my debt. Or fly to the moon? Just as easy... No guarantee he wouldn’t follow… or be there waiting.’ He shivered against a blast of wind. ‘…Bet the moon is warmer, though. No wind. ’ He thought about his missteps leading to his current quandary. He’d never been a gambler, but a juicy opportunity came along. He’d have made a killing if... That sure thing would have set him for life. Too good to pass up, he’d borrowed what he needed from Jesse, his best friend, to be repaid within the year. They’d once been closer than brothers. That was two years ago. But it all went south. Everything. The economy dived. Ryan lost everything, job, girlfriend, respect. Now he scraped by on unemployment and odd jobs. Who could see that coming? ‘Damn! ’ He couldn’t pay. Humiliated, Ryan broke from Jesse and his whole circle of friends. It was too much. ‘ How they must laugh together while living the high life. ’ He spent his days here and there, looking for work. Trying to survive. Once a highflyer, like his friends, he had no references. Any job he sought, he risked meeting someone from his past, a friend of Jesse’s. He felt his life drawn into the eddy of a slowly draining sink. Lately, it seemed he spent more time hiding than anything. Getting creative, Ryan became a master of avoidance. He dressed differently. Changed his car. Delisted his phone. Moved to a different, cheaper, neighborhood. After months, there was no relief in sight. He couldn’t sit at a bar for a simple drink. If someone sat next to him, he had to leave. Might be a friend of Jesse’s. ‘ Make new friends? You’ve gotta be kidding. ’ It’s a big city, but a small town. Yet, it was never enough. It felt like Jesse always found him. Yet, he never confronted. Not Jesse’s style. He didn’t even acknowledge him, like at the coffee shop. But he was always there. Present. ‘ Is he toying with me? Rubbing my nose in my failures? ’ Ryan stamped his feet against the cold. ‘ What’s he doing in there? ’ He thought about what he’ll do when finally confronted. ‘ He gonna shake me down? Break my kneecaps? No. He’ll look sad, play the ‘guilt’ card. I’ll tell him what I really think. And to stop harassing me.’ A late model limo pulled up and idled outside the coffee shop. It was Jesse’s. One night, outside a club, he saw that whale of a limo. Though tempted to kick out a taillight, he stopped himself. That rich pleasure would’ve been fleeting. Not Ryan’s way. ‘ There could have been witnesses. But the memory is sweet. That would’ve felt good. Boy, he’d have been pissed… ’ Setting his coffee down, Ryan ran in place to warm himself. ‘It’s his fault for trusting me. What did he expect, the fool, lending a fortune to a friend? Who does that? Calls himself a businessman. Didn’t even ask questions.’ Ryan ducked behind the tree as Jesse exited the coffee shop and got into the limo. It pulled away. ‘ Not only a limo, but a new one?’  He scoffed at the license plate: GR8CRDT. He downed his tepid coffee and tossed the cup. ‘ Screw him. Doesn’t need my money anyway.’ Feeling liberated, he walked toward his apartment block. ‘ Not watched. Not tracked. A few minutes peace from that bastard’s relentless pursuit.’ Ryan looked over his shoulder. ‘ Unless he drove around the block for a ‘gotcha!’’ He dismissed the paranoid fantasy. ‘ Don’t get crazy, Ry. Jesse doesn’t obsess over this.’ He waited at a light and watched the cloud of his breath shred and vanish. A delivery truck idled across the street. ‘ Get work with them? No. Might have to make a delivery to Jesse. Can’t do that.’ He weighed Jesse’s losses against his. ‘ The money, his time chasing me, the respect of his pals… What a dope… ’ It would feel good to get home, away from prying eyes, into the warmth of his modest apartment. Safe. ‘Feeling pursued isn’t paranoid when one is actually hunted.’ Ryan knew how a rabbit feels when pursued by a pack of coyotes sniffing at its trail. ‘ Can only do what it can do. Be ever vigilant. ’ As Ryan walked, the nagging fear crept back into his mind. ‘ Is this who I’m becoming? Or am I realizing I’ve always been a loser?’ He never expected to pay it back. It was just too much. He didn’t like it, but could admit the facts, at least to himself. These days, he only talked to himself. ‘When the principle’s added to the accrued interest… no way I can pay it. But indentured servitude was outlawed a century ago.’ Ryan knew bankruptcy remained an option. That would free him on a legal basis. Debtor’s prison was his idea of a joke. The issue wasn’t legal, though, but his betrayal of friendship. He would be admitting failure and dishonor. ‘ Where does one go for relief from that?’ He got to his building and entered the lobby. The warm air felt good. He summoned the elevator. Hunger gnawed at him. ‘What can be done? Must I resign myself to this miserable destiny? I’m tapped out. No money. No ideas. Can’t do it alone. It’s simply beyond my ability.’ The elevator door opened and Ryan stepped inside. He moved to press the button for his floor. Jesse stood before him. The doors closed. ‘ No escape. ’ Jesse blocked the buttons. Ryan backed into the rear wall. Eyes locked. Jesse said, “Ryan, we need to talk.” “Jess, I’m sorry. I don’t know how… But I’m gonna…” “Listen, Ryan. Forget the debt. Consider it paid.” Ryan stopped. He felt dizzy. ‘ Am I hallucinating? ’ “Jess? What are you talking about? I owe you so much. I have to pay you, but…” “Didn’t you hear me? It’s paid. You’re out of debt. Don’t owe me a cent.” Ryan fell silent. ‘Is this a joke? Are there cameras? ’ “But how? Why, Jess?” “That debt was crushing your life. I can’t do that to you.” “Yeah, but…” “Ryan…” “I want to make good… have to…” “It’s done, Ry. Nothing to do.” “What if…” “Doesn’t matter. You’re good. Relax.” The debt had distanced them. But also bound them together. ‘ What now? ’ “I hear you, Jess. Thank you. How can I thank you?” “Live your life.” “But… Is that it? Can we ever be friends again?” “Of course, Ryan. Always have been. That’s the point.” Tears streamed down Ryan’s face. He couldn’t speak. They embraced. Jesse held Ryan at arm’s length. They smiled. “Welcome back, Ry. I’ve missed you.” Ryan looked at him in awe, trying to comprehend. Jesse opened the elevator door to the lobby. Ryan walked out and into the sunlight. He stood, face up, feeling the rays, the warmth. A gentle breeze ruffled his hair. Alive, he felt every quivering molecule. A leaf danced and spun to the ground. A bird chirped. Children played in the distance. All was well. He felt free.


The man stepped onto the plane. He was sweating, not profusely, but small beads of sweat were noticeable on his upper lip and forehead. The flight attendant took his flight ticket, inspected it, looked up, and smiled at him in an artificially saccharine way. Just like she was trained to do. “Welcome on board Flight 305,” she said, gesturing to the back of the plane. He nodded a terse thank you and moved to his seat. The flight attendant was already busy greeting the next passenger in the same rehearsed way.

He had asked for a window seat, at the very back of the cabin. Thankfully the seat next to him was vacant.

He slid his briefcase under the seat in front of him and settled into his seat. He removed his sunglasses and placed them inside his jacket pocket.

“Can I place your briefcase in the overhead bin?” asked a new attendant. More artificial cheer. “No, thank you,” he answered, without smiling. He was nervous. He didn’t like flying at the best of times.

“Sir, it really is more secure in the overhead bin,” she said, still smiling. “I would prefer it near me, please,” he said, getting rather agitated.

“I understand. If you would prefer, the captain has special storage for…”

“I said no. Thank you,” he said, firmer this time, but not too loud. He didn’t want to cause a scene. The attendant’s smile slipped momentarily, but she regained her composure quickly.

“Alright,” she answered, straightening her back and walking down the aisle toward the galley at the front of the plane.

The man in the seat across the aisle glanced at him from the corner of his eye, raising his eyebrow at this stranger’s perceived rudeness. Certainly the flight attendant did not deserve his ire. After all, she was just doing her job.

Well, he didn’t care. After this flight is over, he will never see any of these people again- not his fellow passengers, not the captain, not the flight attendant. They could think of him what they wanted. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the loudspeaker clicked into life, “this is your captain speaking. We will be departing shortly. Please fasten your seatbelts. Cabin crew, prepare for take-off.” He could hear the engine pick up speed outside the window. His sweating was becoming worse.

Taking his handkerchief from his jacket pocket, he mopped his brow and upper lip, before returning the kerchief to his pocket again. He could see the ground crew working quickly to seal the doors from the outside. The cabin crew was positioned at various spots throughout the cabin, demonstrating the safety equipment as the public address system droned on about floatation devices and emergency exits. He wasn’t paying attention. He could feel sick anticipation rise up in his throat. He swallowed hard, closing his eyes. Soon they would be airborne and the feeling would have dissipated.

A flight attendant walked by, towards the aft of the aircraft. He raised his hand to gain her attention. It worked.

“Yes, sir?” she said, beaming a smile at him.

“May I please have a scotch and soda before we take off?” She frowned slightly. The airplane had started moving towards the runway, ready for take-off. “Sir, we’re just about to take off. I would gladly serve you after we are airborne and the captain had turned off the seatbelt signs,” she said. “Please. I’m a nervous flyer. It would help settle my nerves,” he pleaded. This solicited another raised eyebrow from the man on the opposite side of the aisle. She hurried off without a word. She returned a few moments later with the drink. She placed the drink on the tray table in front of him. “I will return in a few minutes to collect the glass. Tray tables must be stored for takeoff.”

True to her word, she returned for his empty glass. As she took the glass, he handed her a note, folded closed to hide the message.

The air hostess folded it again and moved to place the note in her pocket. “Miss, I think you’d better read that,” he said to her.

She unfolded the note and read it silently. Her eyes grew wide with fright. “I think you’d better sit next to me, don’t you?” he said. She sat down, still clutching the empty glass in her hand.

“Buckle up,” he said, smiling. She fastened her seatbelt without a word. Her colleagues frowned as they saw her seated in a passenger seat, rather than the jumpseats reserved for cabin crew. As another flight attendant slowed to inevitably ask why she was seated here, she just shook her head. Her colleague moved on without a word. The airplane hurtled down the runway. He closed his eyes, not daring to look out of the window or at the flight attendant next to him.

The friction of the wheels of tarmac disappeared as the airplane left the runway. The eerie quiet that always followed take-off was especially oppressive today.

Once the airplane had leveled off, the captain turned the public address system back on. The ping made the flight attendant jump. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain William Scott…” he introduced himself.

He wasn’t very interested in who the captain was. “What’s your name?” he asked, turning toward the flight attendant.

“Florence,” she replied breathlessly. Her eyes were welling up with tears. “Please, don’t cry, Florence. This will soon be over,” he said. She nodded, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Poor girl.

“Can I see it?” she asked, once she was more composed. He reached forward for his briefcase. He opened it a crack- just large enough for Florence to peer inside. He slammed the briefcase shut again.

A ping announced that it was now safe to remove seatbelts. “Better go tell the captain,” he said. Florence removed her seatbelt and hurried to the cockpit. She returned moments later. He had removed the sunglasses from his pocket and was wearing them again. “Sir, he said they will make arrangements,” she said, before hurrying to the back of the aircraft. Twenty minutes later, the public address system pinged back into life. “Folks, this is your captain speaking again. Due to technical difficulties, our arrival at our destination may be delayed,” he said.

“Miss,” he said, as a flight attendant passed. She paused and gave a nervous smile. “Yes, sir?” “May I please have another scotch and soda?” he asked. She returned moments later with the drink. He had placed the money for this drink as well as the previous drink on the tray table next to him. The flight attendant picked up the money. “Thank you,” he said, smiling. “You may keep the change.” Two hours later, the plane still hadn’t landed. “What in the damned hell is going on?” demanded the man across the aisle to no one in particular, looking toward the front of the plane. The cockpit doors remained firmly shut. The rest of the passengers were looking both nervous and agitated at the same time.

He looked at his watch. 17:20.

Florence approached his seat. “Sir, everything is in order,” she whispered. “Thank you. Please tell the captain we can land. Ask him to taxi to the northeast corner of the airport and to have a bus waiting for the passengers,” he said. She turned to leave. “One last thing, Florence,” he said. She turned to look at him. “Please ask all passengers to close the window blinds before landing.” The captain announced that they were ready to land as the flight attendants walked through the cabin, ensuring the window blinds were shut.

The plane landed. The disgruntled passengers collected their belongings and filed off the plane.

Everyone was kept seated. “I have never been on a worse flight in my life,” complained one passenger.

“How can a 30-minute flight take two hours?” complained another. The flight attendants apologised profusely to each complainant, never once dropping their trained smiles.

After a couple of minutes, the flight attendant who served him his drink earlier approached his seat with two canvas sacks. She opened the sacks to reveal their contents. “Thank you. All seems in order. The passengers may disembark,” he said. Once the last passenger had left, he turned to the crew, who had assembled near the cockpit door. “Thank you for all your help. Don’t worry. Your ordeal ends now,” he said.

“Everyone except the captain, co-pilot, flight engineer, and one flight attendant may leave.” Not waiting to be told twice, the cabin crew gathered their belongings and left the plane.

He turned to the captain.

“Once re-fueling has taken place, head south towards Mexico City. Keep the speed steady enough to avoid stalling- round about 100 knots. Fly at an altitude of 3000 metres. Nothing more, nothing less. Keep the cabin unpressurised. Do not retract the landing gear after takeoff and keep the wing flaps at 15 degrees.” A tense nod from the captain.

“We will be flying about 1000 miles below our specified flight configuration. At that altitude, we will need to refuel again before we reach Mexico City,” said the copilot. He hadn’t considered that.

“Where do you suggest we refuel?” he asked.

“Maybe somewhere in Arizona? Or Nevada?” “I always wanted to see the Grand Canyon. Let’s refuel in Nevada.” The plans were communicated to the ground crew. The copilot, pilot, and flight engineer took their positions in the cockpit again, ready for take-off.

He returned to the seat he was sitting in earlier. “I think you’d better join the captain in the cockpit,” he said to the flight attendant, shortly after takeoff. She complied. He looked at his watch. 20:15. He walked to the back and lowered the aft staircase. He removed one parachute from the sack that was delivered earlier and strapped himself in. He secured the other sack firmly to the front of his chest, under his shirt, to prevent the contents from flying out of the sack. He took the briefcase in his hand. He gave a final salute and jumped from the plane into an uncertain fate. Except his fate wasn’t that uncertain. D.B. Cooper, as the press dubbed him, survived the jump. I know because “D.B Cooper” was my grandfather. This is a secret only my family knows.


The plains of Kansas stretched out before Julio.

He looked at his speed, he looked at the time, he looked at the road.

He unfocused his eyes, and then refocused them.

Fuck I hate this place, he thought.

The drive from the east coast of the United States was criminally boring, but the mountains of Colorado loomed in the distance.

He ached for the natural beauty, the refined air, the beautiful stream and mountain passes.

Not that he’d explore anything beyond his car, he wasn’t insane.

The scenery tempted him more every year, and for a decade he had spent his summers basking in that desire.

One day, when I’m near death, maybe I’ll really step Outside there .

He dreamed of it, the smells and sounds, the lack of walls surrounding him, but it was a pipe dream.

No one in his generation left their vehicles anymore; well no one that didn’t have to.

Of course, the poor had jobs on the Outside, and some of them didn’t even have money for climate suits.

He’d heard stories that the very poor wandered the countryside like bandits, drinking unfiltered water from streams and growing vegetables, or made permanent Outdoor homes.

No one expected that they lived very long. A road sign breezed by advertising power refills, water refills, and black tank emptying.

His levels would be fine until the border, and he hated the idea of staying longer on these roads than he had to.

He kept moving. – Three centuries ago, a small Russian border conflict had attracted the attention of the world’s most powerful nations.

Tensions escalated, and soon these nations were wrapped into the conflict.

Two schools of thought exist around what happened next; some think nuclear conflict could have been avoided if a policy had been enacted at the right time, and others think the Sword of Damocles always had to fall.

History doesn’t care, it happened. In the span of half an hour, most of the world’s population was decimated.

In the weeks that followed, radiation poisoning killed more.

A decade of nuclear winter, caused by all the soot released into the atmosphere, wrecked crops globally, and famine was widespread.

Another decade of nuclear summer followed, temperatures intensifying globally from the massive concentrations of carbon dioxide and methane.

Very few survived these years, and living conditions were unforgiving. But underground, in bunkers built years before the first bombs fell, people thrived.

Starting in the early 21st century, governments had begun investing in long-term living solutions in case of climate or nuclear disasters.

These self-contained units grew crops, expelled waste, purified fresh air, and cleaned water from the aquifers they were built near.

They had doctors, and medical supplies.

Hardlined communications were created to other bunkers in case of broad wireless system failures.

As tensions rose globally, governments secreted some of the population down in these centers.

Of course, they primarily picked from those highly educated; minority populations were barely represented, and a large percentage of politicians were chosen. This group of survivors became the new human race.

Several generations were born in the confines of these bunkers, and to them the space didn’t feel as claustrophobic.

Technology development had continued, and engineers from around the globe worked together to create a suite of technologies to allow people to leave their confines.

A century after the first bombs fell, doors swung open on bunkers around the world, and construction started on the first Ecosystem Cars. – Julio pulled into the fill station, it was the first one across the border.

He stopped his vehicle in a stall, and put the lights on to indicate that he needed a full service.

An attendant walked over; every inch of his oversized climate suit was covered in bright brand logos and advertisements.

The suit resembled historical pictures of diving gear, but was more loose fitting than a wet suit.

An air purifier sat on the attendant’s back, with a hose going into a gas mask.

The suit was covered with small, localized air conditioning units to withstand the extreme heat. The attendant hooked his vehicle to the charger, and inserted the bi-directional pump that removed waste and filled fresh water simultaneously.

These facilities usually supplied their energy from a local solar farm, and processed waste into clean drinking water on site.

When the job was complete, the attendant scanned the barcode on the back of his car, and knocked on the rear window before they walked away.

Julio noticed that most of the advertisements on their suit were for a local Love Hotel called Desert Oasis .

People would meet in these sealed bunkers for a night of revelry, but Julio had no idea who was doing that in this wasteland.

Julio steered back onto the highway to continue the drive west.

Mountains loomed in the distance with an unforgiving finality. – The centuries following the opening of the bunkers were known as The Great Migration.

As the infrastructure expanded along the antiquated highway system, people struck out in their self-contained ecosystems.

Some of them left as families, but most chose a nomadic life in solitude.

Wireless communication networks were re-established, and people drifted further from physical interactions.

Still, population numbers slowly climbed as new families formed on the road. In the beginning of the great migration period, there was no formal economy.

People traded locally in skilled labor and bartered crops grown in different bunkers, but all necessities were available to each person.

As the transportation and infrastructure needs of this new society grew however, so did the industry alongside it.

Fifty years after the start of the great migration, an economy and international currency had been established, and the trends of socio-economic stratification started again.

Within the next fifty years, this had forced humanity into a caste system where it was nearly impossible to ascend. – Julio ended the trip in the remnants of an old town, the map called it Crested Butte.

This was the same destination as every year, the road ended in a valley surrounded completely by steep mountain faces.

The terrain was extreme and uninviting, and the closest fill station was far back on the main highway.

Here was complete solitude. On the drive here through Old Denver he’d parked next to one of the city parks while he ate lunch.

It was now completely overgrown, but some of the old charm remained.

Giant elms dominated everything else in the park, and chest high weeds choked the field.

To his astonishment, Julio watched a deer stop and graze for several minutes at the edge of the park; it was seemingly there just for him.

Suddenly, the deer spooked, and he caught something else moving in the park, but it was obscured. Julio drove deeper into the park, and through a gap in the weeds he could see two small homes and a large greenhouse.

There was a man standing in the clearing Outside the greenhouse.  He was tall, and covered in black dirt up to his elbows, and was shirtless.

His skin was ravaged by the sun, but otherwise he looked healthy.

Julio wondered why this scene was so strange, and then in a flash realized the man wasn’t wearing a climate suit.

He’s going to die before he sees anything from that greenhouse, he thought, but to his astonishment his skin showed no signs of radiation poisoning.

Quietly, Julio reversed out of the interior of the park, and without looking back he drove away as fast as he could. Shaking the memory from his mind, Julio kept moving towards his camp. – It was night, and Julio had parked his car in a field at the edge of the old town.

By pressing a few buttons, the interior space of the vehicle had converted to a spacious bedroom, and the screens on all the walls displayed the images behind them.

It gave the appearance of being in a completely translucent dome; there was endless night sky in every direction.

The stars slowly drifted, and Julio made up patterns in his mind between them.

In those patterns, his mind drifted. He dreamt that he was Outside, walking up the hillside with the sun blazing down.

The tall grass felt soft and friendly against his bare legs; he heard bees humming somewhere nearby.

At the top of the hill he saw the deer from earlier, it was drinking from a stream and looked at him as he approached, but it wasn’t scared.

He was transfixed, and he approached the deer with an outstretched hand.

He stroked the deer’s fur, it was coarse like twine.

And then he noticed red welts appearing on the deer where he’d touched it.

The deer cried out in pain as the welts spread across its body in a flash.

Julio looked at his hand and saw the same welts extending up his arm.

Radiation sickness he thought, the panic racing through him.

He swiped at the sores with his other hand but saw them extending up that arm too.

Blood was pounding in his ears; he watched the deer collapse in front of him and then sank to his knees.

The pounding in his head intensified; he covered his face with his hands and wept. Sunlight drenched him; it streamed in through every window and filled the vehicle like a warm blanket.

His eyes darted to check his arms; it was just a dream , he concluded.

But then the pounding continued, and he realized it wasn’t in his head, but on the window. A woman’s tanned face was pressed against the window, the loose curls of her chestnut brown hair splashing across it.

She had one hand cupped against her face to block the sun, and the other raised to knock again.

Her eyes were like chipped jade, and when they locked with Julio’s she smiled radiantly.

He was paralyzed in her gaze. “Hi there, sorry to wake you, but only it’s already midday and I got tired of waiting for you to wake up and I was just so excited to see another human that I just couldn’t wait, you know what I mean?

It really is beautiful out here, and you wouldn’t believe how good it smells .

I mean, who knew the Outside could smell like this ? And there’s so many sounds , the nights are really alive!” She paused and took a deep breath, composing herself. “Sorry, that was a bit too much.

I’ve come here for a long time and never seen anyone else.

Did you know the radiation dissipated years ago?

Some places still have small traces, but not enough to drastically shorten life expectancy.

The data has been there for years, but our generation grew up in the specter of it, and we’re too damn scared to think the world could be safe.

I know I was, it took me a year here before I was brave enough to take my climate suit off.

This zone is completely free of radiation; it’s safe to go Outside, the water is clean, even the soil is fine for growing crops.” To prove this to him, she reached down and held up an old geiger counter and turned it on.

It didn’t register anything.

Julio stared at the indicator dial, waiting for it to move and tell him the climate was poisoned and this girl was going to die.

He kept staring at the gauge as she continued to speak. “I’ve built a small hut back in the trees, right on top of that hill.

If you want to come Outside, there’s a place you could sleep.

I know this is a lot to process, but if you decide to not come out yet can I come back tomorrow to talk?” Julio nodded, barely.

“Till later, then.

My name’s Doe, by the way.”

She waved and then walked away.

Julio stared at her skin, beautiful and clear of sickness.

She disappeared into the trees, and Julio shifted his gaze to her hand print left on the window. He stared at that hand print for the rest of the day, dreaming of possibilities.

When he closed his eyes he saw her clear skin moving away from him through the tall grass.

– In one universe Julio had the courage to leave his car.

He trusted her readings, and went Outside.

It was beautiful, and perfect, and real.

In that universe he fell in love with Doe, and they built a home together.

They were the start of a community that lived Outdoors, and news spread steadily across the world.

It inspired others to go Outside, and other safe places were found.

Like a boulder rolling downhill, civilization gained momentum.

Julio died an old man, surrounded by his family, and was buried in the earth. Julio could taste the sweetness of that, even in this life.

He saw it as he drove back down the highway out of town.

Days later, he could feel it when he’d put his hand over her hand print.

At the next major stop he paid for a car wash.  Tears streamed down his face as he watched the foaming chemicals wipe out the memory.

The next day was new, and he chose a new road.


“So, what’s the catch?” Bastion, towering leader of the heroic Aegis team asked, reclining behind his desk as much as his high-backed chair would allow. “Excuse me?” Artemis detected a note of accusation in his tone. Her bow and quiver rested upon the wide marble surface between them, next to Bastion’s blue, articulated mask. “What does she want?”  Bastion persisted. “My job? Yours? Perhaps a… Vision-craft, or Vision-cycle?” His lip curled into a wry half-smile. “For her Vision quests?” Artemis snickered despite herself. “Boss, maybe ease up on the brand stuff a little?” “‘Mantle’ stuff,” Bastion corrected, preferring the industry term. “But, back to my original question… what’s the catch? Why did she agree to do this for me?” “Because you’re her boss…” “I’ve been her boss…,” he interrupted. “AND you asked nicely,” Artemis explained. “I didn’t ask. You did.” “On your behalf.” “Artemis.” Bastion leaned forward, revealing a small tear in the fabric of his uniform, just below his massive left pectoral. He took care with his injured arm. “Please, do not make me ask a third time.” Artemis sighed deeply. She then slid the cowl from her head, the fleeting shadow revealing a smear of black face paint and glassy, reddening eyes. “‘The catch,’” she repeated. “You dispatched your lieutenant to cajole our resident clairvoyant into revealing the exact date and time of your demise.” Artemis spat the last word as though it tasted sour on her tongue. “And you’re wondering about a catch? Of course there’s a catch, but not in the way that you’re thinking. I didn’t have to promise her anything.” “Explain.” Artemis shook her head. “She did it because…” “Right. There’s always a ‘because.’” Bastion arched an eyebrow. “But we’ll get back to that. You said ‘a catch, but not in the way I’m thinking.’” “You are a great many things, Boss, but simple-minded has never been one of them.” Bastion’s eyes narrowed. “Knowing when you die?!” Artemis said, fists shaking. “That, Bastion, is a burden that no man was meant to bear. Not even one with shoulders as broad as yours. Why on Earth would you want to know?” “I do not fear death, Artemis.” “NONE of us do! We’re superheroes, for heaven’s sake! I don’t even have powers! No, we don’t fear death, NOR do we chase it!” Bastion relaxed. A smile split his face. “A. You don’t need powers, Artemis. And B. I am not chasing death.” “Then what are you doing? WHY do you want this information?” “I need it. I need to know.” She sunk into her seat and dragged a gloved palm down her face, streaking paint. “To borrow a line from you, Bastion, please don’t make me ask a third time.” Bastion tilted his head and stared into her eyes, his gaze all but devouring hers. “Dr. Woe brought us to our knees, Artemis.” “Dr. Woe is in the Box!” she countered, referring to the specially designed maximum security prison that detained their enhanced adversary. “Because we got lucky!” Bastion shouted, almost pleading. “Because we’re the Aegis, Bastion! We saved the day, as we always do.” “This time was different,” Bastion explained, sighing and breaking eye contact. “Dr. Woe took a sledgehammer to the rules of engagement…” “There were rules?!? With him? Since when, Boss, and why had no one told me?” “Artemis… Donner is dead. Blitzen, grieving, on indefinite hiatus…” “We’re all grieving!” Artemis felt the weight of their losses as profoundly as he, and took offense at the notion that she needed such things explained to her. “Except she’s probably hung her cape up for good! Visionary’s in a coma, it’s a minor miracle you got… the information from her before she succumbed to her injuries.” His slammed his good fist upon the desktop. “My arm is in a sling, Artemis!” “We’re wounded, yes. We’ll need time to heal. But heal we will. And be all the stronger for it because, by God, we. Are. AEGIS.” A coy smile found its way back to his angular features. “ Which of us needs to take it easy with the mantle stuff again?” Artemis ignored the dig. “What will this knowledge do for you, Bastion?” “Plenty.” “Such as?” He studied her for a moment. “It will give me a window. I’m not thinking about the end. I’m considering the journey.” “Never took you for a poet,” she said in a whisper, punctuating her snark with a defiant eyeroll. “Life is a song.” Bastion needled. “I need to know how much time I have left to fortify what we’ve built.” Artemis raised an open palm to discourage further comment. “Not sure what you mean, but we’ll table those details for a moment. What difference does it make exactly? If you knew you had another hundred years, you’d kick your feet up, take your time? That’s crap, it DOESN’T MATTER. We got our asses handed to us, and you can’t let that stand. I’m with you on that. Starting here, right now, we put in the work to ensure that we’re never caught…” “Isn’t enough. No matter the strength of their conviction, everyone works harder with a gun to their head.” “Not you. The Bastion I know would just crush the gun. You’re invulnerable anyway.” He indicated his bandaged left arm with his chin. “Really can’t make that claim anymore, Artemis.” “Bastion, you’re going to die. We all are. Eventually. The gun’s inherently there already, let that be your motivation,” she said. “Not much of a threat, if I know I’ve got another six or seven decades before the trigger’s pulled.” “But in not knowing, you’d be a fool to count on six or seven decades. You’ve got to assume it could be pulled within the next five minutes, and respond accordingly.” “It isn’t the same.” “It should be.” Bastion drummed the desktop with the fingers of his good hand. “It isn’t just that. The amount of time I have left will inform the scope and complexity of how we proceed.” Artemis considered his words. “Am I to take that to mean that you’ve been holding back up this point?” “Of course not! But things have changed. We – I - need to do more.” “Bastion!” Artemis counted her breaths for a moment. “I suffered a concussion; you sprained your arm. But Visionary? THREE fractured ribs, and she lost. Her. Leg.” The gravity of her injuries was a spray of ice water to his face. “I hadn’t realized her injuries were that…” “I pushed and pushed, until finally, she delivered what I asked for. What you asked for. Point being, maybe I caused her to slip into the coma.” “Dr. Woe is the cause, and that’s the point.” “The point is that I badgered her into crossing a line she swore she never would, and the reasons you’re giving for why you asked me to do what I did smell like bullshit.” “You forget yourself, Artemis.” “I forget nothing. I obtained something that you, with all your might, could not. You asked about a catch? How’s this for one? I’ll give this to you, to do with as you wish.” She extracted a thin, folded card from her pocket and closed her hand over it. “In exchange for the truth.” “I could just take it from you.” “But you won’t. I’m not just your second-in-command, not just your friend. I am your legacy. You made me ‘Artemis,’ and for that, I would follow you through all seven circles of hell. You’ll give me the truth not because I coaxed it out of you, but because you know I deserve it.” Bastion shifted in his seat. “Bastion. Christopher. Talk to me.” “I’ve never lied to you, Artemis. Never. You’re the one… None of the others, none could handle the hard truths I face every day in this role. Except you.” Artemis said nothing. “But a lie by omission would still constitute a lie,” Bastion said, more to himself. “I suppose I have been lying to you.” She remained stoic. “I’ve met someone,” Bastion continued with an unfamiliar apprehension. “Fallen in love.” “That’s… that’s great. But what’s that got to do with…” Bastion’s eyes wandered. “Who?” Artemis pressed. Silence. “Who is she?” Bastion gave nothing away. “Is it a he ?” His exasperated eyes found hers again. “Tell me,” Artemis insisted. “It doesn’t matter.” “She… oh my God, Artemis said, understanding. “She’s a civilian.” “Listen to me…” “You’re dating a civilian?!?! ‘No civilian attachments,’ Bastion! That was your rule! I’ve GIVEN myself to y… your mission, and you defy YOUR bylaws AND have me badger Visionary into submission because you picked up a CIVILIAN girlfriend?!?!” “I didn’t plan it.” “Or avoid it.” “Leslie,” Bastion began, jarring her with the use of her given name. “I’m sorry.” Artemis’ eyes, lanterns in a field of black, burned. After too many seconds, she shrugged. “The heart wants what it wants, as they say.” She chewed her bottom lip.  “Tell me about her. This enchanting woman whose charms led you to break all the rules.” “Not all the rules.” “Just one big rule.” Bastion brightened. “She’s a barista. Twenty-seven. She lost her mother to ovarian cancer a few years ago, and her father to… to Riot.” “The anarchist.” Bastion nodded. “She’s putting herself through law school. To join our fight, without a cape.” “Not all heroes wear them,” Artemis teased, still angry. “You don’t.” “I need freedom of movement. No powers, remember?” Bastion drew himself to his full seated height. “You have the vision of an eagle, and the surest shot of any being – human, meta, or other – on this globe. Along with a pretty solid roundhouse.” Artemis rolled her eyes. “You’re also one of only two people who know of the… chink in my armor.” He touched a hand to the rip in his costume, and the purple, blistering welt at the center of it. “I wish to God I didn’t.” “Contingencies, Artemis. In case I were ever to…” “…go dark?” she finished for him. “Yes.” “You wouldn’t. Ever.” “The Icon did,” Bastion challenged. “Used his knowledge of my vulnerability against me too.” “That’s not fair. This was Dr. Woe’s doing.” She’d never much cared for the other veteran hero, but mind control by another represented the ultimate defense. “The point is, I can bleed. And now the world knows. Has seen it. And we need to prepare.” “You feel exposed now. I get that.” Artemis reached to grasp his resting hand. “Welcome to my life; just flesh, blood, and a little resolve over here. But a sprain, an Achilles heel? These shouldn’t worry you. Civilian attachments on the other hand? Major weakness.” “Some might argue a source a strength.” “ Poets might argue that. Me? I prefer a bow and arrow. You? Fists. Strongest on the planet.” Bastion chuckled. “Think I’m the strongest?” “Icon’s softened in his old age.” She shot him a wink. “He’s 42, Artemis.” “But an even bigger vulnerability would be an obsession with one’s own death. Makes you fatalistic. Basing every move upon your own anticipated defeat.” “It sharpens focus.” “You say focus, I say tunnel vision,” Artemis snapped. “She’s pregnant, Leslie. Her name is Nicole. And she’s carrying my child.” The words hit Artemis like a closed fist. “I know I’m probably supposed to congratulate you, but I…” “I understand.” “Do you?!” Artemis asked, bruised. “You let her in…” “She met me as a Christopher.” “But unless she’s a moron, she’s figured out that you’re Bastion! Or, she would have , if you hadn’t told her. Which you most certainly did before… inseminating her.” Bastion couldn’t argue this point. “I need to know that I at least outlive Nicole’s pregnancy. Beyond that, I want to know how much time I have to ensure my child has a fighting chance in this world.” Artemis’ lips smacked softly as they parted. “Your child’s best chance would be estrangement from its father. A father who should continue fighting to make this world safer for everyone’s children. With whatever time he – we – have remaining.” “I’m asking you – my dearest friend, my closest ally, and should I be so fortunate to receive your acceptance, godmother of my child – to honor our agreement. I gave you the truth, you give me that card. Or tell me what it says.” Emotion choked Artemis’ reply. “I don’t want you to know what it says, what the hell makes you think I looked at it?” Bastion’s brow furrowed. “Why the tears?” “Because this is the end of us. You, the indomitable Bastion, are doubting yourself as a hero and leader. And worse, you’re setting a timeline. You’re looking to an end.” “I’m not.” “You are! And this is me – your dearest friend, closest ally, and yes, godmother to a baby whom I will love to death – this is me asking you not to open this card.” “Artemis…” “Visionary doesn’t share death dates. EVER. And why has she sworn a vow NEVER to do so? Because the first and only time she’d ever done it before lead to disaster.” Artemis laced her fingers together upon her lap.  “At first, she and her brother treated her burgeoning precognitive abilities like a game. Growing bolder with each new vision.  Until she witnessed his death. And after hours of his insistence, she shared a date and time. Within that very year.” “Why would she reveal…” “Because he was her brother! And they were young. And dumb. She didn’t tell him the how, just the when. She at least had sense enough to withhold details. But it didn’t matter. Knowing broke him. He grew depressive. Turned to alcohol and opiates; he lost all sense of self. And ultimately, he…” “…stumbled in front of an oncoming train.” Bastion knew this part of Visionary’s story. “At the exact moment she’d predicted.” Artemis winced. “You see this knowledge as a resource. But what if knowing sets things into motion?” “Knowing you’ll die of cancer five years from now could be the very thing that saves your life.” “ Cancer isn’t what kills most people,” Artemis countered. “And you’re presuming an ability to change outcomes.” “Couldn’t we?” Artemis shook her head. “Our singular test case says ‘no.’” “I’m not looking to change anything. I’ve accepted the fact that my eventual demise is inevitable.” “Which terrifies me more than Dr. Woe ever could. You’re playing God.” “I’m being a father.” “Bastion! Knowing that we’ll all eventually die gives our lives meaning. Not knowing when is what gives us the freedom to make the most of our time. The world doesn’t need a Bastion with a five-year plan…” Bastion swallowed hard and arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t look at the card!” she insisted. “The world, this team, Nicole, your child? We need a Bastion who’s thinking long run. You’re scared. So am I. But this, this is a crutch. An arbitrary security blanket. And heroes don’t need blankets. We’ve got capes.” “Not you.” “Not me.” Artemis shared a laugh with him. “Holding your baby would be my joy. We can provide them a safer world. Together.” Bastion’s smile evaporated. He rotated his palm upward, which – based upon the set to his jaw – suggested he wasn’t seeking her touch again. Numbly, Artemis deposited the folded card into Bastion’s open hand. An eternal minute elapsed before he smiled again. He then crumpled and tossed the card into the wastepaper basket beside his desk. Without opening it. “Now, get out of here,” Bastion ordered. “I want a full report on Visionary’s condition – and Blitzen’s – within the hour. I need to connect with the warden.” “Of the Box?” “Yes. I’d like to handle Dr. Woe’s interrogation personally,” Bastion explained. “Bleed him a little.” “Artemis,” he said, a warning in his tone. “I know, I know.” “Within the hour.” “Copy. And Bastion?” Artemis began, eyes dewy. “Thank you.” She collected her gear, slipped the cowl over her head and departed, the door clicking softly as it closed behind her. Bastion nodded. He respected Artemis profoundly. But with so few assurances in life, and the uncertainly of Visionary’s fate, ensuring his child’s safety took precedence over all else. He plucked the card from the bin, and unfurled it slowly. The card simply read Right Now. Bastion’s heart sank, as realization settled into his stomach. The shattering glass of his office door barely registered. But the arrowhead piercing the left side of his chest, between his fourth and fifth ribs – his armor’s chink – monopolized his attention in an instant. Artemis’ heavy, deliberate footfalls – only heard when she wanted to be heard – as she stormed back into his office commandeered his thinking from there. “Damn you, Bastion,” Artemis roared, lowering her bow. Bastion’s blood spurted through his clutching fingers. “Why?” “Visionary didn’t tell me. She wouldn’t. Because she knew what I know. That knowing only leads to catastrophe. “ “Why?!” Bastion asked again, his voice faint. “I love you. Always have, and always will. But you betrayed me. Your secrets are ours. You lead us, and now you’ve shared intel with a civilian that you had no right to share. Bad enough on its own.” “I..” “But your giving up? It cripples us, and I won’t let that stand. I’m your legacy, and will represent you proudly. Words can’t convey the depth of my heartbreak. Deeper still, because I’ll now need to eliminate Visionary.” Artemis leaned closer. “She’s unconscious not because of a coma, but because of a powerful sedative. We don’t yet know the full extent of her abilities, but she can’t ever know or ‘see’ what’s happened here. For this, I am also sorry.” “Dddddon’t…” “I’ll be stopping for a coffee before visiting Blitzen. My words are true, I’d love to meet Nicole, and to hold your child.” Artemis’ tears stormed. “Which is now a problem. I cannot have civilian attachments.” She kissed her index and middle fingers and placed them to Bastions lip’s, flecked with bloody spittle. “Rest easy, Bastion. The Aegis will rebuild. And carry on.”


She turned up the dial radio and listened closely as the weather girl reported the weekly update. There was slight static but with a brief adjustment, the woman's voice came in clearer.

“Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like things are going to cool down here in Los Angeles. We’ve got a heat wave coming in from Long Beach to Pasadena. Those of you in the heart of Tinsletown better watch out. It looks like temperatures are going to reach up to the 120s. This is going to be the hottest week Los Angeles has experienced in over a decade,” the woman explained. She turned the radio down and glanced at the slick beads of sweat on her fingers. Her red nail polish was almost melting off.

Holly sighed and moved to her bedroom, fanning herself as she went. She quickly changed into her pinstriped bathing suit and headed out to the pool. It was the first two-piece bathing suit she had ever owned. Her friend Margot had insisted it was the latest fashion from Paris. Holly wasn’t sure how much she cared but she couldn’t disappoint Margot especially not when Sam insisted on expressing his love through material gifts.

As Holly moved into the kitchen she smiled at Maria who was finishing putting away the glasses from the previous night’s dinner party. “Good morning, Maria, how are you today?” Holly asked, leaning against the counter.

“Good morning, Ms. Holly, I doing fine,” she replied slurring her words in a traditional Guatemalan tone. “Would you like some breakfast, Ms. Holly?”

“That would be great, Maria,” Holly answered. She started moving towards the door to the backyard but paused and turned back to Maria. “Do you think you could also make me a mimosa?” She felt sleazy asking but she wasn’t sure she could make it through the afternoon, having only the heat and her thoughts to comfort her if she didn’t also have alcohol. Maria smiled, knowingly and nodded.

Holly headed out to the backyard and felt the thin layer of sweat on her skin tripled in size. Holly groaned and put her sunglasses on. She took a step into the pool and felt instant relief flood through her body. She took another small step in and let the cooling water relax her. She hadn’t planned on getting her hair wet or ruining the face of makeup she had just taken an hour applying but the water called to her.

Holly immediately started swimming. She took long strides and let her swim training come back to her. She wondered momentarily why she ever let Sam convince her to stop her swim training. She could have been great. She could have really been something - maybe even an Olympian like Gertrude Ederle. But no, now she was just an average housewife, hosting parties for pretentious people and hanging off her husband’s arm like a trophy.

Holly started swimming faster as she found herself filling up with rage. All of her friends, like Margot, envied her life and thought she was the luckiest woman to end up with a man like Sam. According to Margot, she shouldn’t let herself get boggled down by silly little things like Sam cheating on her or spending more time playing poker with the boys or at home with her. All she had to focus on was getting pregnant, sooner rather than later. After all, if a woman hit 35 with no children - well, Margot shuttered to think. Holly rolled her eyes at the thought. Children never much interested her but of course, that wasn’t really an opinion she was allowed to have.

She swam harder. She didn’t even hear Maria call out to her when she brought out a tray of fruits and a small bagel with a mimosa. Maria tried several times to get Holly’s attention but when she failed for the fifth time, she settled for moving the food under the umbrella.

It was almost 2 pm when Holly finally stopped swimming. Her arms were aching and she felt ravished with hunger. By now the food that Maria had let out had burnt in the sun and her mimosa had melted into an overwatered slush. Holly sighed and grabbed a towel before heading back inside. She picked up the fan that she had left on the table and started fanning herself again as she walked back up to the bedroom. She wondered if she could convince Sam to purchase the new in-home air conditioning that Margot had been talking about. It might have been expensive but Sam was the best surgeon in the county. She was certain he could do this for her.

She changed into a light summer dress and headed downstairs. The kitchen smelt of cigar smoke and bourbon when she hit the first floor.

“Sam?” she called out. She turned around the corner to see Sam in his usual spot at the dining table, reading the rest of the newspaper he didn’t have time for that morning. His cigar was already half burnt and his bourbon glass was dropping small beats of condensation onto the table. Holly itched. How many times had she told him to use a coaster? Holly cracked her knuckles. “You’re home early, is everything okay, honey?”

Sam put the newspaper down and looked up at her. He looked at her the same way he might look at a dog walking down the street. She forced a smile.

“Yes, well, my patient this morning decided to die on the operating table,” he said nonchalantly. He made a noise indicating his irritation. Holly’s heart skipped a beat.

“Oh, Sam, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. He thrust the newspaper down on the table and looked head, before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Not you too. Why are you all sorry for me? It’s not my family. Doctor Cline said that too, what does it matter to me? I told him I was ready for the next surgery but he refused. He insisted I needed to ‘take time off’ and ‘let the loss sit with me’. What good is that?” Sam barked. Holly imagined that was similar to how it would sound if she actually had the child, maybe a toddler. She half chuckled to herself.

“Alright, well, would you like some lunch?” Holly asked, keeping all her frustration out of her voice. Sam sighed and gave her a half-hearted smile.

“Sure, honey,” he muttered and turned back to his newspaper. Holly smiled and turned back to the kitchen. She made sure that Sam was no longer paying attention to her and she dug deep in the cupboard for the small bottle of thallium.

Abruptly, Maria came back into the kitchen locking eyes with Holly. She saw and bottle and knew what Holly was planning. Maria’s eyes filled with water and sadness. Holly looked at her desperately and pleadingly. Maria nodded slightly.

Holly gave her a weak smile and continued making a salad for her husband. She mixed the thallium in with the salad dressing and then chopped up some watermelon. She then brought out the lunch to her husband.

She sat down across from him while he started eating. He ignored her completely as usual. She interlaced her fingers and waited, tapping her foot and watching.

“What are you looking at me like that for?” Sam asked, narrowing his eyes on her. She forced a smile and shook her head.

“I’m just making sure you are enjoying your lunch and not needing anything e -”

Before she finished Sam’s eyes bluged out and he looked as if he was going to be sick. Holly couldn’t help but smile.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” Holly asked causally. Sam clutched his throat and coughed up a bit of blood.

“You bitch,” he choked out. He made a reach for Holly but she got up quickly and moved out of his reach. He stumbled up and started moving for her.

“Maria! Quick! How long is this supposed to take?” Holly screamed. Maria was instantly in the room watching Sam fumble around and continue to cough up more blood. He came towards them and the women ran into the kitchen. “What are we going to do?”

“We have to do something else, Ms. Holly,” Maria insisted. She moved and grabbed one of the long knives for cutting chicken and tried to hand it to Holly. Holly’s tears burst from her eyes and panic quicked her heart rate. “Come on Ms. Holly!”

Sam was moving towards them, seeming to be managing the pain. Holly took the knife and held it in front of her just as her husband came towards her. The knife moved through his abdomen easily, like going through butter. Holly heard a slight snapping noise and she wondered if she had hit some sort of bone. Her tears were heavier now. Sam looked at her desperately as if still seeking revenge.

All Holly could focus on was the sound of the weather lady repeating the heat wave spreading through the city.


RHETORIC

James and I never got along. Not even when we were kids. Our mom had been on her own since my pops passed, and she wasn't much for parenting after his death. So James and I were left to our devices. When we interacted it always led to fighting. Most times verbally, oft times physically.

For that reason, and for subconsciously resenting both my absentee parents, I moved out at 16. I started by couch surfing, waiting tables. I stuck with it until I could get my own place, and began tending bar. Eventually I ended up bartending at a decently high end restaurant, making more than decent cash. Especially for a low maintenance bachelor.

All was well… until Covid.

Like many in the service industry, my hand was forced financially to make hard choices. Until things opened up, I had to give up my apartment, and move back home. Where I had rarely even visited in the 10 years since I left. Back home with a now,

full on pill popping mother, and my failure to launch, 30 year old brother.

Before I moved back I thought of a joke I could play on James. Since he was a full on Q worshiping tin foiler, I thought I could do something to spice up our ridiculous conspiracy arguments.

I thought I'd make my own version of Q.

I started by furiously "researching" all the conspiracy minded content, I could get my hands on. This would be the ammo I would use against all the James' of the world. I started innocently enough with all the famous stuff. Fake moon landing, Bigfoot, Jimmy Hoffa… all the classics.

Eventually, I fell down a rabbit hole. JFK, led me to Bay of Pigs, & mafia rumors. Then to Northwoods, MKUltra, & project Paperclip.

Once I had my content reservoir filled up with Clinton, Eppstein, Royals, & Masons, I needed to get my logistics down. I needed a hook, and a memorable name, and a delivery method.

After days of thinking I found a Wiki about ancient God's, and the Name jumped out at me. Dolus. That was it. The God of lies. That would be my screen name. My alter ego. His mission would be another Greek god. Nemisis, god of vengeance. Dolus would claim to be an insider. Someone close to someone powerful. Realistic, but vague. Believable, but hard to challenge with questions.

All I had left to do was figure out how to disseminate the info drops to the public.

I thought I would start small. A few reddit drops "warning" of leftist, or socialist projects that were upcoming. Then move to claiming I had knowledge of more sinister machinations. Include the right names, and the right vernacular,

and eventually like minded idiots would begin to nibble the bait. Where it took a leap, is a different story. I just got lucky. That's it. One of my "prophecies" of socialist plans came true in a big way. I told plans of restricting religious rights and paying sheeple to stay home. It was just part of a ranting drop on Reddit. That week, it was widely reported that state governments were banning gatherings,

including Church. Also, the first emergency checks were being put up for vote. I got a lot more eyeballs on my info dumps after that… a LOT more! That's when James started to take notice, and began using bits of Dolus info in his arguments. He also started commenting on my drops. He was hooked.

With that stroke of luck, it was time to kick it into the next phase. Can I effect real world scenarios with my imaginary secret info? All too easily, it turned out. I'd drop info about leftist gatherings, (that were public knowledge), that I'd tag with #coven, or #Death Meeting. Like clockwork, my followers would show up and protest the meetings. My avatar as Dolos was just a black version of the famous Michael Myers mask from Halloween. (Which was just an all white version of Captain Kirk from Star Trek.) At all the gatherings I provoked, the number of those black masks would grow...exponentially.

It was surreal, seeing all those black masks on the news. Reading the signs they were swinging, and hearing MY stuff being regurgitated in interviews with local reporters. The Nemisis freight train was picking up steam, quickly. The unexpected side effect of all this, was how it made me feel. I felt powerful. It was like with every passing day, I was forgetting it was all a joke. All based on trolling these idiots with lies I made up, whole cloth. It started to veer off course.

Before I knew it, I was buying it myself. These "socialists" targets of mine began to actually seem evil to me.

The "white knight" Republicans began to seem heroic. It seemed that I was convincing MYSELF of all this bull shit. It didn't help that besides my now fake arguments with James, I was interacting with an echo chamber. All my posts were met with agreement and an eerie reverence.

My followers were treating me like a holy man. Like I was God's emissary on Earth. It was intoxicating.

All the power and all the conspiracy stuff hitting me at such a weird, untrusting time in the country's history, was a perfectly volatile combo. Things ratcheted up quickly… and violently. One of my lefty action alerts about abortion doctors meeting local politicians,

was taken too far. One of my followers took action and people died. He died as well, but on the message boards he was martyred...and I was praised. I didn't condemn the action, either. I was scared I'd be implicated, so I never mentioned it at all.

James even called Dolus a hero. I pretended not to have heard about the incident. Time went by, and more of the violence and death would be at least partially attributed to the Nemesis group. Dolus was on the authorities radar, by then. When a woman in Florida killed her own child in the name of Nemesis, it snapped me back to reality. The woman claimed her child was a crisis actor, in league with the left. She claimed the 18 year old girl, who was a trauma survivor, took money in exchange for her false testimony against a gunman. The mother got the idea for the shooting being a false flag, aiming to take away guns, directly from a Dolus post.

Time to drop the trolling post, admiting it was all BS. Time to show James all the evidence I had, of Dolus being me. Time to rub it in their faces how easily duped they all were.

I typed out the confession, (not including my real identity), and was about to hit enter. At that moment, the front door was kicked in and I was in custody. From Jail, I talked to James. I told him everything and he was supposed to gather all the evidence of it just being a joke. I needed to show the cops, that I was just a troll, not a vicious political cult leader. That distinction would help with public opinion and hopefully sway the courts into easier punishment. Maybe just probation.

James never showed with that evidence. He probably set it on fire. Instead he used it to access all my accounts, and my laptop. He became a new agent of Nemesis, called Cane. He explained how Dolus was just part of a larger splinter group, and he honored Dolus as a true patriot.

I was sentenced to life in a Colorado supermax prison. The same one

as the Unibomber. James was more careful to avoid the authorities. Last I heard Cane was thought to be dropping his posts from somewhere in the Mediterranean.

Somewhere with no extradition treaty, most likely.

Nemesis is worldwide now.


Today is the first day of summer camp. I didn't want to go to summer camp so I tried my best to look sick but my mom knows when I am faking since I do that every first day of summer camp. Of course, I have a reason why I hated the camp so much. I hate it because of the big kids who were forced to come to camp and bully us the small ones at camp, Clara in particular. Clara will do anything to make me fool in front of everyone just for spilling smothie in her dress by accident. "Fiona, Get down here and eat your breakfast. The bus will be here soon." yelled my mom from downstairs.  I got dressed and hurried downstairs to eat my breakfast. Cornflakes with milk next to it were ready for me to eat as usual. I rushed out the door and saw my best friend, Melissa, waving sadly at me from the bus. I ran to the bus to ask Melissa what was wrong but I understood what was wrong as soon as I entered the bus. There was no seat except for the seat next to Clara. “Hey, you, what is your name? Go have a seat, I don’t have all day to sit around and wait for you.” I heard the bus driver yelling with an angry voice.

I had no choice but to sit next to Clara. Fortunately, She was too busy using her phone she didn’t even notice I was sitting next to her. After few minutes, one kid throws up on the bus, and the bus driver stopped the bus immediately. We all got off the bus and waited for the bus driver to clean up the bus. I started wondering around the woods and I saw an unusual looking necklace floating in the water. I caught it and put it in my pocket and hurried back to the bus. We all got on the bus and continue the ride to summer camp. When we arrive there, we all choose someone to share our cabin with, and as usual, we get the smaller cabins while the big kids got the biggest and coziest cabins. I shared a cabin with Melissa and we both got in our bed and we talked about how bad the summer is going to be as we do every time we come here to the summer camp. We both hate summer because of summer camp but instead, we love winter especially when it snows. I closed my lamp and whispered, “I wish it snows for the rest of the summer.” As soon as I whispered those words, the necklace I found earlier started glowing then it stopped. I didn’t pay much attention to it since I was so sleepy and I closed my eyes to sleep.

The next morning, everyone at summer camp was surprised to see the trees and the grass as white as a snow, wait, in fact, it was snow. I at first I couldn’t believe it but then I remembered that unusual looking necklace was glowing after I made my wish last night. I become more happier since now I can make all my wishes come true. I relized that since it is snowing, it is getting colder and colder and no one at camp brought any winter clothes with the so we had to go back to our cabin. I wanted to tell Mellisa about the necklace but I thought it is better if no one else knew.

I whispered to myself, “I wish every one at camp had a winter clothes except for the big kids.” After few minutes, I saw everyone outside playing with the snow wearing a winter clothes except for the big kids. Melissa also found her winter clothes in her bed and she quickly put them on and ran outside without questioning where they came from since she loves playing with the snow so much. I also put on my winter clothes and join the others. I saw Clara behind the glass cabin window and I remembered it was pay back time for her so I said to my self, “ I wish Clara’s cabin is filled with rats.” We heard a scream from Clara’s cabin and we all went there to see what happened. We saw many rats chewing and destroying many things. I laughed while everybody else goes to help her, even Melissa.

Later that day, I asked Melissa why she helped Clara when she have been a total jerk to us. She said, “I helped her because it have nothing to do with her being jerk. She needed help and I am sure she have a reason why she hate us.”

That night I couldn’t sleep. I thought about what Melissa had said and I wanted to apologize to Calra for acting like a total jerk. I left my cabin and fix everything. I said, “I wish the snow is gone and the weather to be back to its natural form.” The weather back to normal and I saw Clara crying by the river.

I walked to her and asked her “Hey, Clara, Are you alright? Look, I know you hate me but I just want to help.”

she replied in a heavy voice. She said, “I hate you for a reason, Fiona. I hate you because before you spilled that smothie in my dress, My mother told me if she heard any bad complainment about me from my teachers, I will be sent to Perfect Academy for a year. I tried my best to get out of trouble for the whole day but after you spilled that smothie in my dress I had to clean it up and by the time I got to class, class was almost over. I tried to explain what happened to my teacher but she didn’t listen but call my mother and tell her and my mother decided to assign me to Perfect Academy not for a year but two. During the two years at Perfect Academy, I heard that my father died but I wasn’t allowed to go back home. I had a very hard time there, but after the two years had passed and it was time for me to go back to school, I know this hall thing was your fault. Today when the rats were destroying my staff, they destroyed the a brcelet my father made for me before I heard he was dead.”

I had no idea about any of that and I felt even worse after I heared what I have done to her. If there is anything I can do to help, it is by fixing her bracelet so I asked her, “Do you have the pieces of the bracelet? I think I can fix it.” She said, “Yes, I do. Here.” Then she stopped crying. I took the bracelet from her hands and I told her I will fix it and give it to her in the morning and I invited her to our cabin and gave her the extra bed to spend the night. I wished for the bracelet to be fixed and her cabin to be back to its coziness. The next morning, I apolgized for what happened back then and gave her bracelet back. She thanked me which some how surprised me. I thought the necklace wasn’t made for me and I can’t get everything I want from one magic necklace so when we get back from the summer camp I throwed it out the bus window and left it where I found it.

When we get back to school Clara didn't make fan of me or bullied any of my friends. I was glad to know the truth about Clara and fixed almost all my mistakes. After school was over, I wanted to go and talk to Clara's mother and tell her the truth about what happened so I did and Clara's mother apologized to Clara and Clara was never sent to Perfect Academy ever again.


5. I miss you. He is a silhouette sitting on the railing of the balcony overlooking an island. His island. He takes another sip from the half empty bottle of wine then shouts: "At least I own an island!" He is an island of grief in a sea of happiness, resilience, normalcy. That one thought, "I miss you" is an island in his mind, surrounded by the tepid waters made up of all the other mundane thoughts he has; thoughts of beats and lyrics and female fans, so many female fans, so many willing female fans... His fingers drum an impatient beat onto the balcony railing. He wishes he could turn back time. 4. “Enjoy the little things." That's what she used to tell him. One of her favourite quotes was by Galileo Galileo, the one about how even though the sun has planets depending on it, it still has time to ripen grapes, as though it had nothing else in the universe to do. He lifts the bottle of wine up to the sky. “Happy anniversary.” He takes the first sip and swallows the wine and the overwhelming urge to weep. It takes him a while to get back control. The sun is setting as he leans on the railing of the balcony and takes another sip; then he takes the hundredth, thousandth, millionth sip of the wine that is his memories of her. He misses the little things about her. Her smile. Her laugh. Her voice. He misses the big things about her. The way her smile anchored him. The way her laugh threw him overboard, making him get lost in her sea of laughter. The way her voice could both make him feel small and insignificant in the presence of her brilliance and also make him feel like the king of the world and more importantly, the king of her world. She was the sun, brightening up the whole world, yet shining on him as though she had nothing else in the universe to do. The solar-powered garden lights come on. 3. No man is an island? Alone again. The refrigerator light illuminates the darkening kitchen. He grabs the bottle of wine and removes the foil from the top of the bottle. He swallows down a sudden urge to weep. He inserts the corkscrew into the center of the cork and twists the top handle to insert the corkscrew farther into the cork. He blinks back tears. He uses both hands to press down on the levers of the opener, downwards towards the center of the bottle. A rogue tear makes a break and runs down his cheek. The levers go down, the cork goes up. He impatiently wipes the tear, grabs the bottom of the opener with one hand and the bottle with the other and wiggles out the rest of the cork. He takes one deep breath, lets it out, takes another deep breath, lets it out and regains a modicum of control. He walks past one of his many drum kits and out onto the balcony. The view is spectacular. Sun, sea, windmills, trees for days. He can’t see the forest for the trees he planted in memory of her. Mango trees and avocado trees and orange trees. She had always been a nature person, always concerned about the environment and Mother Earth in general. She used to say: "We are all connected. No man is an island." Today, at this moment, he feels that she was wrong. He is an island that lets the many, willing female fans surround him, drown him, like a Tsunami. Yet he never connects with them where it really matters. He makes sure of it. He lets the movement of the windmills hypnotize him for a few moments. She was like a windmill. Tall, majestic, powerful - the quiet, gentle, pure kind of power. She taught him a lot of the important things he now knows and also some things that he did not want to know. She thrived during storms… but even the strongest windmill cannot withstand the blast wave of a toxic workplace nuclear explosion. 2. After the fireworks This one is talking to him. He can’t hear her. He doesn’t want to hear her. He wants wine and her gone. She is making the bed, destroying the evidence of what transpired. If only life were an unmade bed that could be straightened out in a few moves. She shyly asks for his autograph. He can’t remember her name so he writes: "To my favourite fan". She squeals in delight, goes into full fan-girl mode. Another happy customer. His heart hurts. She wants more of him, more from him. He just wants wine and this one gone. She persists, pouts, begs, seduces, threatens, blackmails. He pretends to give in, convinces her to start the shower running and he would join her shortly. He glares at her silhouette as she chats incessantly while showering. She is mapping out a detailed future of their lives together, complete with twins, dogs, cats and a horse. He switches on his phone. Several missed calls from the band’s publicist. He sends him a message assuring him that he is okay so that he doesn’t have a meltdown. The shower stops running; her mouth doesn’t. He calls security and organizes for her to be flown back to the main land. A few minutes later, she is carried away, kicking and screaming, yelling at him her invitation to call her any time he wants. He just wants wine. 1. Another notch on the bedpost He misses her . He hides that feeling, that time-bomb, in the beautiful body of this one who isn’t her. He uses experience from his previous job to convince himself that it's no big deal, that it's just skin and bones and hormones and blood rushing where it's needed. His current job ensures that there is a steady stream of no-strings Someones. They get their fifteen minutes of intimacy with a famous person. He gets fifteen seconds of forgetting her.

Her  shadow paints every touch, every kiss, every sound, every memory, every…thing.