MISC #9 Voting Thread: Genres on Parade

Which entry gets your vote to win?

  • Little Miss Robin Hood

    Votes: 0 0.0%
  • RAM Heist, or How We Spent Our Last Days

    Votes: 0 0.0%
  • This is the Future and the Future is Bleak

    Votes: 0 0.0%
  • Omega Men

    Votes: 0 0.0%

  • Total voters
    17
  • Poll closed .

Kitti

Empress of Niflheim
Original poster
DONATING MEMBER
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Invitation Status
Posting Speed
  1. 1-3 posts per week
  2. One post per week
  3. Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
  1. Adept
  2. Advanced
  3. Prestige
  4. Douche
  5. Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Male
  2. Female
The day you've all been anxiously dreading as time races forward while you craft your glorious entries eagerly anticipating is here! That's right, entry submissions for MISC are closed and it's time to begin voting on the winner. We had a superb turnout for entries this time and all the buzz about this round has been great.

For those who need a refresher on the prompt or didn't see it, this month was:

GENRES ON PARADE

Write a story that can be clearly identified as belonging to at least one of the following genres:

Caper Story (More Info)
Cyberpunk (More Info)
Dying Earth (More Info)


The prizes for winning are as follows:

MISC MANAGERS' PICK
One month of free Donator status complete with perks, a special victory ribbon under your avatar for a month, a spot in the MISC Hall of Fame thread to immortalize your win.
MISC COMMUNITY PICK
A special victory ribbon underneath your avatar for a month and a spot in the MISC Hall of Fame thread to immortalize your win.​

The Community Pick winners will be selected by the votes cast in this thread. If entries in the Community vote tie for first place, all of those entries will be rewarded with the prizes. Once the voting period is over and the Community Winner has been determined, this thread will also be used to announce the recipient of the Managers' Pick prize.

  • Please make sure to read over the rules for voting and giving feedback before jumping on in.

    Keep in mind that entries may contain graphic material. Only entries containing explicit sexual content will be marked NSFW.

    • All entries will be posted anonymously. Voters will need to make a selection based on the quality of the piece, not the name attached to it.

    • There will be two winners for each month of MISC: the Community Pick that receives the most votes, and a Manager Pick that will be decided in secret by the MISC managers. Each will receive separate but similar prizes for their accomplishment. On the rare occasion that there is a physical or monetary prize for the month, it will be awarded along with the Manager's Pick to avoid any temptation to pull shenanigans with the votes.

    • In the case of a tie in the public vote, each winner will receive the Community Pick prize package.

    • People who have entered the contest can vote, but they can't vote for their own entry or it'll be disqualified. Show some love to your fellow writers or don't vote, whatever feels right to you. Votes will be public knowledge so we can keep track of this.

    • You aren't allowed to tell anyone which entry is yours until AFTER the voting period is over. Doing anything to solicit votes is not allowed and will get you disqualified, and perhaps even banned from MISC altogether. Telling your friends "hey, I entered MISC this month, go read the entries and vote" is fine; telling people "go vote for #4, that's my entry" is not okay.

    • Voters are highly encouraged to read through every entry before voting. We know we can't enforce this, but try to give everyone a chance before picking your favorite.

    • The entry with the most votes at the end of the voting period will be declared the Community Pick for that month. However, if the community makes the same selection as the managers, then the second highest vote recipient will be named Community Pick; we don't intend to make the vote seem like it's playing second fiddle to our pick, it's just how it has to work so prize distribution makes sense when there are gift certificates or similar to be won, sorry! The winning entry will win fabulous prizes (fabulousness not guaranteed) and will win a permanent spot in the MISC Hall of Fame thread for all eternity (or until Iwaku explodes).

    • Voters are highly encouraged to post in the voting thread to explain their choice. Full reviews or critiques of the entries are very welcome, but please keep any criticism constructive and civil. Telling someone that their spelling errors and odd word choice made it hard to read is fine, but telling them that they write like shit is not okay.

    • Number/letter grades are also highly discouraged as they tend to be arbitrary and to vary widely in interpretation. This applies to any form of comparative grading. It is better to list strengths and weaknesses from the rubric for each entry based on its individual merit rather than assigning a grade.

    • If you would like, you may use the same rubric that the managers will be using, provided below. It's entirely optional; don't feel obliged.


    MISC MANAGER'S RUBRIC

    TECHNIQUE

    - Are there spelling/grammar errors or typos? Many, or just a few? How did it affect your ability to read and follow along with the story?
    - Is sentence structure and word choice varied? Does the writer show a good grasp of vocabulary and punctuation usage?
    - Are there any odd word choices or places where you stumble? Is everything clear and easy to understand?

    STYLE

    - Do you get a sense of the narrative voice when reading along? Is it consistent throughout the narrative?
    - Do the punctuation and sentence structure show a sophistication of style? Does it seem like deliberate choices were made to create a certain flow?
    - Is there use of vivid, engrossing description? Can you easily picture scenes in your head?
    - Does the story captivate your interest? Do you find yourself skimming?

    CHARACTERIZATION

    - Do characters have distinct, believable voices of their own? Is the dialogue natural or does it feel forced?
    - Do characters show complexity and depth of emotion? Do you get a sense of who they are and what motivates them?
    - Do the characters seem appropriate for the setting?
    - Do the decisions made or conclusions reached by characters within the scope of the story make sense? Do we learn more about them through their actions?
    - Are the characters likable or interesting? Do you have any strong emotion toward them?

    CREATIVITY

    - Are the plot and/or setting fresh and original? Do they show imagination?
    - Are there any new twists on old ideas or common elements? Has the writer surprised you?
    - Are there any subplots or underlying themes that you can identify?
    - Has the writer used symbolism, metaphor, allegory, or subtext?

    COHESIVENESS

    - Does the story adhere to the prompt? How closely? Is there any way you feel it deviates from the spirit?
    - Do the ideas involved seem fully developed?
    - Is there a plot? Do you get a sense of advancement in the story? Do characters learn or accomplish anything?
    - Does the story make sense as a whole and flow seamlessly from beginning to end? Is there anything that feels like it doesn't fit or is unnecessary?
    - Is the ending satisfying? Does it feel like a complete story?


So there's all the nuts and bolts for the contest! Hopefully everyone had fun writing their pieces even if not all managed to get them submitted in time. Lots of entries means lots of fun so thanks to everyone who wrote a story!
Now onward, to reading the submissions (and perhaps even writing them a thoughtful critique in return!):

“I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light”
- ‘Darkness’, Lord Byron​



I can see the triplet pillars of the City’s space elevators lighting up the grim night sky, a dying planet’s very own North Star, as our truck peels its way through the grey slush towards the meeting point.

Sidrovich claims it's just a simple excursion outside the City, nothing to worry about: hand over the goods, get the payment in return, head back. But that’s what Sidrovich says with every job, and the fact that he’s gone to the trouble of sending me along has our new friends worried. You don’t come loaded for war unless you’re expecting a fight, and you don’t send me on a job unless you’re anticipating it being far less than simple. That certainly seems to be the conclusion our two companions for the evening have drawn, going by the way they eye me nervously as the truck’s electric engine hums along calmly. Local muscle Sidrovich has sent as backup, all vat-grown muscle implants and thick beards. Good for show, but no telling how useful they’ll be if things go south. My partner Levi occasionally glances at them with amusement from the driving seat: two years we’ve been working together, and he still gets a kick out of the reaction I garner.

The truck’s heating is cranked up as high as it can go, but even still I can feel the chill from outside pushing its way in. Doesn’t matter how many layers of thermal clothing, body armour and jackets you might be wrapped in: there’s no escaping the cold in this day and age. We pass beneath the shadows of the towering, brutalist residential blocks, laid out in uniform rows like nails driven into the snow-clad ground and somehow looking even darker than the sky from this angle. No beauties even when they were built, the years of exposure to Earth’s crippled environment have done little to improve their looks. Still, they offer a roof over the heads of workers and their families, walls to keep out the cold that aren’t made from plywood or plastic, even some protection to the background radiation.

There are people in the Shanty City that would kill for such luxuries.

That isn’t me employing poetic license.

Soon we’re past the blocks and out towards the south gate checkpoint, security drones drifting overhead as City security step towards us. The expression on the officer who Levi rolls down the window asks what the hell we’re doing driving out towards a snowstorm before he opens his mouth: the card my partner flashes him stops him from ever needing to ask it. With a brief nod he waves us through, tapping at his arm-mounted AR rig to open the gates and allow us out beyond the City limits.

The end of civilisation’s vestiges. The beginning of the wastelands.

Before long the wind is crashing against the truck and snowdrifts are surrounding us. Not often someone in my line of work will find themselves doing deals outside the City, but when we do we can be sure no-one will be snooping unless they have the means of staving off both the chill and the radiation. The ideal location for exchanging goods the City authorities might frown upon, assuming we do it right.

A couple hours of silence drifts by within the heated truck, the snowstorm kicking into full gear around us, until finally the windscreen’s enhanced HUD brings the sight of our destination into view. The warehouse we’re working out of today has, to put it mildly, seen better days, it’s roof having fallen in long ago. But it’s shelter from the elements and a space to make the exchange. As Levi brings the vehicle to a halt I turn around in the passenger seat to speak to our companions.
“Here’s the ground rules. No open carrying, keep your weapons out of sight unless you need to use them. No talking, that’s Levi’s job. Just follow my lead, make sure the exchange goes smooth, and we all go home richer. Ponimat?”

The two men share a glance between them, probably not used to having a wiry caucasian woman talking to them in this fashion. But they’ve been briefed: they know who I am and why I’m here. Looking back to me, they nod curtly. “Good. You set, Levi?” In response my partner finishes sealing his face behind his helmet and reaches down to haul up a case from his right, tucking a heavy matt-black handgun into his shoulder holster as he does so.
“All set, bratan,” he replies, “let’s go get paid.” The cold hisses in like a nest of angry hornets, doing its level best to pierce through my armour and reach my skin, as we push the doors open and step out into the open air. Grey snow crunches beneath my boots as I reach up to engage my helmet's sealing sequence. There's a hiss of air as the world briefly goes dark, then the helmet's HUD blooms into life. With a blink my view of the warehouse goes from gloomy to saturated and stark with contrast, a picture passed through a filter as the mask get to work making sure I can see my surroundings. Old military tech, a customised overlay pattern ready to highlight any sudden movements that step into view.

Levi falls into step next to me, thick padded coat rippling with the wind and the case containing our payload clutched tightly in one gauntlet-clad hand as our hired help trails behind us. I nod approvingly as both begin to follow the footprints left behind by myself and Levi: not complete amateurs, then. Out here in the open we’ve got absolutely no protection from the elements, so we need to move fast. Were it not for the helmet’s HUD filters compensating for the deluge of powdery snow and ice being pulled from the drifts and kicked up around us, I would barely be able to see my hands. Another point in our favour: the only people out in conditions such as these are either the desperate, the suicidal or the well prepared. It’s my hope that the four of us fall into the final category, as we stride towards the abandoned warehouse that our contacts are expecting us in.
“Almost there,” I rasp into the sub-vocal mic built into my neck seal, the tiny device picking up the vibrations of my vocal chords and processing them out onto our team’s comms, “sound off for mic check.”
“Priyem,” Levi rumbles back.
“Da,” mutters the first of our hired help.
“Receiving,” mutters the second. Holding up a thumb to confirm we’re all good, I reach a hand into my jacket to grip the weight of the collapsed VIPER I have tucked at my side: coiled like a spring, ready to burst into action upon command.

We all have our rituals right before we walk into a situation we might not walk back out of.

At least mine are practical.

* * *​

They’ve brought more men than Sidrovich told us they would.

That’s the first red flag.

Second one comes from the men themselves. From the way my shitbag of a client was talking I was expecting professionals: Tai Huen Chai, maybe, or private contractors. Wiry experts in smart weather gear, perhaps, or old post-war environment suits. These clowns, though? A ragtag half dozen in cold weather suits that barely look functional, weapons proudly displayed like they’re at a fucking gun show as they watch us enter the crumbling, half-collapsed warehouse. Mostly asian, a few slavic faces interspersed, all of them hidden behind crude weather masks or else open to the elements with nothing but rebreathers to protect them.

The man standing at their head doesn't inspired confidence either. Hunched over, stocky little shit, his face riddled with pockmarks. Only his environment suit lends him any credibility, even that is mostly hidden beneath a ratty, worn overcoat. Chinese, if I had to guess, most of his head hidden by the hood that’s drawn up from his suit: what can be seen is behind a crude layer of smart-glass, a low-tech variation of the helmets my people wear. He smiles, almost apologetically, as we draw closer. The clowns behind him are watching us like hungry animals, gaunt faces barely blinking as they do.
“This feel off to you, Koss?” Levi intones into his mic, the motions of his vocal chords hidden by his neck seal.
“Very,” I respond, “eyes sharp, khorosho?” I can feel our two companions tensing up, no doubt taking in the sight before us and not liking their odds were this to go badly. Bad form for a trade-off, one side spooking the other. I don’t know what the hell these guys are playing at, and I sure as shit don’t like it.

Coming to a stop in front of him, the Chinese man at the centre of what I’m worryingly starting to think of as the competition gives Levi a nod and a grin.
“Huānyíng. You guys here for Sidrovich?”
“Deal was to come with three others,” Levi grumbles back, not bothering to return the hello, “not six.” Our contact turns his palms up apologetically, bowing his head again.
“Very true, very true. Wǒ dàoqiàn, there was a... miscommunication, between ourselves and your boss.” He smiles again, something simultaneously obsequious yet alarming about the display. “You understand, yeah?” Levi’s voice remains flat, expressionless.
“No. Not especially.”
“Extra backup is your first strike,” I interject, “fact that they’re waving their guns around is the second, and you’re not getting a third. Lose the weapons.”

The spokesman blinks, his gaze snapping over to me with irritation before looking back to Levi. My companion simply shrugs, still expressionless. Eyes narrowing, the spokesman finally deems fit to reply.
“Not all of us got Mr Sid’s budget, nǐ míngbái? Got to make do with who we can find. Dangerous times, yeah?”
“Can’t be doing too bad,” I retort, “since you brought two extra bodies. Guns away, or this deal’s off.” His jaw tightens, sickly smile looking more like a grimace for a few seconds. Then his head bows again, and he twists about to motion downwards with one arm at his men as he barks,
“Shōu qǐ tāmen! Xiànzài!” There’s a short pause, as the half dozen ragtag enforcers look between themselves and their apparent leader. Then slowly, sullenly, the firearms are holstered or else tucked over shoulders. The spokesman turns back, pointedly ignoring me as he looks again to Levi. “There, no more guns. We can do business now, yeah?”

Levi and I exchange another glance, our shared concerns not needing to be spoken aloud. You survive long enough in a world such as this and you learn to get a read off people, and the spokesman here is already making my skin crawl. Still, he’s told his guys to back down and holster their weapons upon request and I suspect that Sidrovich isn’t going to accept ‘rubbed me the wrong way’ as a valid reason for scuppering the deal. Going by the resigned shrug that Levi makes, he’s come to a similar conclusion. I return the shrug: no going back now. My partner turns back to the spokesman and gives a brief nod.
“Da. Business, then. You have the payment?” That sycophantic grin is back on our opposite’s face as he nods furiously, reaching into his jacket to produce a battered, metal-encased data stick.
“ERC commands and credits, just like Mr Sid asked for. You can verify, no problem.” He’s still nodding, his gaze trailing down to the case at Levi’s side like a Freudian slip. “You got the goods, yeah?”

I’m frowning now, something about this head-bobbing little shit making me want to inch for the door or start shooting even as Levi shrugs again and brings his payload up to chest height. His gauntlet-clad fingers punch in a passcode and the seals are released, allowing him to pull open the metal device and reveal its contents. Sidrovich has, as usual, overdone things for effect. The case interior has been draped with faux-velvet, the two power cores stored within laid inside carefully shaped hollows. Perhaps it’s to try and compensate for how uninspiring the devices look themselves: a pair of battered, weather-stained steel chunks, clearly showing their age.
“Pre-war, as was request. Picked up by licensed requisitions team, thoroughly tested to ensure they are fit for purpose.” Levi raises an eyebrow at the spokesman. “They are to your satisfaction?”

There’s an intensity to the spokesman’s gaze as he nods, something almost akin to a hunger as he speaks the words, “they are, yeah.”

That’s the moment when the red flags turn into blaring sirens and I know the whole exchange is about to turn into a shitshow.

The guns that were just seconds ago politely holstered and out of sight are suddenly being reached for, half a dozen grubby hands reaching to pull them free. The movements are clean, practised, not the work of bumbling amateurs, but despite that I’m still faster. My arms move like pendulums as they reach down to my side and into my jacket, one finger carefully brushing the side of the collapsed VIPER in just the right spot. As I pull it free and bring it to bear, what initially appears to be a gunmetal rectangular package expands outwards into a stocky little instrument of death as internal pneumatics propel the weapon’s parts into place. I hold the VIPER at an angle, letting the motion of my draw propel it into a sweeping arc as I send a raking volley of gunfire across the assembled mob of would-be thieves. Through the helmet’s filters I hear the guttural rattling of hollow-point rounds going off, the yelps and screams as they meet their mark.

Instinct and training are pitching my rational mind out the driving seat as I lunge to the left out of the path of potential return fire. My two hired hands are pulling on their own weapons, to their credit, and also diving for cover: plenty of it to be found in a partially collapsed warehouse. Levi, though, is too busy trying to re-seal the case to draw or dive, head no doubt filled with repeated demands by Sidrovich not to let anything happen to the package.

The spokesman of our would-be double-crossers moves with a speed I didn’t think possible for a figure as hunched and stocky as him, closing the ten metres between himself and Levi before my companion can react. I drop into a slide, hoping to propel myself behind a nearby collapsed section of ceiling as I try to bring the VIPER to bear on the man. Before I can, his right arm is darting out towards Levi’s neck and something is bursting loose from the sleeve of his overcoat.

The holdout pistol clears his jacket and nestles into the spokesman’s hand just in time for him to jam it against Levi’s neck and pull the trigger.

The gunshot rings out through the confused, and Levi drops like someone’s just cut the strings that were holding him aloft. I feel myself going cold, a numb absence of emotion creeping across my thoughts and motions as I line the spokesman up through my smartlink and squeeze the VIPER’s trigger with a sharp twitch of my finger. The impact sends him tumbling across the concrete and scattered metal that makes up the warehouse floor, his other hand clutching at the case he’s just ripped from Levi’s dying fingers. Don’t linger on the dead, echoes the old mantra as I continue to unload the rifle across the room, nothing you can do for them now. Focus on the fight, on doing what you have to do to stay alive.

Levi’s face gapes blankly up into the ruined ceiling through his mask, like doll’s eyes have replaced the very real ones I had been meeting just a few minutes before.

Screams and the rattle of gunfire blares up behind me, and I twist around to see my two companions go down in a hail of bullets. Before I can react something like a cross between a freight train and a shuttle engine slams into my back, knocking me sprawling and sending all traces of breath from my lungs. The dizzying pain that rolls across my torso confirms that I’m not dead, at least: dead people don’t hurt this much. Snarling and gasping for air, I twist about to face this new threat as my helmet’s HUD confirms that I just took a blast from some form of automatic rifle and that my armour’s integrity is in an even worse state than I am. Sucking enough air back into my lungs to curse furiously I return fire at the figures advancing through the snow mists outside the warehouse. Where the hell these new threats might have come from I don’t know: the only people crazy enough to have been waiting in ambush out in the rad-infested snow are the sorts of people who don’t call the City home. And if that’s who I’m up against right now, then I’m even more fucked than I thought I was ten seconds ago.

Hauling myself over the collapsed roof to find cover from our new attackers, I reload the VIPER just in time to see a few of the spokesman’s grunts pulling him out the doors of the warehouse. It’s spite more than anything that has me pop up and loose another stream of automatic fire in their direction, blowing apart the shoulder of one of the spokesman’s would-be saviours and sending the other two diving for cover. A stupid, amateur move: I’m letting my emotions make combat decisions for me, and I quickly pay the price as another two rounds impact against my armour’s chest plate.

God snaps the breaker switch to zero, and the world goes dark.

blood pumping in my ears so loud it’s making my head hurt and I’m glad of that pain cos it’s a distraction from the agony swelling across my chest always knew I was gonna die loud and stupid that’s what they said about my kind

Footsteps crunching through frozen snow, coming from very far away. Like I’m hearing an echo rather than the real thing.

survive the end of the fucking world survive the initiation into the regiment and them cutting you up to stitch you back together again stronger make it through all the shit that comes after the collapse of everything humanity once knew to be real only to go out like a common thug you fucking

Voices, muffled like I’m hearing them from underwater.
“The fuck was that?” one of them is exclaiming, “bitch took a MAG round in the back and kept on coming! Jen-sin said this was gonna be a cakewalk!”
“And you believed him? More fool you, húndàn. Now stop moaning and get her piece, we got wounded to haul back to camp.” The first voices mutters darkly under his breath, and there’s the scraping of metal against snow-coated concrete.

The footsteps drift away and are lost in the howling of the wind.

always knew you’d die alone in the snow and this was a long time coming dunno why you’re acting so surprised...

* * *​

As always, it’s the pain that tells me I’m alive.

My breath comes in ragged swallow bursts and for a good few seconds I’m convinced that something’s blinded me before I manage to blink the swirling cacophony of black spots from my vision. HUD’s flashing like a fireworks display, all manner of panicked red-tinged warnings all begging to tell me the myriad ways in which I am fucked. Except for the spot where my helmet visor has cracked completely, reinforced smart glass broken and shattered to let the elements in. Parting gift from the spokesman and his wastelander cohorts, no doubt. Smart move, too. Why waste a bullet when you can just crack someone’s helmet and let the radiation finish the job for you? Anyone else would be glowing with the rad intake in just an hour or so, assuming they even got back up at all.

Muscles aching and straining from the effort, I haul myself onto my knees and then onto unsteady feet with a groan.

Spokesman and his cronies did good. Stripped me of my gear pretty well, left only the battered armour and expended VIPER rounds behind. But they didn’t factor in the subdermal antirad injectors in my legs and arms. They didn’t know about the weeks of gene therapy treatments me and mine went through back in the day, the ceramic bone-lacing and synaptic boosters they implanted into every member of a regiment sent out to try and carve out a small sliver of sanity in a world that had lost its mind.

Or, to put it less politely? Spokesman and his cronies didn’t know who they were fucking with.

I’m going to let them know very soon, though.

Getting ahead of myself, though. First things first, assess the damage and take stock of the situation. Find a weapon. Regain contact with Sidrovich and let him know his wonderful little ‘outside the City business deal’ turned into a gargantuan clusterfuck and his merchandise is gone. That ought to get the fat Ukrainian shit into gear. Helmet’s screwed six ways till Sunday, so I won’t be getting through to him via it’s broadcaster: I haul the now useless hunk of metal and superpolymer layers off my head and let it hit the ground with a muffled thump. Still unsteady on my feet, I manage to haul off my overcoat and chest plate, leaving only the silver nanowire-lined bodysuit underneath. Internal power is still kicking, at least, heating the wire and keeping the chill at bay: if it wasn’t, I’d be little more than an icy block of flesh by now. Other small mercies include the holdout pistol that I have stowed in the chest plate’s internal pockets, which managed to avoid the rifle fire I took. It fits snugly into my hand, the ceramic components feeling flimsy and small in the midst of the swirling grey snowstorm I stand in. Better than nothing, though.

Strapping the remains of my armour and jacket back on, my eyes dart about the shell-strewn remains of the warehouse for Levi’s body. My partner lies where he fell, face-plate stripped and shattered by his killers. Ice is starting to form on his skin, lending him even more of an inhuman, waxwork-like quality. The dead never look like they’re sleeping, and whoever claimed otherwise was a fucking idiot. Limping over to him, I drop down to one knee so my hand can brush those staring eyes closed.
“Ostavaysya spokoyno, bratan,” I mutter quietly, the words almost lost in the wind, “I’ll send them on after you soon enough.” Nearby, the corpses of Sidrovich’s two contractors are also starting to frost over. As I reach down to close the eyes of the second man, it suddenly occurs to me that I never even learned their names. Didn’t care to, just another pair of faceless grunts I was to work with and then forget. I look down at his face, lined and scarred, bearing the marks of a man who had witnessed the end of the world and lived long to tell the tale. Survived all of that, only to die here in the snow for a pair of pre-war power cores.

Outside of the ruined warehouse and into the open elements, it quickly becomes apparent that the wastelanders have been thorough in their efforts to steal or destroy anything Levi and I brought with us. The truck is battered and smoking, flames still smouldering up from the engine block where the battery rows have been stripped or smashed. Nothing I wasn’t anticipating, but the sight still sends my stomach spiralling further: vehicles like that don’t come cheap in the City, and it had been Levi’s pride and joy to own one. Staggering over to it, I do a quick assessment of the damage and realise they’ve not been quite as thorough as they intended to be. Though the tracks are broken beyond repair and the engine is thoroughly totalled, they’ve missed one of the survival gear compartments my partner had added to his truck for these very occasions. I remember laughing at him over it at the time, and my chest tightens a little at the thought. Kneeling down near the back end of the vehicle, I tap the location of the compartment with the right rhythm to reveal a AR-projected keypad. After a moment of struggling to remember what sequence we used for this spot I’m staring at a small cylindrical compartment tucked into the armour of the truck, stocked with the essentials for not dying of exposure in the frozen wastes. Nothing fancy, but enough to keep me going: survival rations, spare power supply, goggles, a sat-linked rebreather that I can use to get back in touch with Sidrovich, and Levi’s battered old urshanka that he’d promised me he’d thrown out six months ago.

Strapping the rebreather and goggles into place, I hesitate for a moment before pulling the fur-lined hat on as well. A small memento to bring with me as I go after the people responsible for his death, I suppose.

The goggle’s HUD boots and syncs with my suit’s internal systems, the rebreather linking in and finding a connection on a nearby satellite network. Almost immediately I’m bombarded with messages and alerts, all of them Sidrovich, all of them in increasing stages of fury. The last one is a particularly tasteful threat in Ukranian that actually manages to provoke a smile from me. Let the fat prick simmer a little more, I need to figure out just where the hell I’m going first. Turning away from the ruined truck and facing out towards the snow-strewn wastes around me, I start hunting for signs as to the direction my attackers headed off in. The goggles run a scan for footprints, but in this weather it’s a lost cause: snow drifts will have covered their tracks within minutes. Frowning, I opt for a different route and start cycling through nearby networks to see if I can’t find any others connected to them. Can’t be too many people crazy or stupid enough to be wandering around in these conditions, so anyone that is will stand out.

Bingo. A quartet of signals linked to the same sat-network as me, pinging roughly five klicks to the south-east. I drop my search immediately, before my newly acquired targets notice that someone on the network is hunting about for others, and set off after them without looking back as I place a call to Sidrovich.

To his credit, he doesn’t take long to accept it.

“Ebatʹ nareshti!” a furious, rumbling voice barks down the line at me, “Koss, if you and that partner of yours have tried to play me I’m going to pull out your fucking--”
“Levi’s dead,” I inform him, cutting him off mid-threat, “so are the two guys you sent along with us. You set us up on a deal with wastelanders, ty zhirnyy kusok der'ma, so don’t start throwing around accusations.” Sidrovich comes to a stammering halt, then comes back with full force.
“Suka, what the fuck are you talking about? The deal came from a reliable middleman, properly vetted! The fuck is this bullshit about wastelanders?”
“You want helmet-cam footage? Cos I got the whole thing. Us going into the warehouse, them drawing on us, Levi getting shot in the fucking throat for your power cores. Whole goddamn thing, suka.” There’s an angry pause, then Sidrovich growls,
“Send it.”

I oblige, my suit transmitting the stored footage of our deal-turned-gunfight from my position in the ass end of the world’s end to Sidrovich’s comfy office in the City. Through the call I can hear my client’s breathing grow shorter and sharper the further he watches, and by the time he’s finished watching he all but explodes back down the line at me. “SHCHO TAKOYI LYUDY! Who the fuck do these valenki cocksuckers think they are, robbing me?!” His voice takes on an echoing quality as his head turns away from the mic. “You! Suka! Get Vasily and the boys round to that dealer's house, pravyy chort zaraz! I want to know what he was thinking setting up deals with wastelander scum!” His voice returns to normal as he begins speaking to me again. “You. Koss. Tell me you’re going after them.”
“They shot Levi in the throat.” It’s all the answer he needs.
“Dobre-dobre. Tell me what you need, and it’s yours if you return my product to me.”
“And if it’s long gone by the time I catch up?”
“Then you bring me the head of the valenki who thought he could rob me with impunity.”
“That I can promise you.” Sidrovich chuckles darkly.
“Knew there was a reason I hired an ex-Pathfinder. One second, let me find out just where the hell you are.”

Another pause, as Sidrovich no doubt pulls up satellite feeds to pinpoint my location. “Svyate derʹmo, of course you’d be right in the eye of the fucking radstorm! No way to get any backup out to you, not in those conditions, but I can send an AV with supplies if needed.”
“My armour’s totaled and the bastards stole my gun. It’s needed.” I can hear Sidrovich typing as he talks.
“Zrozumiv, won’t be a problem. AV will be with you soon, so long as your connection holds. If it doesn’t, I’ll set it to wait for you at these coordinates.” My HUD flashes with a map marker that has just been sent to me, three klicks along my route.
“Understood. You got a bead on the guys that pulled this? Aerial footage?” My client grunts.
“Nemaye, snowstorm is kicking up too much interference. You’re only seeing them because you’re on the ground with them.”
“Old fashioned way it is, then. Get that AV out to me ASAP, or else I’ll be fighting these guys with a fucking pea-shooter.”
“Their heads, Koss! You bring me their fucking heads--”

Rolling my eyes, I cut Sidrovich off before he descends into another round of insults and incoherent snarling. I’ve met men with shorter fuses than that Ukranian black marketeer, but few so willing and able to apply it as literally as him. Still, he pays well and his jobs are usually simple enough.

At least they were, before this one.

My feet crunch down into the grey snow, my goggles doing their best to filter out the swirling maelstrom of snow, ice and radiation that flies around me. Thought I’d given this shit up years ago, marching off into the unknown in search of people needing shot. Pathfinders are long gone, a product of a more troubled time: most of us are dead or off-world by now, and here I was thinking I was just working cushy City-based jobs with Levi now. Fate has a sense of humour, it seems. Or it’s just a fucking asshole.

Either way, the spokesman and his cronies are out there, lurking in the wastes and no doubt thinking they’ve pulled off their little robbery nicely. Wastelanders were always ones to labour under the delusion that these open expanses of dying earth belonged to them and them alone, even back when my regiment was still operating. Since then, they’ve only grown more overconfident.

But they were wrong then, and they’re still wrong now.

These are my woods they walk in. They’re among wolves now, even if they’ve forgotten it.

They’ll remember soon enough.

* * *​

We used to say that when it came to waste excursions, if it wasn’t the elements or the radiation that got you it would be your own head.

The human mind craves stimulation, visual imagery for the brain to process and comprehend: faced with nothing but a vast, swirling expanse of grey and white it quickly starts getting antsy. Time seems to slow, and without any signs of the day’s progress it’s all too easy to succumb to that horrible, quiet but growing thought process that tells you that you’re trapped in some frozen, snowbound limbo. That you’re lost, never to be found, in the white.

I hear engineers up on the orbital platforms and colonies can suffer from the same thing if they get stuck out in open space for too long.

The human mind isn’t able to process a concept like infinity.

They prepared us for this during the selection process, figuring out who could hack extended isolation whilst keeping their shit together before we could progress to the next stage of Pathfinder training. What it comes down to is knowing how to compartmentalise, knowing how to focus on the situation at hand and not let your mind wander. Lucky for me, that was a part of the selection process I excelled at.

Lucky for me, the wastelanders I’m after have given me the perfect thing to focus all my attention upon.

Out in the white progress is always going to be slow. All the technique and practice in the world isn’t going to make you navigate your way through drifts of rad-choked snow any faster. I’ve learned to think of it as a rhythm rather than a race, a slow and trailing dance across the corpse of the Earth. My heavy boots have their cleats distended to help my progress, and I know from the occasional signal check that I’m making good time: the wastelanders must still be carrying their wounded because I’m catching up.

After what feels like at least a day but what I know objectively to have been maybe an hour, Sidrovich pings me with a single message: ‘Middleman for the deal is dead. Looks like he was tortured for info. You and I have both been played. AV approaching, enjoy the gift package. BRING ME THEIR HEADS.’ Sure enough, I soon hear the steady hum of a powerful electric engine over the swirling din of the wind. Turning, I spy the squat, angled form of the AV as it’s treads push their way through the snow and come to a stop before me. Another perk of working for the Ukrainian: he’s reliable. Crouching down next to it, the AV’s storage compartment snaps open and I haul out the set of armour I’ve been provided with. Older and bulkier than the stuff I came out here with, but at least this new set hasn’t taken a MAG round in it’s back plate recently. Shrugging off my old set and letting the new protection slide and snap into place over my chest and back, I reach inside for the second item I’ve been provided with then frown slightly. Old Kalashnikov stock, aftermarket railgun barrel modifications and a scope that’s probably older than I am. Heavy and ugly, not my style in the slightest, but still a hell of a lot better than my holdout pistol in a fight.

Sliding the extra magazines I’ve been supplied with into the armour’s webbing, I re-seal the AV’s compartment and sling the rifle over my shoulder. There’s a certain reliability to the weight, I suppose, the knowledge that I’m carrying a weapon born of two centuries worth of conflict and warfare. Jabbing at the touchpad on my left wrist, I scan again for other connections on my satellite network. Once again the wastelanders connections bounce back my way, more of them this time, maybe half an hour now from my position. Setting my shoulders, I move off through the snow once again towards my intended targets. The numbers aren’t in my favour, and I know from bitter experience that you should never underestimate a wastelander in a fight.

But they don’t know I’m coming. That’s all the advantage I need.

-

Wasn’t expecting a camp. Wasn’t expecting so many people.

Wastelanders are full of surprises today.

From a ridge line overlooking them, I peer down at a small cluster of vehicles and tents that my quarry has stopped at through the Kalashnikov’s scope. Maybe a few dozen or so, including the spokesman and his goons that I’ve been trailing. They’re the only major threats I can identify: the rest are disheveled, hunched figures and children bundled in as many layers of clothing available, looking more like refugees than wastelanders to my eyes. It’s a bizarre mix, but I’m not seeing any animosity between them. Well, save for the clear animosity between the spokesman and a tall, pale-faced woman. The two have been standing in the centre of the camp since I got here ten minutes ago, each of them taking turns to scream and shout at one another.

It’s a division I can use to my advantage, if nothing else.

Maneuvering around the camp to view things from a different angle, it quickly becomes apparent what the argument is about. They have it tucked in behind the hollowed-out remains of a pre-war building, hidden under white tarp: damn thing is a relic, probably barely functional, but I know an orbital shuttle when I see one. Two of the spokesman’s goons are inside the cockpit, Sidrovich’s case lying abandoned outside it as they struggle to fit something within the craft, and it finally clicks why these people were so desperate for pre-war power cores. These are indeed refugees, people hellbent on getting off-world whilst there’s still a world to escape from.

A plan starts to form in my mind.

For maybe another ten minutes the two men scramble about in the shuttle’s cockpit and the spokesman argues back and forth with his refugee companion. I can feel the cold starting to set in around me, even through the nanowire-lined bodysuit, feel my muscles start to strain from continuous doses of anti-rad injections. My ribs ache from the gunshots I’ve spent the day walking off, and even with the stimulants I’ve been taking exhaustion is beginning to set in. Nobody can keep this up forever.

But I don’t have to.

I just need to wait for my opening.

Sure enough, it comes when the two wastelanders finish installing the power cores with a triumphant stream of shouting, leaping down from the shuttle and running towards the main group. The one on the right is one of the men I recognise from the warehouse ambush, so he’s the one I take aim at with the rifle. There’s a crackle of energy and a brief jolt from the Kalashnikov and then suddenly the man is howling as he collapses onto the snowy ground, his kneecap atomised by the round I just put through it. Panic ripples through the assembled crowd of refugees and wastelanders: most of them scramble for cover, a few start going for weapons as they scour the nearby area for me. The spokesman looks ready to bolt, but the three rounds I land around his feet locks him in place like chains. The modulator and booster on my rebreather kick into effect as I call down to the group from my position.
“No-one fucking move. I see hands going for weapons, you lose them.” Silence hangs then, the men I’ve followed and their refugee counterparts looking between each other nervously as the spokesman glares up in the direction of my voice. It’s the pale woman next to him who speaks up first, her voice impressively level despite having just been fired upon.
“You’re firing at women and children, you understand?”
“See me hit any women and children?” I retort.

She spreads her arms out and takes a step towards me, the universal symbol of ‘look no scary armaments, please don’t shoot’.
“Why don’t you tell us what you want, and we can resolve this. I don’t want anyone else hurt. Are you from Toecutter’s people?” I chuckle darkly, keeping the Kalashnikov at the ready.
“Never heard of him. I’m the person your friends who just got back shot three times. The guys they stole those cores off. They tell you about that?” The look the pale woman throws at the spokesman tells me that no, they did not, and I smile. This is all coming together.
“They told us they’d bought them.”
“Sure, with bullets. Rat-faced pizda next to you shot my partner in the throat, left me to die in the snow.” At this, one of the thieves from the warehouse decides he’s going to make a move, reaching into his coat as he lunges towards cover. With a sweeping motion, I put two rounds through his upper thigh and he collapses with a scream.
“Měi gèrén, bǎochí lěngjìng!” the pale woman is shouting over the cries of distress that ring out in the wake of my shots, “Just stay where you are!” She looks back up towards me, and finally I can see the strain on her face. “What do you want? I’m sorry for what Jin-sen did to your friend, truly, but we’re desperate here. We need those cores.”

The last piece of my plan falls into place, and I raise myself up slightly from the ridge line so the group can see me. The rifle remains locked and ready as I speak.
“Don’t care about the cores. You want off world, that’s your business. Only thing I want...” the barrel of the Kalashnikov twists to point at the spokesman, “...is him. Rest of you are free to go.” My target is sneering up at me now, rage blooming up at me through my weapon’s scope.
“Cāo nǐ!” he screeches, “You mercenary bitch! How the fuck are you even still alive?” Ignoring his outburst, I continue calling down to the woman.
“It’s a fair deal. Fairer than the ones your friends offered me and mine. He stays, you all leave now. What’s your answer?” The refugees and remaining thieves are all looking between each other, muttering quietly, and I don’t need to be an expert in reading people to know exactly what a desperate group of people looking to escape this world are thinking. Trading the spokesman for their freedom? The answer is obvious, and when the pale woman looks back from them to me I know before she speaks that she’s of the same mind.
“Alright. Fine.”
“You fucking traitors!” the spokesman howls, “Fú zhā! Nuòfū! You’d all be dead or in chains if it wasn’t for me! I’m the one who got us out of Toecutter’s camp, I’m the one who found the ship, I’m the one who--”
“--who robbed your friend up there and got a bunch of us killed,” the pale woman interjects, glowering at him, “we’re not paying the price for your decisions any longer.”

The refugees are already starting to drift towards the shuttle, nervously at first but then more confidently when I don’t start firing. The spokesman, Jen-sin, is looking between them and my position on the ridge with increasing desperation, and I can hear him quietly pleading with the pale woman as she starts to move away as well. When she shakes her head and takes another step his hand darts out to grab at her, but I loose another round down onto the snow inches from his feet. Staggering backwards with a yelp he returns his attention to me, his eyes locking on my outline hatefully as the pale woman moves off.

We watch the shuttle launch together, the spokesman and I; hearing it’s systems swell and rattle into life, seeing the outline of its ancient frame through the snow as it pushes off from the ground with it’s VTOL thrusters before the main engines kick into gear. It’s engine roars like some ancient beast roused from sleep, booming through the wind as it begins to push itself into the sky. Doesn’t take long for the shuttle to be lost amidst the swirling winds, and by the time Jin-sen turns back around to face me I’ve made it down the ridge. Standing maybe ten metres from him, I keep the rifle against my shoulder. The rage is gone from his face now, a look of resigned finality take its place.

“You’re a Pathfinder, aren’t you.” It isn’t a question, but I nod anyway. He smiles bitterly. “I’ve been trying to figure out just how the hell you survived. That was the only answer I had.”
“Full marks, then,” I mutter, not letting the barrel of my weapon drift even an inch. He shrugs, making eye contact with me.
“Guess my luck had to run out some time, yeah?”
“Guess it did.”

I squeeze the trigger and his throat bursts, showering the grey snow in crimson as he drops. Closing the distance between us, I keep the rifle pointed down at his crumpled form all the way and put another two in his chest just to be sure. Steam is rising from the holes in his throat and chest as I lower my weapon finally, and I stare down at the man who was, just seconds ago, alive. By now I know better than to expect some rush of emotions now that Levi’s killer is bleeding out on the ground in front of me. Revenge isn’t a rush of emotions. Just a cold, quiet sense of satisfaction.

Overhead the snowstorm is starting to clear, the swirling clouds of ice and radiation no longer being buoyed up on winds to obfuscate the world around me. I take a moment to watch as the night sky begins to appear in gaps through the snow, as the City’s three space elevators come glowing into view. Tall spires reaching up into the heavens, small pinpricks of light rising up them or else breaking away to forge their own paths into the atmosphere. Onward to the orbital stations, maybe even Luna or the Martian colonies. Like embers from the smouldering blaze that was the Earth, drifting upwards to something better.

With a sigh I turn away from the sight, focusing my gaze back on the ground. The body of Jen-sin lies before me as I crouch down next to it, patting the man’s coat down and retrieving a sharp, vicious-looking blade from inside it.

Sidrovich was promised a head, after all.

And a Pathfinder always gets the job done.
It would be nice to believe that every child had a loving mother and father, that all kids had a roof over their heads, clothes on their backs, food in their stomachs and people to look out for them. That would be nice. And a lot of ignorant people choose to believe that way, and that's why people like us exist.

I say, people, not kids, we stopped being kids when we had to start providing for ourselves.

We learned earlier than most adults that the world is a cruel and unforgiving place.

Like many of the others, I'm among the minority of the population. Humans dominate society and believe themselves superior to the rest of us merely because there are more of them. Like freaking rabbits! Anyway, I'm Victoria, everyone calls me Vic and I'm probably the least desirable species of them all, according to human standards. I'm a little green goblin and goblins have notoriously sticky fingers, and well, when you have nothing, those fingers get quicker and more sticky. Sure comes in handy at the crowded farmers market.

That's probably my favorite. Watching the blonde elf lady with the too sweet elvish accent say "Oh my, I could have sworn I had a twenty in here." gives me a bit of joy in my day. I don't know if finding satisfaction in the disappointment in rich snobby adults makes me a bad person or not but I'd like to think not. I do it to help the people smaller than me. I'm like robin hood! He was a hero. I'm a hero!

Watching the crowded marketplace I spotted my next target. A short stump of a man with the longest black beard I've ever seen and a blue shirt, dwarf for sure. The blue is what's important though. That's my color. There's a half dozen of us working the market today and to avoid pickpocketing the same person twice, we each have a color, anyone wearing blue is fair game to me but that doesn't include the blue nymphs that sometimes venture out of their lakeside village. If they are wearing green, which they often do. They are Johns. That also means John doesn't get every goblin. In fact, nobody gets goblins regardless of color. Not because I'm biased, I'm not, goblins are the worst, the richest most snobby jerks of them all. It's that their fingers are just as quick and they always catch you. Always.

Slipping through the crowd, nobody paid me any mind, assuming I belong to somebody there. As I got closer to my target I noticed the faded square in the back pocket of his jeans. Good, a creature of habit. He won't notice his wallet is gone until he goes to pay for his sack of potatoes, onions, and beets, what's with dwarves and beets? Maybe it's because they mostly hail from Russia and make a lot of nasty borsch? I don't know.

Carefully a stepped behind him and walked for a little, waiting for just the right second, then, slipped in my nimble fingers and quickly snatched the wallet and turned off into the crowd, stowing the stolen wallet into the messenger bag nestled against my hip. Easy as you please. Nobody the wiser and I can move on to the next unsuspecting rich snob. However, two gongs of the church bell told me that was my last target for the afternoon. Lunchtime. Evan and his crew were in charge of food that day, he always got the good stuff. I could be assured a good lunch whenever I put him in charge of food.

Walking out of the market and into the streets I kept to alleyways, people start to suspect a little goblin wandering the streets alone so I stay out of view as much as possible but I always walk with confidence and that seems to keep most people away, thinking I know where I am and that I'm supposed to be there. They aren't wrong.

I turned down a familiar street, dead end for most people, but not for me. The six-foot brick wall that separates me from the park is nothing. My nimble fingers are good for more than just pickpocketing, they are good at finding little holes, others miss.

Scaling the wall, all I'm missing is a forked tongue and a long tail, a spectacle regardless.

Just as my fingers reach the top of the wall I paused, hearing two voices, one I knew. Mr. Mankins, the meanest goblin around, the one who taught me never to pickpocket a goblin.

The second voice had a subdued elvish accent. Strange, elves and goblins usually didn't get along.

"How long are you going to be gone?" The second voice I didn't know asked.

"Leaving Friday, won't be back until next week." Mr. Mankins answered.

"And you're not having anyone watch the house?" The unknown elf asked.

"No need, it's a safe area, no break-ins for over a year." the nasty goblin said. This made me smile. Oh, sweet revenge. Nobody would see it coming and we could get a lot of needed supplies before winter sets in. All I needed was an address.

"Would you mind watching for a package for me though?" Mankins asked.

"Sure, number thirty-eight Lancaster Avenue right?" The second man asked, and bingo, there was my ticket. Location and opportunity! Mr. Mankins, revenge will be mine! You will pay for smacking me around! I wanted to laugh but kept it in. He'd never know what hit him, it was so perfect. Although my fingers were growing numb from gripping the top of the wall so long and my toes were starting to hurt but I didn't dare move now, not until I heard the two men move off. They talked on about work and wives or something I didn't care about. I got what I needed. Only when I was sure they were gone did I pull myself up over the wall and drop down on the other side, making sure to bend my knees and land on my toes to avoid hurting myself.

Knowing I had wasted time and might not get lunch, I sprinted towards home. It was always harder to get food for dinner and we didn't like to dip into the canned goods, those were for winter when the farmers market was shut down and the food was harder to get. So if I missed lunch I may not eat until breakfast.

I ran through the park and scrambled under a fence into the schoolyard. Kind of ironic we lived in a school given most of us had never attended any formal school. What we learned was off the street and from Kyle who had made it all the way through sixth grade before he ran away from home.

To get in, we used a basement window off the school's courtyard. Climbing through and dropping down onto the floor I could see everyone else had arrived and were gorging themselves on bread and fruit.By gorging I mean everyone got an entire roll and half a fruit each. Evan had done well, I was happy to see everyone...wait...what was that I smelled? Was that? No! Couldn't be! Glorious meat cooking over the camp stove? I took another whiff. Ah yes, that beautiful protein that evades us too frequently. I can already taste it melting in my mouth. Evans really out done himself today. Show off.

"Vic, hey over here!" My best friend Kyle waved from our corner of the room, distracting me from the savory smell of meat "Saved you some lunch." he called holding up half an orange and a roll. Always looking out for me. Maneuvering around the youngsters crowded in the middle of the floor I made my way over to him.

"Thanks," I said and accepted the food, though my eyes went across the room to Evan cooking up what smelled like pork. Us goblins are natural carnivores, these sharp teeth are made for ripping flesh not veggies. But we make do with what we can get and I won't be picky, I can't afford to be, not like Mr. Mankins can. He probably eats steak three times a day.

"There's enough we should have plenty for breakfast in the morning too" Kyle reported. His accented elvish voice is the only one that doesn't bother me. Maybe because I actually respect him. He's fifteen now, just two years older than me and the oldest of us, practically an adult!

"That's great," I said distractedly, ripping a bit of bread off and munching on it.

"You can have my share of meat." Kyle went on, watching me as I turned wide eyes on him. He laughed at my dumbfounded expression. Willingly giving up food? That was more valuable than money! If someone gave me a choice between a dollar and a loaf of bread I'd take the bread. I can't buy a loaf with a dollar. The bread has more value to me. Boy would that shock any other money grubbing goblin.

"Meat doesn't sit well with me." Kyle explained, "And I know you need more protein so I'd rather you had it." Kyle explained. I could have kissed him! I sufficed with a hug, because kissing is gross. I don't know why that's even a saying or why adults do it, yuck! As Kyle hugged me back though, I could feel he was warm, that wasn't good. I pulled away and frowned at him, putting my hand to his forehead. He shoved my hand away.

"You shouldn't have given me your blanket last night…" feeling guilty now, he was getting sick because of me.

"You were shivering. I don't get cold as easily as you, I'm warm-blooded." Kyle defended.

He wasn't wrong, nobody else realized just how easily I got cold, winters were the worst. I had to stay inside most the time which drives me crazy, I like to be outside in the thick of it all.

"The nights are getting colder you know.." Kyle went on "We need to get stocked up for winter." he said, distracting me. I let him, but it didn't stop me from worrying.

"I know, and I have just the plan how to do it." I grinned. With as much money as Mr. Mankins had, he wouldn't even notice the chunk we needed. Sure it would be nicer to have it donated but that just wasn't going to happen. We had to take matters into our own hands. It was the way the world had taught us things had to be.

"I know that twinkle, what have you got up your sleeve?" Kyle asked, the corner of his mouth turning up. He knew me too well.

"Mr. Mankins," I said, his eyes widened but he didn't interrupt. "I overheard him talking to some other guy, he's going out of town for a week come Friday, leaving his house unattended. I got the address and everything." I said with maybe a bit too much excitement.

"You mean….You want to rob a house? Mr. Mankins house!?" Kyle blurted in a loud whisper.

"Yeah! He won't see it coming! And he won't really notice if we just take what we need, he can easily replace whatever we take. He's one of the richest men in the city." I explained. Although I didn't know if that was entirely true, I just knew he was rich. He lived on Lancaster, anyone who lived on that street had to be a millionaire at least.

"Look he leaves Friday, so me and you go scope out the place Saturday night, see what we're up against then bring it up to the rest the crew." I suggested, "It's the perfect opportunity, a real Robin Hood moment Kyle."

"Well…." Kyle started but I could see he didn't have an argument so I just grinned.

"It's a plan then!" I said and shoved the rest of the roll in my mouth. He sighed and nodded in agreement. Saturday couldn't come soon enough…

--

Saturday night did come, three days later and we were making our way to the rich part of town. Going unnoticed was a little more difficult, especially when we got to the gated community where Lancaster street was. People notice a couple of filthy kids in a pristine clean community like this, it wasn't dirty Southtown. At least we had the cover of night and as long as nobody came outside, we'd be golden.

Kyle coughed into his sleeve as we moved, he'd gotten worse over the last couple of days. He needed medicine, we didn't have any. All the more reason to rob Mr. Mankins, we could afford whatever we needed then.

I would have come alone but I didn't know numbers very well, and I couldn't read the street signs very well. I needed Kyle to find the place. We just wouldn't stay long and I'd get him home and warmed up soon.

"That's the one." Kyle pointed to a blue house at the end of the street. It was a huge house for one goblin! Well maybe he was married, I didn't know, but unless he had ten kids, which I highly doubted, there was no way he needed something so big. Greedy old man.

I couldn't see any cameras on the porch and no signs in the yard indicating a security system. Didn't mean there wasn't one. We would have to bring Charlie. He used to rob houses all the time before he joined us, he'd disabled security systems before. The plan was already forming, I knew just the crew I would take. Couldn't be too many of us, just enough to get in, get what we need and get out.

Charlie to take out the security and open any safes we find, Charlotte and Kyle to help loot the place and Austin who has the best night vision, to keep watch.

"Come on, Let's get you home.." I said, frowning now, he was sick, I shouldn't have brought him out here.

"Yeah alright," Kyle said, putting his arm around me, sharing his body heat with me, I leaned into him instinctively.

"Vic," Kyle said as we walked.

"Yeah?" I answered, looking up at him.

"I've known you for three years now," he said, I didn't like the line his lips were making as he paused to consider his next words.

"Geez has it been that long?" I joked and smiled.

"Yeah, heh, crazy right?" Kyle answered.

"So what about it?" I asked curiously.

"Nothing, nevermind." he shook his head and fell silent, frowning at the street ahead of us.

"Kyle...What is it? Something IS eating at you." I pressed, I knew that face. He knew I wouldn't quit pestering him until he told me.

"Well, it's just…" Kyle said and paused again as if he were trying to figure out just what he was going to say. "I've been thinking about my parents." he said "I never meant to leave for so long. Just long enough for them to pay attention, give them a heart attack you know?" he said.

"No, I don't know, I wouldn't know anything about parents," I said with a frown of my own. I didn't like the subject.

"Well, I was thinking…" He started but I cut him off.

"You want to go see them, let them know you're ok." I guessed, making sure bitterness rolled off with the words.

"I just want to see them…" Kyle confirmed "Just curious to know…" he started but stopped when he saw the look in my eyes. He knew how I felt about parents.

"Do whatever you want Kyle," I said, pulling away from him and walking ahead, I heard him sigh but I didn't look back. He'd never understand, he could try and sure he was supportive but he'd never fully understand what it was like to be rejected by your own family.

"Vic, maybe there's a reason they never came to pick you up." Kyle said, "Not all parents are totally horrible." Kyle tried but I ignored him. "Mine weren't great but I'm sure somewhere deep down they loved me, that's what I want to find out… Wouldn't you want to know if you knew where your parents were?" I hugged myself, in part out of cold and in part for comfort.

"No, I wouldn't, because I already know ok," I said bitterly. He didn't know the full story, none of them did. "My parents weren't my parent's ok, I don't know who my parents are," I said shaking my head. "I heard them talking one night, I was adopted, or rather, dumped on them when a family member had a kid they didn't want so they felt obligated to take me in but I was too much for them to handle…..The next day they dropped me off at a park I'd never been too and told me they would be right back…" I wiped my eyes, scowling at the droplets of water. "Two sets of parents didn't want me Kyle so don't tell me parents aren't all bad, you don't understand." The crew was all the family I needed now, they loved me so what did I need parents for? Adults were nothing but trouble.

Kyle didn't respond and I didn't expect he would. We walked the rest the way back in silence. Me shivering and Kyle coughing.

We had to be quiet as we climbed in through the window as most the others were asleep. We carefully crossed the room to our corner. I didn't say anything as I grabbed my blanket and curled up on my cushion, the stuffing was going flat and wasn't the most comfortable but it was mine and it beat the floor. I curled up tight on myself and rubbed my cold hands together. It was going to be an extra hard winter if it was already getting this cold at night.

I wasn't expecting Kyle to join me, putting his blanket over me too and putting his arm around me "It's too cold for you." he whispered. Rolling over I snuggled against the warmth of him and closed my eyes to sleep…

--

The next morning while all of us sat around eating leftovers from the day before everyone looked to me for today's assignments.

"Alright," I said, looking over the varied faces that counted on me to lead them. Sort of made me feel like a mix between Peter Pan and Robin Hood. "So, winter is coming, our focus for the next little while is going to be getting supplies to get us through. The farmers market will be closed in those months so we need to take advantage of it as much as we can" I said, they all knew this but it was my job to tell them.

"But there's something else." I grinned now "You all know Mr. Mankins." I said "We are going to rob him blind." there was a collective gasp and shaking of heads. "No listen, he's going out of town for a week and left his house open," I explained. They were listening.

"Charlie, do you think you could shut down an alarm system still?" I asked, looking over at the short red-headed dwarf.

Charlie nodded "Yeah no problem." he said and grinned at the idea, that was his specialty.

"Great, that's the biggest concern, the rest will be easy. I'll take just a few of you for the heist but Mr. Mankins is rich, we should be able to get plenty of money and supplies to help with our winter stock." I explained. There was nodding all around, I knew it wouldn't be hard to convince them.

"Ok, now that's settled. Today's assignments. There's a festival going on down on main street, three-day event so we will all get a chance to work it. Evan and my crew will take today." I said, then gave out the rest of the assignments. Amy and Charlie would work the strip mall and Charlott would cover lunch. They knew the drill, we’d meet back up here just after two.

“Then tonight, we'll rob Mr. Mankins" I finished, and with that, we headed out for the day.

--

The big blue house was in sight, myself, Austin, Charlotte, and Kyle waited for Charlie's signal that the system was off.

It was only about ten minutes but it felt like longer before Charlie poked his head around the side gate and waved us over. One by one we crossed the street and entered the yard.

The plan was simple. Austin would be stationed at the front of the housekeeping watch out for anyone who might have noticed us. Charlotte and Charlie would take the upstairs and Kyle and I would take the main and floor and basement if there was one.

As I walked through the back door my heart raced, was this what Charlie felt every time he broke into a house? It was so exciting! Just the thrill of being somewhere I wasn't supposed to be got my blood going. It was like the first time I picked a pocket successfully. The feeling was addicting.

I let Kyle lead the way deeper into the house. I was too busy looking around. I'm not sure what I expected. Some sort of dark dusty den that he crawled into every night? Maybe a house so full of stuff we wouldn't be able to get inside to rob it? I didn't expect to be so clean and well, normal and conservative. The white walls of the hallway weren't covered in expensive pieces of art and when we went into the living room there weren't glass display shelves with some kind of weird collection of ancient vases or something. No, just some comfortable looking couches, a big TV, movies, a wet bar and coffee table. There was also a bookshelf. Some of the books looked old, maybe that's where his expensive collection was? I have this theory that when you get an access of money you feel a need to spend it and collect completely ridiculous things you don't need, like vases or paintings.

"Vic, looting remember?" Kyle prompted, I hadn't realized I was just standing there staring around the room. I shook myself and started to look around for anywhere he might have stashed some money. Nothing in here. Although that plush blanket...There's three of them, he doesn't need three. I picked up one of those and tossed it over my shoulder before going down another hall to find another room. Kitchen, bingo, food, some new knives, and silverware would be nice.

"Kyle get the pantry, as much dry food as you think Austin could carry and take it to him," I said, passing the duffle bag to him. Austin wasn't just the guard, he was the pack mule. He was a troll, big and strong, he was also slow which did make him a risk if we had to make a run for it but it was worth it if we got away which I was sure we would.

While Kyle filled the duffle bag I took care of the rest. While dishes would be nice, they were breakable and heavy. I did, however, find the spice cabinet, some new seasonings would be nice so I grabbed those. I couldn't read the labels so I just grabbed them all. What else could I reasonably loot? I opened up drawers and cupboards grabbing whatever I thought might be useful.

"Ok got it, come help me," Kyle said from the pantry, he had stuffed the bag full of all sorts of canned, boxed and bagged goods. This would help a lot. I picked up one end of the bag and Kyle got the other, together we walked the bag back into the living room and left it with Austin, he just grunted. He wasn't much for words. That was ok. Most trolls weren't.

Next room we found was an office, bingo, there was bound to be money in here a safe or something. Goblins were greedy, they liked their money. Maybe he had a collection of gold coins?

Kyle searched the file cabinets and bookshelves against one wall while I took the big oak desk.

I sat in the big leather wingback chair and started opening drawers.

"Hey, I think this guy is a doctor" Kyle commented, "There are all these patient files in here…"

"Yeah? I wouldn't want him for my doctor, jerk." I said, shaking my head, I thought doctors were supposed to be nice.

Pulling open the bottom left drawer there was a small ring box. Odd, what did he need with jewelry? I picked it up and opened it. Inside was the biggest diamond ring I'd ever seen, gorgeously cut with a flawless gold band inlaid with more diamonds. This easily had to be worth, well, I had no idea, but a lot! Pocketing the ring I noticed a framed photo the ring had been resting on top of. Mr. Mankins, smiling beside a lovely goblin woman. A lost love? Mr. Mankins? It didn't seem possible, but it made me pause. Maybe there was more to him than I thought. Maybe there was a reason he was so grumpy. I considered putting the ring back, but I stopped myself. We needed that cash, it was just a ring, he had the photo for his memories.

I was starting to think maybe I was the heartless one with the way I was thinking. I shook that away too and closed the drawer. Just as I did, something taped to the bottom came loose and clattered to the floor.

Reaching down and feeling below the desk I found the small flat thing, bringing it up, a key, a little gold key hidden. This had to go to something important.

I heard wood sliding against wood, I looked up to see Kyle had pushed the bookshelf open like a door and revealed a door behind it. I grinned. Perfect. This had to be what the key went to.

"I think I found the key," I said and smiled as I came over to him, pushing the key into the hole. Sure enough, a perfect fit. I grinned up at Kyle before pushing the door open, expecting to see piles of money or some priceless object. A light flicked on as the door opened and, I think my heart froze. It wasn't a safe at all! It was a secret room with a terrible, horrible secret inside. I hardly understood what I was seeing but it wasn't good, whatever it was. This man was no doctor, he was some sort of mad scientist! There was a table with carefully organized medical equipment but what stunned me was the bed in the right corner of the room.

A woman was laying there. A beautiful blond elvish woman. Her chest slowly rose and fell with her quiet breathing. I thought she was asleep until her head rolled over to the side and her eyes opened slowly, looking at us but not seeming to fully comprehend what she was seeing.

"Mom?" Kyle said from beside me, looking at him I could see his face was as stunned as mine, maybe even more so. He rushed past me and to the woman's bedside, dropping to his knees beside her. "Mom!? Mom can you hear me!?" I had never heard Kyle sound more desperate.

"Vic" he turned to look at me now "We have to get her out of here, nothing else matters now, we have to get her out of here and get her some help"

"Yeah ok," I said and quickly came to assist him as he got one arm around her back and started to pull her out of the bed, I grabbed her feet. She was too tall for us to simply help her walk, we would end up just dragging her feet. Well, I was too short at least. Kyle was tall enough. Elves are tall, goblins are short, that's just the way it goes.

Together we carried her out of the secret room, through the office and into the hall. Kyle was already breathing heavy. That's when Austin came down the hall waving his arms at us and shaking his head "Someone's coming?" I asked. He nodded. "Help Kyle get her out the back, quickly, I'll get Charlotte and Charlie. Go!"

It was too late, I heard the front door open, we froze standing there in the hallway. We couldn't be caught! This crazy goblin was keeping people locked up in secret rooms doing who knows what to them! He'd probably kill all of us if he caught us and nobody would ever know. I couldn't let myself go down this way!

"Somebody there?" The voice didn't belong to Mr. Mankins, it was that subdued accent. The elvish friend. Kind of late to be checking for a package and, he didn't need to come inside to do that. So what was he doing? "Hello? Mr. Mankins? I saw a light…" Of course, light from the secret room was spilling into the office, there was a window in there! How stupid could she be to leave that door open?

Slowly I put down the woman's feet and reached into my bag, taking out a frying pan I had plundered. We would just have to take out the guy to get out of here. I waved for Kyle and Austin to get back into the office. The troll of a boy put his arm around the womans back and together Kyle and him walked the woman slowly and quietly back through the door.

I could hear footsteps, he was coming, I had to get into position. I was too short to have any hope of hitting his head and knocking him out so I climbed up on top of the filing cabinet and crouched, poised to smack that frying pan down onto the man's head when he walked through the door. Maybe not the best plan but it was the only plan we had.

I waited until I saw the top of a blond head then, smack, brought the frying pan down as hard as I could. The man stumbled forward but it wasn't enough to knock him out, just enough to daze him momentarily.

"Kyle, Austin, get out!" I said quickly, jumping down off the file cabinet, we only had precious seconds before he recovered. We were just kids, he was an adult.

The two boys quickly moved around the stunned elf, still, they were moving painfully slow for my liking. I tried to understand they couldn't exactly run with the sick woman they were trying to carry but surely they could move faster!

The elf was recovering, putting a hand to his head and turning back towards us. I took a running leap and tackled him back down to the ground, trying to smack him in the face with my frying pan but he caught my wrists and tossed me off of him much to easily. I am quick and I am nimble but I'm not strong, not in a fight like this, especially not with an adult.

The elf got back to his feet and so did I. Outmatched or not I ran at him again, this time though I couldn't take him by surprise. He caught me by the wrists again and held me at arm's length.

"Kyle stop!" He shouted after the other two, completely ignoring me kicking his shins. "You can't take mom away from here!" his follow up surprised me. Mom? Did that mean this elf was Kyles brother?

Kyle came back into the room and stared at the elf "Conner?" he blinked.

I took the momentary distraction to my advantage and kicked the elf right where it counts, he let go of me, doubling over in pain. I smacked him twice with the pan, he collapsed to the floor.

"Come on!" I ran to Kyle, grabbing his hand and yanking him back out of the room. "He won't be out long, you two go on ahead. I'll follow with Charlotte and Charlie" I insisted. We had a job to finish, I wasn't jeopardizing it with family drama. I let go of his hand, having to trust that he would do as I said and get out of there while he still could.

Running up the stairs I found Charlotte coming out of one of the rooms zipping up the top of her bag. "Get Charlie, we have to go and fast. I'll explain later but we gotta go" She nodded, not hesitating for a moment before hurrying down the hall and finding the dwarf.

As we passed the office again I glanced in to see Conner was starting to come round "Go hurry!" I said quickly, ushering the other two ahead of me, I'd take up the rear and make sure the elf didn't follow. What a creep, keeping his own mother locked away, what was he and that goblin up to! Sick freaks!

Conner sat up rubbing the red spot on his forehead where I had given him a good whack. As he came to be more aware of himself he looked quickly around and spotted me in the doorway wielding the pan. "You don't understand, you can't take her, she'll die," he said with enough urgency I almost believed him.

"To late, I sent them ahead with her, you freaks won't be hurting her anymore," I said before turning and running after Charlie and Charlotte. I booked it out the back, they knew I would catch up so they hadn't waited for me. That was good.

"Wait!" I heard Conner coming after me but I ignored him and ran around the side of the house, flung open the gate and ran, making it to the gate that surrounded the community I scrambled over it. I knew I was in the clear then. These were my streets now. I slipped off down a side street, I wasn't sure the route the others had taken so I'd just meet them back at home.

--

When I arrived I was relieved to find the others had gotten there ok. I'd purposefully taken a longer route just in case Conner had somehow managed to follow. I'd certainly lost him now though.

Kyle I could see had made his mother comfortable in our corner, at least, as comfortable as he could. She was the first adult to be in here since the school had closed down.

Austin I was happy to see had managed to bring all the food and help to carry the woman back here. The supplies were left with Emily who was in charge of food stuffs. I added my bag of kitchen knives and pans, spices and other random kitchen things to the pile. We'd done pretty good. Conner had spoiled it, he'd tell Mankins for sure who had done it but what did it matter, he didn't know where we were and he already hated me anyway.

Crossing the room a came to sit beside Kyle and his mother "You ok?" I asked.

"Yeah...I'm ok," he said softly, I didn't buy it, the inflection in his voice suggested he was far from ok.

"Come on, talk to me, Kyle." I tried to prompt him.

"You wouldn't understand, you don't care about parents or adults, you would have left her there if it wasn't for me." Kyle accused. I paused. Was he right? If it had been some random woman would I have just left her there? I honestly didn't know.

"I…" I didn't know what to say.

"If it doesn't benefit you, you don't care, you don't care about anyone but yourself Vic." Kyle accused bitterly. I tried not to let the words cut me, I knew he was just upset, but it stung nonetheless. I wanted to say a lot of things but I could see the pain in his eyes and looking at the condition of his mother, I could see why. He still loved her, despite having run away, despite how she had treated him, he loved her. How I don't know, but he did. Loved her more than me, I could see that now. He had just been talking about wanting to go back too. Did our three years together mean nothing to him? This woman would always mean more.

"She can have my spot…" I said softly, pulling the fuzzy warm blanket I'd stolen from Mankins, I added it to his blanket that he'd already put over his mother. "I think she already had it anyway" I added before picking up my old ratty blanket and standing up, walking away from him.

"Vic.." I heard him say, but I ignored him. I didn't want to hear it. Instead, I just went to a vacant spot near the door into the drafty hallway of the school and curled up under my thin blanket.

--

The next morning I woke up shivering, shaking even. I wasn't used to that, I always woke up with Kyle wrapped around me, keeping me warm, but he wasn't there. Sitting up I looked over to our corner and saw him asleep, curled up beside his sick mother. The others weren't awake yet either so I very slowly got up and crossed the room, climbing out the window. Not every day had to be scheduled, they could do without me for one day. I needed some time alone.

There's something peaceful about wondering the streets before most people are awake. I can actually hear the morning birds singing over the sound of traffic because there are only a few cars. And there's the crisp cold air of early fall that smells so fresh, not like muggy summer that smells like sweat no matter the time of day.

I wandered around until I found myself at the fairgrounds, by then the festival was just opening up again and my stomach was growling. Maybe I could snag a hotdog from one of the stands. Some meat would certainly cheer me up…

I followed my nose to the source of the delectable sausages stuck on soft fluffy buns. I licked my lips and edged my way closer. The set up would make it difficult to snag a dog without being noticed and I just wasn't in the mood to run and eat, just eat. I shoved my hand into my pocket and found a few coins. Maybe that was enough? I didn't often pay for things and didn't know money very well. Whenever we did buy things I sent Kyle in to get it, he knew how to handle the money. He wasn't here though. I frowned and clutched the coins in my hand.

Walking up to the vendor I slapped the coins down with all the confidence I could muster "One hotdog please" I said and moved my hand to show I did, in fact, have money.

The man raised his brow "That wouldn't pay for a third of a dog kid" the man said. My shoulders fell, my eyes flicked to the hotdogs, my stomach growled again.

"But for you, a discount" the man went on, picking on the tongs and taking out a hotdog he put it in a bun and held it out to me with a smile. My eyes lit up. An adult was being kind? I hesitantly smiled back and took the hotdog "Thanks.." he said before I hurried away, half afraid he would change his mind and take the meal back.

As I was finishing the last bite I felt a hand grab my arm, stopping me in my tracks "You have to bring her back, she'll die" Conner said in a hushed whisper. I jerked my arm and looked up at him.

"You're crazy!" I accused, jerking again but he was stronger than me.

"Please, you have to listen. She's very sick, Mankins is trying to cure her of a disease that infects elves. It's illegal research which is why he had to keep her at his house like that." Conner explained quickly but I wasn't buying that nonsense for one second. "He went out of town to get the final ingredient for the cure"

"If she's that sick she'd be in a hospital, I bet it's just a cold." I twisted my arm free and quickly ran off into the crowd again to lose the crazy elf. What if he was telling the truth though and she was that sick? But why would Mankins be helping? He was a grumpy old goblin! Why would research on a disease be illegal anyway? I didn't know anything about that kind of stuff.

---

When I got home that afternoon for lunch, Kyle was still sleeping. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. I knew he was sick and needed the rest but he didn't seem to be getting any better.

Walking over I crouched down beside him and put my hand to his head, burning up as I was afraid he would be. He groaned a little and opened his eyes. "Vic?" He asked.

"Yeah?" I answered, pulling my hand back. He didn't say anything though, closing his eyes again, he was really out of it. I sighed and tucked the blanket closer around him before standing up and seeing what I could find for him to eat. She knew simple foods were best when someone was sick. Searching through the stores I found a can of chicken soup, perfect. I could split that between him and his mother, she would need to eat too I was sure.

Going to the camp stove I switched it on and got to warming up the soup. My mind went back to Conner and what he had said about his mother being that sick. Had they done the wrong thing? She looked over at the sick family and frowned. No, it didn't make any sense, they had to of done the right thing, it was never right to keep someone locked up like that.

Bringing the two bowls of soup over I roused Kyle again "Hey, you need to eat." I said gently "Come on, sit up." I said, putting my hand behind his shoulder and helping him up. Sleepily he obeyed me, taking the bowl and leaning back against the wall to eat it. While he did that I tried to rouse his mother to get her to eat but she wouldn't wake up, she just kept sleeping, that couldn't be good. I set the bowl aside and looked at Kyle again, he was setting his half-eaten bowl of soup aside and laying back down, at least he had eaten something.

It didn't get any better over the next couple of days, if anything they got worse. Kyle stopped eating altogether and I couldn't get him to talk to me and his mother still wouldn't wake up. It was clear what I had to do. They needed a doctor and there was only one doctor I knew.

--

I found myself standing at Mr. Mankins front door that afternoon, I had no idea what I was going to say to him, how I was going to convince him to come and help but, I had to do something, that much I knew. Slowly I lifted my hand and knocked, held my breath and waited. I only had to wait for maybe a minute before the door opened and there he stood, the terrible Mr. Mankins, short but still taller than me, dark haired and dark eyed, dark like his soul. He stared down at me with a frown creasing his face. "What?" he asked groughly.

"Uhm…" I stared back up at him, I needed to say something! "I need your help." I came right out with it."You're a doctor right?" I went quickly on.

"Yes but I don't do charity." He said bluntly "And somehow I don't think you can afford to pay me." he added, he wasn't wrong. Still, I dug into my pocket and pulled out a wad of money, I didn't know how much it was but it was all I had saved up from my share. I held it out to him.

"It's all I have," I said, maybe he'd find some ounce of pity in his heart, though I doubted it. For a second though, I thought I saw something shift in his eyes, but only for a moment.

"I don't want your dirty stolen money." He said and started to close the door.

"Wait!" I shoved my hand back into my pocket "I..I have this too." I took out the ring box and held it out too. I knew that was admitting guilt to robbing his house, but maybe giving the ring back would somehow soften him up or, I don't know, do something! It did do something, but not good. His face twisted into anger and he snatched the box away from me.

"You filthy little rat!" he spat "I should turn you in right now!" he really should. Tears stung my eyes. He was my only hope, Kyle was going to die, I just knew it.

To my surprise, Mr. Mankins sighed and his expression softened. "Just a minute." He said before stepping back inside. A moment later he stepped out with a bag in one hand, closing and locking the door. "Show me to this friend of yours," he said, "We'll take my car" he added, I guess he supposed I didn't love anywhere close to him, he was right.

I rubbed my eyes and nodded "The abandoned school." I told him as we went to his car. I just hoped none of the others were home, they wouldn't like me bringing Mr. Mankins to our home.

Getting back home didn't take nearly as long by car but I still had him park outside the school ground just in case anyone was home. "Come on, around this way," I said, leading him around to the courtyard window, I guessed he would fit, Austin did and he was easily bigger around than Mr. Mankins.

I climbed down first and he followed. I was glad to see nobody else was there besides Kyle and his mother who were both asleep. No surprise.

"Just how many of you live here?" Mr. Mankins asked, he was looking around the room at all the different pillows and blankets, everyone had their designated spot where they kept their things. Sure we had the entire school but we liked to stay close like this, it felt safer.

"Does it matter? That's not why you're here." I answered, crossing the room to Kyle. "Just watch your step," I said, watching him as he followed me.

He found a place to sit, not seeming surprised to see his mother there too, he probably knew she would be here after I had shown him the ring, he'd know we were the ones to rob him and the ones to take her away. He refrained from getting angry which was nice. "How long has he been sick?" he asked.

"A little over a week." I answered, "Started out as just a little cold, then he started coughing really bad and kept getting a fever then the last few days the fever hasn't gone away and I can't get him to stay awake more than a minute or two." I explained.

Mankins checked his breathing with a stethoscope, checked his eyes and throat. I wasn't sure what he was looking for but he seemed to know what he was doing. His frown deepened.

"I'm afraid this is much worse than a cold," he said shaking his head. "He has the same thing she does, Elestheomasis, also known as Elvish death syndrome. It comes on suddenly but takes days to months to kill its victim," he explained. My face paled, I felt the color leave it. Death, victim, kill, I didn't like any of those words used in the vicinity of anyone I cared about, least of all Kyle.

"You mean...He's...Going to die?" I choked on my own words, my eyes fixed on Kyles pale face, our last exchange had been unpleasant too, at least the last coherent one.

"Maybe," Mankins said. "I may have found a cure but, you need to let me take them back home where I can treat them properly, they'll just get worse in an environment like this," Mankins said, he spoke gently and sincerely. I could hardly argue. I could trust him or let them die, so I nodded.

"Ok." I agreed, rubbing my eyes to clear them. I would hold on to the hope of a cure for as long as Kyle drew breath. "But I'm coming to see him every day" I insisted.

"Ok." Mankins agreed with a nod and a small approving smile. Maybe he wasn't so terrible as I thought…

--

The next week was torture, every day I came to the house and sat with Kyle for probably hours but he didn't wake up, didn't know I was there. Mankins didn't complain, just let me sit with him, he even brought me lunch when I came in the afternoon.

I'd fallen asleep curled up on the bed beside Kyle again, only this time when I woke up, it was because I felt movement, not because my body naturally knew it was time to wake up. Kyle had shifted. Sitting up I stared at him, his eyes blinking open. He was waking up without having to be forced awake, this has to be a good sign. "Vic?" he asked. He spoke! For the first time in over a week!

"I'm here," I said, rolling off the bed to kneel beside it and take hold of his hand, watching his face as he turned it to look at me. He smiled faintly. "How do you feel?" I asked. He seemed to think about that for a moment.

"Hungry." he answered and smiled "What else is new?" he chuckled dryly and I grinned. Things were going to be ok now. Kyle was better! Or at the very least, getting there. His mother had been getting better too which had given me hope the last day or so.

"Hang on just a sec," I said, grinning I stood up and left the room.

I went into the office where Mankins was sitting with Lorali, Kyle's mother. She still looked a bit pale and sickly but doing good enough to be sitting up and talking with Mankins.

"Kyles awake" I announced to them "And...I think he'd really like to see you." I said, looking at Lorali. She smiled back at me and stood up. Together we walked back into the other room.

As I came back in with her, Kyle's eyes lit up and he pushed himself to sit up, he was weak but he wanted to be strong for her. "Mom.." He said, tears in his eyes.

"Oh sweetie." Lorali came to the bedside and sat down on the edge, pulling her son into a hug. "I thought I lost you, my baby boy." The two of them sat there for a moment, just holding each other, and I stood back, never understanding that kind of love.

"Why don't you come home, my boy?" Lorali asked, "We miss you, son, so much." She said as she pulled away from the hug. Kyle was smiling and I knew his answer before he said it, my heart was already aching.

"Yes mom, I'll come home," Kyle said, not so much as looking at me. Just as well, goodbyes were never my thing. I stepped back out of the room and walked away down the hall. I had to be happy for Kyle, he was well again, his mother loved him, he had a home and a family again, he got what he wanted, what he deserved.

"Where are you going?" Mankins asked as I was passing his office. I paused.

"Home." I answered "Thanks for saving them…" I added, realizing I hadn't ever said thank you to the man I once hated. He just nodded and watched me walk away.

--

We had to move, Mankins knew where we were and he could tell others, so, I found us a new home before winter set in.The basement of a condemned apartment complex. We figured out how to tap electric from next door and rigged up a heater so it actually worked out better than the school, we would be better off here. Kyle had been my second in command so I had to promote Evan, not that he was bad at his job or anything, I just missed Kyle. He was my best friend, maybe even more than best friend. Still, no point in dwelling on it, he had made his choice. I had to move on.

As always during the winter months, I stayed in more than went out, too cold for me, especially with the two feet of snow that had fallen overnight. I'd put Evan in charge and opted to stay inside, bundled up in the corner.

The door opened and I expected to see one of the others bringing in some supplies or maybe coming to warm up but, I didn't expect to see the tall blond that stood there, wearing clean winter clothes and a warm smile. "Was starting to think I'd never find your new home," Kyle said.

"What are you doing here?" I scowled.

"Oh come off it, I know you're happy to see me," Kyle said shaking his head.

"Am not! I've spent the last weeks trying to forget you!" I said, looking away from him, it wasn't a lie, I had, it was easier to forget than to dwell on what I'd lost.

Kyle sighed and walked over to me "We never got a chance to talk before you ran out on me." he said, having the nerve to sit down beside me.

"Run out on you!?" I blurted "You're the one who decided to go home to mommy." I accused and scowled at him. He sighed.

"You didn't stay for the rest of the conversation." he said "I didn't choose between you and my family because you are family." he said shaking his head, "I said I'd come home but only if you could come home with me," he explained. I stared at him. "But you left and by the time I was well enough to come home to you, you'd moved." He went on.

"So. What do you say? Come home with me?" He asked. I still didn't know what to say. He was inviting me to come live with his Elvish family? In a real home? With a family? Leave the only family I'd ever known behind?

"Evan's more than capable of taking care of everyone and it's not like we can't ever come see them." Kyle went on, addressing my worries "And, I've talked it over with my parents and my brother...They really want you to join us, especially after what you did to save me and mom...What you did was brave, not selfish at all." He said.

"I…" I wasn't sure.

"Why not try it out for a week? If you hate it, we'll come back here and that will be the end of it. Call it a trial." Kyle suggested. To that, I smiled but I still couldn't just agree, it was a hard choice to make.

Kyle sighed and put his arm around my shoulders, giving them a gentle reassuring squeeze "listen, give it some thought and if you decide to come home with me, meet me in the park tonight under the big oak. If you aren't there by ten I'll know your answer and I'll never ask again." Kyle said.

"And if I don't show up?" I asked, would he leave again and be out of my life forever? It made me hurt to think about. It had hurt the first time, could j do it again? See him leave my life a second time?

"We'll figure that out if it comes to that," Kyle answered. "I'll wait for an hour." He said before he stood up. I didn't know what to say. So I said nothing. I had a lot to think about.

Kyle took off his coat and put it over my shoulders before he disappeared back out the door.

I sat by myself after that, pulling the coat close around me, soaking in the lingering body heat.

I looked around at the various little piles of blankets and cushions, everyone's designated spot just like they'd had at the school. A collection of homeless kids had come together and organized themselves into a family. I'd started this, when I first went to the streets there was no safe place for me and I didn't want that for other kids so I had slowly gained the trust of the others and built a community, a family. This was my life's work and it was good. I was happy here, I had everything I could ever need. Except maybe one thing...The way Lorali had looked at Kyle, had held him in her arms so tightly, accepted him back with no reservations. That kind of mothers love wasn't here and I couldn't ask Kyle to give that up. I didn't have that choice, he did. I don't think he realizes just how lucky he is to have someone care for him with such unconditional love. Or maybe he does know, I saw the joy in his eyes too when he had told his mother he'd come home. Yet. He would willingly give it all up again for me if I didn't choose to join him? How selfish could it be of me to make him choose between his home and me? At the same time, how could he ask.me to give up everything I had spent so long building here and step into a life I knew nothing about. It was terrifying. I had a hard choice to make, and it all came down to whether or not Is stand under that oak tree tonight….

That night, wearing Kyle's coat over the top of my own and with my messenger bag stuffed with my personal belongings hanging at my side, I stood in the park, staring across the way at the big oak tree.

Evan stood next to me, rubbing his hands together.

"So you made up your mind yet?" He asked.

"I don't know," I said truthfully.

"Listen, what you got going here is good but what he's offering you is better, you'd be fool not to take it," Evan said. I looked over at him, surprised at his stance.

"He's offering you a warm home, a family and a promising future, it's all any of us want and you, our fearless leader, deserve it more than anyone." He explained, "Don't mess up your chance, we're good here, I got this." He smiled and gave my back a pat.

I smiled and nodded, he was right. I'd be the fool to turn down an opportunity like this.

"I'll see you around Evan," I said before I walked forward and under the branches of the oak. Kyle smiled brightly as he saw me.

I ran the last few feet and all but jumped into his waiting arms. "I'm glad you came," Kyle said, pulling away and taking my hand in his.

"Me too...I think." I said.

I had taken Kyle under my wing when he had taken to the streets, now he would hold my hand as I discovered a whole new world of possibility.
Overhead, the skies were less grey than usual. A dismal and heavy presence rather than its usual tumultuous hellscape. Between the resource scarcity, dwindling stores of magic, and pollution feedback loops, the experts all agreed the world was on the downswing. That it could support two, maybe three more generations before calling it quits. But looking at those light grey skies, Peter could almost believe the world was bouncing back.

Hell he thought, I can see almost ten stories up through the smog. He suspected that might have been a record for visibility. At least during his lifetime.

"Can you believe this weather?" he asked, mentally filing it away as a sign of good luck. After a few seconds of no response, Peter turned from the train window to give his sister a questioning look.

Marcie, apparently, hadn't mysteriously apparated out of existence, and was still sprawled across the seat next to Peter with one foot dangling out into the aisle. She wasn't asleep either, according to her open eyes. Those eyes were, however, glazed over with shifting lights. Meaningless to outside observers, but an immersive VR program to Marcie.

The lights stopped as Peter gave her a light backhand to the shoulder, and she looked up with a hard done by sigh. "I was watching something."

"I know," Peter answered cheerfully. "Since when do you mute outside noise when watching VR?"

"I don't. I was just ignoring you."

"Hurtful. Outright rude. Most of all, unwarranted."

"Very warranted. You've been borderline manic all week. It's starting to stress me out. Even more than I was already."

Peter shrugged. "What's there to be stressed about? The preparations are perfect, and the plan tight enough that even a faerie couldn't throw a wrench in there." He gave Marcie a shit eating grin and looked back out the window. "All we need now is the crew."
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"Professor Flowers," Peter said.

"It's been too long," Marcie continued.

Before them, a cornered dryad looked between the two of them, a desk planted before her like a bulwark. "Ah. Ms. Plodder. Mr. Plodder. Hello?" Attempting to collect herself from her startlement, Professor Grace Flowers straightened and focused all her nervous energy into the rapid and blind shuffling of papers. "Hello. Yes. How are you two?"

"Oh, just excellent," Peter grinned, hopping up onto the corner of the desk to sit.

"And you?" Marcie asked, leaning nonchalantly against the other corner.

"Oh. Well. I've rediscovered peace and quiet, in the years since you troublemakers graduated," the words were scolding, but a twinkle of amused reminiscence entered the dryad's eye. That had always been the way of it, back when the Plodder siblings had been getting their degrees. A front of disapproval atop an inner well of impressed support for the ingenuity of the Plodders' mishaps and misdeeds. "What can I help you two with?"

"Well," Marcie said, "we're looking to take that peace and quiet and put it firmly into the past tense."

"Looking to do something bold," Peter agreed.

"When it comes right down to it, Professor Flowers..."

Peter leaned in conspiratorially. "We're looking to empty the vault at Hextech Energy."

Grace spluttered - an impressive feat for someone with nothing to drink and dry bark for lips - and looked around as if to find some sort of trick lying in plain sight. "You want to what?"

"Rob them," Peter explained, a laugh tucked away in his voice. "Hoodwink. Swindle. Bereave. Divest. Plunder, raid, ransack, and outright sack."

Marci nodded. "Take them for everything but the thesaurus; it looks like we're good on that front."

"Thanks. Now, Professor- is it okay if I call you Grace? I'm going to call you Grace. We all go way back. Grace." Gently, Peter reached out and took away the sheaf of papers the dryad was intently attempting to escape through. "I know this sounds mad - is this real paper? Jesus, Marcie, look at this - but trust me when I say we have everything we need to pull this off. The plan, the prep, the gall, and the crew. Everything except you."

"Good God, who uses actual paper," Marcie muttered to herself before looking up at Grace. "Peter's right. It's all good to go, except... we need someone who can dispel the wards. Hide us from scriers. Unlock the magically locked."

Grace opened her mouth to protest, desperate to get a word in against the two-pronged assault. "I'm not-"

"Now, now," Peter intervened, "we know what you're going to say. You're not interested. You're a law-abiding citizen who landed a good job here. Stable prospects. Why risk it all on a crazy heist? We'll tell you."

"We've been keeping tabs on your research," Marcie explained. "Your idea on how to rewind the past century of pollution? Admittedly we can't make head or tails of it-"

"Not our area of expertise."

"Exactly. But we do know you've applied for a research grant, what? Six times now?"

"Just in the past three years alone."

Marcie gave a sad shake of her head. "Denied every time."

"Rough track record, to be honest with you."

"Likely never going to happen at this rate. But," Marcie held up a finger, "maybe you don't need the grant. You know what they have in that vault? Stored mana crystals."

"Tons of it."

"Enough to supply the city for years. The country for a month, maybe. Sitting around, unused, unloved. Waiting for an idealistic and dare I say attractive dryad like yourself to lay hands on it and put it to good use."

In the expectant silence that followed, Grace stared between the two of the, bewildered and overwhelmed. The desk beneath her hands gripped like a piece of floating flotsam amidst the proverbial flood of the Plodder siblings' back and forth proposition. "Why me?" Whether it was a question for the Plodders, or directed in a more heavenly manner was unclear. But the latter remained silent, and the former continued to be anything but.

"You're the best disenchanter around," Peter answered. "Anything magic made, you can make unmade."

Grace cleared her throat and straightened, attempting to regain the superior position and gravitas of Professor Flowers, but Peter could already tell. She was in, caught on the hook and happily chewing on the bait. "It won't just be magical wards, surely?"
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"That's where you come in."

Across from Marcie sat another young woman, skin dark and thick eyebrows darker. Behind her, a kaleidoscope of monitors provided an intimidating backdrop of light to her silhouette. A few played the news, muted, with subtitles on. Two more showed forums, another an instant messaging service. But most showed code. Lines upon lines of it, indecipherable to the uninitiated. And on one final screen, close to the center-

"You forgot to close your cartoon, dear," Marcie pointed out.

"Oh shut it," Mbizi replied, surreptitiously shifting her chair so that she'd block it from Marcie's sight. "It's a daring idea, I'll give you that. But I can't hack anything if I'm not inside, with direct access to their systems-"

"Peter and I have a way in, don't worry,” Marcie grinned. “ You remember that internship I applied for?"

"What little I was able to pull out from between your tight lips, yeah."

"Tight lips? Mbizi, my love, lets keep this professional-"

"Oh shut it," Mbizi interrupted, shifting in her seat once more. "I'm not- wait. Are you serious? You got an internship at Hextech?"

"Peter too. Only the best for us Plodders."

"With your foot in that door, you'd be set for life."

"Nail on the head."

Mbizi leaned back in her chair, eyes closed, and a smile starting to form on her lips. "So of course-"

"Yes."

"You're going to rob them."

"Blind. And 'we'. We're going to rob them."

Mbizi made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and opened her eyes once more. "I haven't said I'll do it."

"If you do," Marcie said, twisting a finger in her hair, "I'll do that thing you like."

"The dishes?"

"God no." She paused. "Maybe. Will that make you say yes?"

"You know what? Sure. I'm in." Mbizi leaned forward. "So, how many are in on this?"
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"Five, once you say yes." Peter lounged in his seat, the noise of the cafe requiring him to raise his voice slightly in order to be heard. The chair itself was uncomfortable - likely to discourage customers from loitering too long - and Peter himself felt too wired to not be constantly on his feet, but standing would've been rude.

The dwarf sitting at the other side of the small table sat silent for a moment, deliberating as they drank their faux latte. A touch of foam got caught on their carefully maintained beard, which they were quick to wipe away. "From the sounds of it, you have a solid team coming together. Where do I fit in?"

Peter clapped his hands together, eager to explain. Eager to impart his enthusiasm and anticipation. "There's a lot of moving parts in this, Taikki. Three groups, all told. One for the vault, one for surveillance, and one to get us a way out. Which means we need a way to communicate. But radios can be jammed, scanned, and listened in on. Magical alternatives can be sensed and nullified."

Taikki gave an understanding nod. "Which leaves me."

"Which leaves you, yeah. Innate telepathy, a great gift. Very handy. Bypasses everything, impossible to interrupt or pick up on. Just the thing we need to pull this off."

"It's tempting-"

"I knew it would be."

"But I'm not committing until I know the plan. Especially how we're supposed to get out."

Slowly, Peter began to grin. A tap on his temple signalled Taikki to form a telepathic link. < Now, this is where it gets fun. >
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The intern dorms at Hextech Energy were a dimly lit and quiet building. What few residents weren’t studying late into the night were desperately trying to catch up on lost sleep, and neither appreciated disturbances. In the Plodders’ room, normally crowded with just the two siblings, five people waited. Their moods running the full course from anxious to eager.

“How much longer do we have?” asked Grace, one of the former, into a moment of silence.

“Shouldn’t be long,” responded Peter, the embodiment of the latter. “Right, Mbizi? How are we coming along?”

“Got into the system about five minutes after I got here. Overrode the cameras ten minutes after that.” Mbizi raised a hand as Peter began to open his mouth. “The past two hours have been making sure I can keep them overrode.”

“And?”

Mbizi shrugged. “Good to go.”

Peter clapped his hands together. “Great. Amazing. Okay, let’s do this. Masks, everyone.”

Marcie stood from her place and began handing out the masks, special balaclavas interwoven with a mixture of magical wards and shifting nanomachines. Meant to obscure their identities from any means of recording, they were the most expensive investment for the heist. When everyone had theirs on, she opened the door out into the hall and gave a small bow, signalling for the others to file out.

The hallways were empty, that late into the night. The interns were trusted not to cause much in the way of trouble, not was there anything of value in the dorm building to cause trouble over in the first place, so no guards wandered the halls. And what security cameras there were turned a blind eye to the motley crew, under the careful guidance of Mbizi and her tablet.

It wasn’t until several hallways and staircases later that they came to their first proper obstacle: the door separating the intern dorms from the headquarters proper. Double wide and made of thick steel, the door stood beneath an impressive array of sensors, scanners, and cameras. Runes were etched into the metal, from which a dangerous glow emerged. It was an intimidating beast of a door, all together.

And it was by far the weakest point of a building otherwise built to be an impenetrable fortress. < Grace, Mbizi, > Peter began, thoughts relayed to the others through Taikki, < work your magic. >

< Only one of us is working magic, > Mbizi shot back as she sat down before the door, legs crossed beneath her. Grace knelt down next to her, the nooks and crannies of her bark seeming to catch and condense the light cast by the door. Thoughts passed between the two of them came dimly to Peter through the link as they studied the various safeguards in place.

< -never seen a merged system like- >

< -the runes are feeding into the circuits- >

< -a power source. an alarm will trigger if- >

< -I’ll have to redirect- >

< -synchronous break- >

< -reverse the flow- >

Soon their exchange of thoughts transitioned from words to the far more efficient realm of concepts, and Peter tuned them out completely. Meanwhile, Marcie stood watch off to the back, watching the way they came.

Eventually, the background barrage of thoughts came to a harmonious conclusion, and Peter turned to see the door swinging open. < Stage two, > Marcie thought, coming up behind him. < Let’s keep this ball rolling. Grace, make sure we don’t set off any wards. Mbizi, lovely, keep an eye the cameras. Don’t want to walk into any patrols. >

Another series of hallways and stairs followed, all leading down and deeper into the building. Every now and then they stopped so Grace could unravel some arcane tripwire, or they’d double back a few twists and turns to avoid wandering guards.

Until, finally, they came to it. The vault room. In one moment, they were walking through a monotonous hallway identical to all the others. In the next, they pushed through a set of doors and found themselves in a vast cavernous space. Easily over a hundred meters per side, it was filled with dozens of isolated smaller rooms, each a bunker in its own right. And in each and every one, vast wealth to be had. Some in mana crystals, others in cash, or jewels, or bonds, or trade secrets.

There were a few moments of awed silence shared between them, before Mbizi spoke up. “Which one is ours?” she asked, tapping away at her tablet. “I heard Grace mention mana crystals, so we’re looking at either-”

Peter cut her off, turning to Marcie and Taikki. “Your turn, you two. I’ll get things ready down here.” Marcie nodded and turned back, Taikki quickly following suit, and the two disappeared through the doors they had just entered, Marcie looking down at a projection of a map emitted by her watch.

“Marcie! Wait!” Mbizi whirled on Peter. “What the hell? Where are they off to?”

“Upstairs,” Peter answered absently as he pulled a rod of blue metal from his coat and began etching lines of pale light along the wall. “Marcie’s going to disable their spatial mirror.”

“Their what?”

“It, uh, prevents teleporting,” Grace explained. “Both in and out. The size of the field depends on how much energy is fed into it.”

“And Hextech has plenty of energy,” Peter continued. “The entire building is in the field. It’d be a shitty security system if people could just teleport wherever they wanted.”

“Please, please correct me if I’m wrong,” Mbizi snapped, “but doesn’t the entire plan hinge around us teleporting out of here?”

“Mhmm. That’s why Marcie is going to take it out.” Peter stepped back for a moment to look over the four metres of wall now marked with his etchings before pulling out another rod and handing it to Grace. “Could you start copying this? You go that way, I’ll go this way. We want to get all the way around. Oh, and don’t worry about accuracy; they’re self correcting. You just need to get it kind of close.”

Grace nodded and began to get to work, while Mbizi gaped. “Was I the only one left in the dark about this?”

“Well,” Grace began hesitantly.

“Yes,” Peter finished confidently. “Definitely.”

< You’re very overprotective, > Mbizi started as Marcie’s thoughts cut in, < and I love you for it, but we knew you’d never be on board if you knew the plan involved me taking on half a dozen armed guards. >

What?”
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For a painful second, Marcie’s head was flooded with an impressive string of curses and admonishments before Taikki closed the floodgates. Marci gave the dwarf a thankful nod for the reprieve before turning back to the job at hand. Peeking around the corner, she could see the room housing the spatial mirror at the far end of the hallway, it’s door slightly ajar. Voices and lights spilled from the narrow crack, hopefully loud enough to mask her footsteps when she crossed the distance.

Not taking her eyes from the doorway, Marcie addressed Taikki. < You stay here. If you hear anyone else coming, give my head a ring. > Thumbs up of understanding were exchanged, and Marcie began to make her way down the hall.

She rolled her feet as she walked to lessen the sound of her approach, one hand trailing along the wall beside her. It seemed to be enough, as the conversation on the other side of the door never haltered, even as she drew up before it, palm flat against it, ready to push.

A pause, to collect herself.

Another, to ready herself.

And then, action. Shoving open the door, Marcie leapt into the room and took stock. In the center of the room, a whirling mass of mirrors and strings floated above a metal table. Around it were eight guards, all told. More than they'd hoped for, but still within expectations. Three standing, four sitting, and one in the process of falling backwards off their chair. All armed, but only one with weapon already in hand.

Before dealing with that however, Marcie had to make sure they didn't call for backup. When a building housed a large enough fortune to buy a city or two, it was advisable to keep a fighting force on in hand to repel assaults.

Hextech Energy had settled for a small army, and Marcie was certainly assaulting.

She focused, and in an instant all the guards’ radios were spilling out the door and into the hall. A stronger magic user like Peter could have simply thrown everyone into the ceiling a few times and been done with it, or at least forced their weapons from their holsters, but Marcie was not a strong magic user.

She'd have to give it a more personal touch.

Pushing off with both body and mind, Marcie vaulted the table and fell flat to slide under the spatial mirror. As she reached the edge, she flipped back up and lashed out with her foot, kicking the gun out of the guards hand. Meanwhile, the falling guard finally came to earth with a loud crash. Only then did the fight begin in earnest.

The space was too small and crowded for firearms, and the guards who followed that first instinct found themselves futilely trying to get a clean shot. The rest pulled out stun batons, and entered the fray.

Ducking under one heavy swing, Marcie retaliated with a punch to the stomach. The guard, instead of simply doubling over, was flung backwards into the wall as Marcie empowered the blow with a burst of telekinesis. Another guard was sent sprawling with a kick to the shin, and a third with an elbow to the back.

But they were resilient, and well armoured, and quickly got back on their feet. Those who had initially pulled guns had now switched, and one came for Marcie with an overhead swing.

She intercepted the blow, her forearm to his, and a focused blast of kinetic energy reversed the blow. As he fell, Marcie ripped the baton from his hand and flung it at another guard, catching her in the face and sending her to the floor twitching.

But more guards came after them, and more after that, forcing Marcie into a spiralling dance of blocking, dodging, and counter attacking. There was no opportunity to go on the offensive, no moment of reprieve to drop her defenses even for a second as she battled for control of the room.

< Hey, Marcie? >

< Taikki, I hate to be rude, but I’m a touch preoccupied at the moment. >

< More guards. Sounds like at least ten, coming straight for us. >

< Are they running or walking? >

< Walking. >

< Then they don't know what's going on. Stall them, please. > With that, Marcie used a push of energy to close the door and returned to the fight. Just in time, as a stun baton grazed her back and sent her jittering to her knees. The follow up was quick, the guards eager to capitalize on the opening.

But Marcie was quicker. She deflected one guards jab into the knee of another, and an uppercut as she climbed to her feet gave a third a new glassjaw.

Taikki’s voice filled her head again. < Marcie. >

< Still busy. Keep stalling. >

< They starting shooting stun rounds on sight. I’m coming in. > On queue, the door burst open to admit a carefully groomed dwarf, an event distracting enough to let Marcie land another solid blow. Rather than blasting the guard away as normal, she grabbed the man and flung him around, sending him flying into the spatial mirror.

As it shattered into a hundred prismatic refractions, she reached out through the telepathic link. < Peter, > she thought, < we’re going to need you to hop us out of here. >
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< Not possible, really. > Peter answered, walking some ways apart from Mbizi and Grace. Mbizi was still on soft mute telepathically, but that did nothing to quiet the worried and angry hacker in person. < Teleportation runes only work at the point of origin. I can't do anything from the destination. Hold tight, I'll figure something out. >

“Peter, I swear to God, if you leave my girlfriend behind-” Mbizi snarled, coming up from behind.

“My sister, you mean? As if. Pull up schematics of the building.”

“Rescue mission. Okay. I'll find us the quickest route-”

Peter cut her off. “We’re staying here. Those guards will have sounded an alarm the moment they saw Taikki, so the hallways will be filled with armed men and women looking to get us, stun us, tag us and bag us, then lock us up.” He rubbed at his chin. “Just get those schematics. There is a plan. Grace! Finish laying those runes on the walls; we’ll still need those.”

Pulling another metal rod from his coat, this one white to the previous one’s blue, Peter made his way over to one of the vaults and began etching.

The walls of the vault were perfectly smooth, bereft of not only joints or seams but doors as well. The only way in was teleporting, which in normal circumstances meant only when the spatial mirror was briefly shut down. But if Marcie had asked him to teleport her out of her predicament, then the mirror must have been successfully destroyed.

Laying his hand hand across his quickly drawn runes, Peter closed his eyes and channeled. When he opened them again after a brief flash of blue light, he was inside the vault itself.

Shelves filled the steel walls, each crammed full of labeled boxes, visually identical except for the words written on them. In the center of the room sat a permanent circle of runes, meant for moving the goods out of the vault when needed.

Scanning the boxes until he found the one he needed, Peter indelicately dragged it off the shelf and carried it into the circle. Another brief channel, and he was standing back in the overarching vault room, the large door they entered through a few dozen feet in front of him. “Perfect,” he said, pulling out the white rod once more and getting to work.

“Seriously, Peter?” Mbizi asked incredulously as she saw him reappear with the box. “You’re still trying to pull of the heist?”

“Part of the plan,” he answered, not looking up from his work. “You have those schematics? Yeah? Great. Direct Marcie and Taikki to wherever is directly above where I’m standing right now.”

Outside the vault room, he could hear the approaching sound of dozens of footsteps. “Oh,” he continued, a note of adrenaline fueled eagerness entering his voice, “and find you and Grace some cover to hide behind.”
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The room was in tatters. Guards lay sprawled across chairs and table alike, and shards of mirror hung suspended from tattered strings when they weren’t serving as a walking hazard on the floor. Outside, more guards were industriously trying to ram open the door, to increasing success.

“Are you finished getting ready?” Marcie asked, a note of exasperation entering her voice as Taikki continued layering on pieces of body armour salvaged from the unconscious guards. A loud crash reverberated through the door and into Marcie’s bones as the guards knocked the hinges loose another precious millimetre.

“Just about-”

“Good enough.” When the next crash came, Marcie made no effort to oppose it, letting the door fall almost completely loose, dangling from one strained hinge. Through the resulting gaps, Marcie could see a swarm of guards filling the hallway beyond, far too many to take on.

< Immediate right? > She asked.

< Yes. > Came Mbizi’s tense reply. Marcie sent comforting vibes back her way, then promptly kicked the door clean off its hinges and back into the hall. Grabbing Taikki by the scruff of their neck and slinging them over her back, Marcie lept out after the door in the ensuing confusing and bolted down the right hand hallway.

“Taikki?” She panted, already feeling the weight of the dwarf in her knees and back. “I hope you’re fine with being my shield.”

“Not really,” Taikki managed, “but I understand.”

“Thanks.” Marcie ducked around another corner as shots rang out behind. < We’re on our way. What’s the next turn? >
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The guards reached the vault room the moment Peter stepped back from his work. Three interwoven circles of runes, ten feet across all together. Peter himself stood inside a separate, much smaller circle of runes. Two lines extended out from it; one towards the interwoven circles, and another towards the blue runes on the walls. Each line had a small break in it, large enough to fit a single rune.

In the doorway, the guards came to a halt and leveled their guns, but didn’t immediately fire. Peter gave them a small wave, almost giddy from the tension, as he knelt down to open the box pulled from the vault.

“Stop!” one of the guards called out. “Stop, or we will fire with deadly intent.”

Peter only laughed. “I’m sure you will.” In response, the guard fired a warning shot aimed well above Peter’s head. Not that the aim mattered in the end. As soon as the shot reach the interwoven runes, it was dispersed and disappeared. Peter laughed harder. He had never felt this alive, this kind of burning beauty filling him from head to toe. < How far out are you? >

< A hundred metres, give or take. >

Another warning shot was fired, and it too was dispersed by the runes. “One circle to ward and absorb,” Peter muttered as he pulled his treasure from its box. A giant mana crystal, growing red and blue and yellow with energy. It seemed at times edged like obsidian, and at others fractal like a diamond. The direction of light seemed meaningless to the shadows dancing along its surface, and Peter’s hands began to hum as he held on to it. < Give me a countdown. I need to know exactly when you reach it. >

< Eighty. >

More shots were fired, now aimed directly at Peter, and they too were absorbed. Beneath, the runes began to faintly glow. Then moderately, then vibrantly. With each shot, the runes grew brighter and brighter, a thick orange, casting shadows of its own across the room.

< Sixty. >

“We’re overloading it,” one the guards shouted to her fellows. “Keep firing!”

“Yes,” Peter cackled. “Keep firing!” The runes continued to swell with energy as shot after shot was absorbed, until it seemed the light itself would burst and shatter into a thousand pieces. But instead, the light started to pull back, dragged away into the second circle of runes.

< Forty. >

“Another to channel and reform,” Peter said to himself, as the second circle began to glow yellow. Meanwhile, in the doorway, the guards started to move forward into the room. Briefly channeling the energy in the mana crystal, Peter send out bolts of lightning to push them back into the hall. “Stay put,” he called out cheerfully.

< Twenty. >

“And the last to amplify and emit.”

< Ten! >

Leaning down, Peter marked down the missing rune to finish the first line, and both the orange and yellow light disappeared, all channeled into the third circle, where it became a blinding red. If the orange light had looked ready to shatter, the force of the red light looked ready to warp reality itself. The crystal in Peter’s hands vibrated as he struggled to use it as a foundation, a way to hone and stabilize the massive amounts of energy he was building up.

< Five! There! Peter, we’re in a pretty rough- >

< Hold on! > Peter interrupted, and released. Around the edges of the circle, the red light folded in and upon itself until it was a thin and impossibly dense sheet of light running around the outside edge of the runes. It seemed to freeze there for an age, though Peter knew that it wasn’t even a fraction of second, that it never stopped moving, before surging upwards in a glorious hollow pillar. A loud screeching sound filled the vault room as it pierced the ceiling, and the smell of burning air and metal filled Peter’s nose.

Then just as quickly, it was gone. Not even spots of lights remained to cloud Peter’s vision. It was as if it had never happened. Except, from above, the sound of rushing air. Before Peter, a large hunk of masonry, of steel and tile and pipes that had once been a ceiling, crashed into the ground where the interwoven runes had been. A few second later, a second followed suit.

Thoughts of panic flooded the telepathic link, but Peter ignored them. Ten floors up, that was where the room holding the spatial mirror had been held. A third chunk of building crashed to the ground. With a flick of his hand, Peter used the crystal to shove the door shut, completing the string of blue runes around the room, and began to channel energy once more.

The fourth chunk fell. All around, the room began to fill with blue light. A piercing blue light, that filled matter and banished all trace of shadow. The fifth chunk fell. Through the individual vaults, Peter could see each box in exquisite detail. Visually rifle through t contents of each. The sixth chunk fell.

He could see Grace and Mbizi running out from where they had been taking cover, yelling and waving their arms. He ignored them, focusing solely on drawing more and more energy from the crystal. The eight chunk fell. Inside the crystal, the dancing lights began to grow dim in reverse correlation to the increasing brightness of the runes. Cracks appeared in the walls from the sheer mass of magic being readied.

The ninth chunk fell.

Letting go of the crystal with one hand, it remained impossibly stuck to his remaining hand, casually defying gravity, as he pulled out the blue metal rod. The tenth chunk began to slip through the hole in the ceiling. Above it, Marcie and Taikki fell as well, speeding towards a rapid end against the ground. Peter shut them out as well, and drew one final rune.

The crystal shattered, and with it the blue light. It escaped the boundaries of the runes, of the vault room itself, and replaced the world with itself. Outside the vault room, there was nothing but blue light. The ceiling faded into nothing. The walls fell away, cropped down to where the line of runes snaked its way across.

The tenth chunk froze.

Everything froze. Sound emptied, light diffused, movement became forgotten. In this blue light, a single moment was eternity, and a single space was infinity.

The crystal shattered.

Shards became slivers, and a faint whistling sound - a sound that was more than mere vibrations - filled the bubble of reality.

The crystal shattered.

Slivers became dust, and the world roared back into being. There was no transition, no fading of the light. In one moment, it was everything, and in the next, it never was. Overhead was only the sky, a lighter grey than usual. A sign of good luck. No skyscrapers obscured it, no city smog filled the air. Not that the air was clean.

But it was better.

Around them, surrounding the misplaced and broken vault room, was nothing but fields. Vast plains of dry, twisted grass and the dust coated remains of what used to be trees.

Marcie and Taikki fell the last few feet to the ground, rolling down the hill of rubble that the other chunks had formed, and were quickly fussed over by Mbizi and Grace. But Peter knew they were fine; his spell had worked. A deep warmth filled his core, and burst out his mouth as laughter.

His heist had worked.
The room they had shut her in was dark- no, that was wrong. Dark was what the world was. This was the complete absence of light; they hadn’t even left a candle in here. Not that it would have helped her escape, but there was always something comforting about seeing the little flicker of the candlelight or simply watching the shadows dance against the wall.

But Jackie doubted they cared about her comfort. After all, if they were readying to sacrifice her then what was a little darkness?

Closing her eyes, she leaned against the wall and stretched out her legs, a painful groan emitting from her. Her head rested against a patch of peeling paint which cracked, flecks littering down on her hair. She didn’t mind; her hair was dark and she imagined it looked like stars twinkling in a clear black sky.

Oh, how she wished she could have seen that sky. Grandma had always talked about it, even though it had been nearing a century since she had seen it herself before she passed.

Sighing softly, she closed her eyes. Even if it was dark, nothing could stop her from seeing her family in her mind’s eye.

Family was Grandma and Stevie. Grandma who had lived too long, and Stevie too little. Her eyes tightened before relaxing. Mama… She could hardly remember what the woman who birthed her even looked like. She did remember Grandma cried a lot the days after her mother left, though it’d been hard to hear over baby Stevie’s little sobs.

Grandma had been there when the Great Darkness took place, when everyone thought it was the end of time. The apocalypse, the event that would destroy not just life on Earth but the planet itself. Everything was supposed to die in a flash and bang, and that would be it. If there was a god, judgement day would be upon all.

"But we were wrong," Jackie remembered her muttering. "Death decided to take its sweet, sweet time."

A very long time. Not only had Mama been born, but so had Jackie and her little brother Stevie. It had overextended its stay long enough for Grandma to pass away whilst it was still crawling to a sad and sorry state.

Once upon a time, there had been a perfect Earth according to her. Radios, television, computers, internet- those were all words Jackie had grown up listening to, despite never having seen such things herself. Truth be told, it had all seemed surreal to her. Being able to send letters to the other side of the world in less than a second? Being able to see someone across the world as if they were standing right before her? If Grandma hadn’t keep some of her ‘devices’ as she had called them, Jackie was sure she’d have probably not believed her.

A small smile grew on her lips as she reached into the pocket of her trouser, pulling out a slim metal and glass rectangle, feeling it with her thumbs. Cell phone. It meant none of the things to her that it had to Grandma, but it did offer some comfort in this inhospitable place. Clasping it with both hands, she pressed it against her cheek. Despite the years of wear and tear, it was still quite smooth.

She returned it to her pocket after a little while, though her mind travelled, wondering how it must have been to live so long ago. This harsh world might have been what she was born in and what she was used to, but she hated it. It was bleak, dusty, barren, but most of all it was dark. Grandma would say that it always looked like the sun had just set, except without the pretty colours in the sky. Jackie had never seen a sunset or sunrise in her life, at least not for in real life. She had a picture, something Grandma had torn from a magazine a very long time ago, and when she had passed away, Jackie kept it when she had finally left what could be called her childhood house.

Her head tilted to the side, the paint cracking even more. How long has it been? If Jackie had to guess, it had been more than a few years, but she’d never really kept proper count. The fact that it was getting colder was enough to warn the average person that winter was coming. A long time ago a person could tell when that happened by the days growing shorter and eventually by snow falling to the ground. Grandma had a picture of snow as well. Jackie had loved looking at it. Snow looked so very white and soft, unlike anything she had ever seen.

The pictures were there in her pocket next to the cellphone, but she didn’t take them out. There would have been no point to since she couldn’t even see them in the pitch black of the room. Perhaps it was best to not to reminisce anyway; that was how she had been caught in the first place...


It was time to leave now. She had been camping in an abandoned encampment under an overhang for the last few weeks. It had been a nice location, looking down on a city that was easy to forage through. There wasn’t really anything left in the way of food unless someone had been staying there recently, but there was still water, depending on how hard a person looked. Stale and rancid, but somewhat palatable after being boiled.

Truth be told, Jackie didn’t want to leave, but her last forage for food in the outskirts of the city had nearly brought her face to face with another person. With food and water depleting faster than not, even a bottle of water was worth killing someone over. She had learned that the hard way, and so had her brother Stevie.

At least he doesn’t have to live in this pile of shit anymore.

Pulling on her sweater and then her jacket, she grabbed the many times fixed duffel bag that carried most of her worldly possessions, slinging it over her back as she headed out to stand by the lip of the cliff that looked down at the city. After a moment, she looked up, wondering what snow felt like… what sunshine felt like… and what the sky actually looked like.

But that was an impossibility, one that Jackie hated. Even Grandma couldn’t remember how long it had been since the sky had one day been mysteriously covered in a thick, dark mist. It had happened overnight according to her, whilst everyone had been asleep. All power and technology had failed, riots had broken out, and everyone was sure something would be coming down from the heavens to obliterate them all.

Would’ve been better to die then, she thought to herself, looking away from the covered sky and into the distance instead, eyeing a long dead tree, its branches worn and grey. With very limited light, all the nutrition had slowly been sucked away from the land. Vegetation was failing, only the hardiest of flora surviving until now. As such, many animals were nowhere to be found as well. Jackie couldn’t even begin to remember the list of dead species Grandma would ramble on about once she'd started- sometimes it felt like she had documented it all.

She shook her head. “No more dilly dallying, it’s time to move-”

A gasp left her, one that was more of surprise than pain, though the stinging started with only the smallest delay. She looked down at her upper leg, taking in the sight of an arrow sticking out of her thigh, the faded grey trousers quickly stained with the red of her blood.

The sounds of rushed footsteps pulled her gaze away from her injury, just in time to see three people running toward her. An ambush. She barely had time to turn around when she felt something hard hit against the back of her head.

Everything turned black before she hit the ground.


The door at last creaked open. Jackie opened her eyes, blinking quickly as first a candle and then a man stepped into the room. He was tall and rather spindly, reminding her of the dead trees she’d often gaze at.

“If you’re hungry we can give you something to eat.”

“I’d rather you not kill me,” she decided to put out there. “What did I even do to you people?”

The man shook his head, clearly exasperated from having to hear the same thing again. “I already told you, you are a sacrifice. Your dark hair means you are chosen. The prophet has said so.”

“You’re going to believe some idiot that I have to die because I have black hair?”

Though it was hard to see, Jackie knew she had struck a nerve with the man. There was a hiss of anger from him as he stormed over, grabbing the front of her sweater. “You don’t insult the prophet! You- you’re lucky you’re the sacrifice, or I would kill you right now!”

His hold on her sweater tightened before he let go. Jackie took a gulp of air, slumping against the wall once more. Maybe it’s best not to make him angry. If she had to die, at least the moments before could be painless.

“Sorry,” she finally replied. Her apology was insincere, but hopefully it would appease him. “Tell me more about your prophet. Who is he sacrificing to? Why?”

The man seemed surprised by this bout of questions, and it was almost as if he was unsure how to answer them. Quietly he shifted from one foot to the other before letting out a snort. “Stupid girl. How could you not know who the prophet is? God sent him down when the Great Darkness fell upon us. He led the people to safety, he found them food and water. And he prayed, he prayed for all the people of the world, he prayed that the darkness would leave us…”

“But it hasn’t,” Jackie pointed out.

“It will,” the man replied, a tinge of his earlier aggravation returning to his voice. “Soon. When a hundred years have passed and hundred dark crowns have fallen, then shall the Great Darkness fade.” He paused for effect before continuing. “That’s the prophecy which the prophet receive in a dream. You’re a dark head, the first we’ve found this year.”

“And you actually believe this sh- this?” It was hard to take anything he said seriously, but the throbbing pain in both her leg and head were reminders of how they had ambushed her for no real reason- she even had a water bottle in her jacket's pocket. Any other normal person would have taken it immediately.

“Yes.”

“If you’re going to sacrifice me to whoever, why even care about whether I want to eat?”

Now the man seemed offended. “We aren’t barbarians, we’re not going to starve you.” He shook his head and then actually let out a chuckle. “Oh you silly girl, don’t you realize that being a sacrifice is an honour for you?”

“Death is an honour?”

“Your death will lift the Great Darkness. You will help free mankind from this punishment inflicted upon us. Of course it’s an honour!”

The conviction in his voice was firm, enough for Jackie to realize that he wasn't going to be swayed. She had been caught by a group of crazy fanatics who believed killing her would be another task completed in their quest for salvation. But they were wrong. She wasn't 'chosen’ or anything special like that; she had simply been unobservant in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Are they all that's left? As Jackie stared at the man, she wondered if it was truly worth living in a world like this, where people would turn to such strange and awful ways in hope for better days. Everyone she knew and loved were dead anyway, and it was a struggle just to keep foraging for food and water, even if she usually had a sense of where to look.

It wasn't as if she could even escape with her injured leg.

“You know what,” she finally said, letting herself relax completely, “I think I am feeling hungry.”


Staring up at the dark sky, she tried to imagine snow falling down on her face, light and soft, fluffy yet cold, just the way Grandma used to describe it. Hands clutching the cell phone and the pictures, she smiled.

“Grandma, Stevie? I'm almost there.”

Death came quickly for Jackie.

Much quicker than it did for the fanatics, the prophet, and the Earth.

And the Great Darkness never did fade.
The hologram-covered room smelled like cigarettes, mechanic's oil, and blood. The neon advertisements were at least a decade old, and most of the products advertised no longer existed or their companies had burned down. It didn't particularly matter to us, we weren't here to enjoy the view nor did we plan on staying longer than a few days. We were here on a purely utilitarian affair. While Meekon studied the projection of the facility's blueprints, I tinkered away on the others' napes. The flesh covering our bodies should have degraded long ago, but almost a hundred years ago, before the fall of the stars, a group of scientists had concocted a serum that rejuvenated cells. It wasn't perfect, but it was as close as immortality as one could hope for.

The scientists hadn't predicted that other parts of our bodies, parts that weren't affected by the serum, wouldn't survive. The section of our brains where memories were formed and conserved began failing rapidly, to the point where another group of engineers had to create the first memory chip implants just years after the release of the serum. The first chips were big, almost the size of a bottle cap, and the operation to get them left quite the gnarly scar. As science does, it evolved and was improved drastically; now, they were barely the size of a penny. They were called RAM chips, a cheeky wink at that computer hardware piece that people used last century.

The year is 2187 and the planet is about to die.

Ten years ago, the last shuttle shot off the Earth in direction of this new planet, Zyckan, and the rest of us were left behind. By "us", I mean all of the cyborgs that hadn't been exterminated. The enhancements on our bodies were seen as "unpure" and unfit for the new planet, and the Purge Wars were waged across all corners of the world. They created us and when we became an inconvenience to their morals, they sought to destroy us. It mostly succeeded, but in a place where vice runs amok there will always be somewhere for folks like us to hide. For a price.

"Oi, Zhor, you fuckin' listenin'?" Meekon grumbled in my direction, his ever-moving cybernetic eye looking my way while the rest of him was facing the projection on the wall. "You know we can see you browsing Wakipedia?!"

"Sorry boss." I grinned apologetically and motioned my finger to dismiss the web page in front of me. I had finished sewing up Jerone's memory slot at the back of his neck. "But we've been over this so many times, I could go there in my sleep!"

"Good for you, but this is our last chance for a bit of fun before the end. It needs to be perfectly executed." The tall black cyborg man snapped his fingers at the projection of the blueprints. His own memory slot was still bleeding a bit, but he had refused my stitching it up, claiming the mild pain reminded him of his humanity. He was a stubborn one, but he was our best hope for this heist. "Jerone, Qhatlyn, Saren - ammunition check. You all have enough of those 'droid bullets and energy magazines?"

"Aye, aye. That last place we scavenged had some unused laser rifles, military grade," the stout woman waved her metallic arms excitedly as she showed us the guns, her wild mop of orange hair a stark contrast against the black of her clothes. Qhatlyn was our expect on guns, but sometimes I felt like she just had a weird fetish for them. "As long as you let us do the shooting, we good."

Jerone and Saren chuckled and nodded in agreement, the twinkle in their single real eyes scintillating brighter than their cyber eyes. Damned high-tech eye contacts, they always weirded me out, and I had seen some weird shit in my life.

The rest of the prep went smoothly and Meekon reminded all four of us the nitty gritty details of the plan. Jerone's nape stitching was already healing, and he moved around effortlessly as he stretched. He was a big man, and we'd struggled to find the right outfit for him, but in the end it didn't matter if we all had coordinated suits. There'd be no one to even watch us go in and out of the facility. Soren was much smaller, and he was the newest addition to our team. We'd found him stranded a couple weeks ago, his cyber-limbs twisted and his body covered in lacerations. He was a pretty boy, and it bothered me a bit to see him all screwed up like that. Once he had recovered, he proved himself to be quite the acrobat, which is why Meekon felt like he deserved his place in our little group. He would be the one to sneak me in to disable the emergency sequence programmed in the androids.

"Zhor, what's your status on decoding the... thingie?" Everyone looked at me expectantly and I felt a rush of blood bloom up my face.

"The program? Yeah I decoded it a couple days ago after Saren got me the manual for those androids. I memorized it too," I nodded confidently at the rest of my team, and they seemed to find it good enough to move on. "Oh, and all our RAM chips have been taken out and, uh, wiped. So we might start forgetting shit in the next couple days."

This brought a gloomier undertone to the room, but we all knew and understood the reasons for such a sacrifice. The end of the world was upon us after all.

*-*

Our brilliant plan started out smoothly. Once I had slipped inside the facility with Saren, the alarm system blared out and the first envoy of androids serving as security guards rolled out at the expected ETA. The control panel I access disabled their emergency protocol, but that didn't prevent them from shooting all over our asses as we ran back out. With the subtlety of a robot from 2050, Jerone barged in the main entrance with Qhatlyn at his back, and together they lasered through an unplanned second wave of androids.

"Fuck me! I thought you said they'd gone to the back!" Qhatlyn yelled through the comm bracelet, the panicked tone of her voice sending shivers down my back. "We just melted a dozen 'droids, wasted some juice on those fuckers!"

"Stay calm! It was unexpected but we can still make it. Come on guys, push!" Meekon's unvexed voice certainly had a calming effect, and he continued on as we all proceeded with the plan. "Stealing shit for others, I done that all my goddamned life. Not tonight, boys. We be stealing for us tonight."

"Hell yeah!" Jerone boomed into the comms, and I could hear the laughter in his voice. "This is our last big one, ain't no one gonna screw this up. Not even those sex goddess robots coming right at me!" On cue, we all heard his gun shooting out the special bullets we'd scavenged previously.

"Fucking WEIRDO!" Saren laughed and I couldn't help myself in joining him. "Jerone doesn't need his robotic dick when he handles guns as though he's pleasuring himself! C'mon, show 'em who's the big daddy!"

We all roared with laughter and once both our ends were cleared, we met up in the main storage room. It was filled with shelves and filing cabinets. Some sections were so old, it looked like they were from the last century.

"I wonder if I can find my grandmother's memories in here." Qhatlyn extended her cyber-arms until they reached the highest shelf, and pulled herself onto it. "You know what, never mind, I don't want to visit my grandparents' lives and see how my mother was conceived. Nope nope nope. I bet Jerone gonna love that granny ass though. As long as it's not MY granny's ass."

Jerone huffed and pretended to shake the cabinet on which Qhatlyn was standing, but the large smile on his face betrayed his lack of maliciousness.

"Pervs! Get a room!" I grinned as well and found myself in a tight alley of filing cabinets. Unlike the others, I hadn't gotten myself in any kind of trouble before - this was my very first big heist, and it was for stealing RAM from the dead. I had jumped gung ho into this adventure, but Meekon had seen something in me that he ascertained would help them pull this off. It had sobered me a little bit, to know that I had to play an important part. I had never thought of myself as a thief, but after today I certainly was one.

"Second - I mean, third wave of 'droids incoming!" The cackle from the comms made us all jump and being the only one without a gun, I ran towards the other end of the row. Without thinking I pulled open the last cabinet and grabbed an entire bag of RAM chips. It contained a mix of old, first generation chips and newer ones - some that I recognized to be less than ten years old. But the last shuttle had left almost exactly a decade ago --

"Zhor? Zhor, where the fuck are you?!" Saren's panicked voice interrupted my thoughts and brought me back to reality. It was becoming a real problem for me, zoning out like that, and I didn't need this to be happening right in the middle of this. "ZHOR?"

"I'm here, I'm here! Coming!"

And just as I dashed into the next row, I fell face to face with one of them. Those security guard androids. I knew their manuals by heart, I knew where to press to make them disengage with a threat - but instead of reacting, I froze. My fingers clenched the bag containing the RAM chips and cold sweat dripped down the back of my neck, stinging the freshly sewn flesh, and for a wild moment it felt like time just stopped. The human-like face of the android was nothing like an actual human, its bleak black eyes empty save for invisible code and programs running through them. I knew it was saving my face for futur facial recognition, that in its head that contained nothing but computer parts it would be able to analyze my next move and every possible outcome of this situation. In slow motion, I saw it raise its gun, the synthetic flesh covered finger applying pressure on the trigger.

"Zhor!"

And then without warning, Saren jumped in front of me and tackled me to the cement floor. I heard the audible crack of bone shattering milliseconds before a two gun shots. Trapped under Saren, I saw the android fall down in a puddle of that weird goo that made their flesh soft, and there was some red splotches mixed in. Wait. Androids didn't bleed --

"No no no no, Saren, SAREN, GET UP BOY!" Jerone picked up the smaller man as though he weighed nothing and placed him on his shoulder. "We gotta get out of here, FAST!"

Legs shaking and Saren's blood covering me, I staggered to my feet and began running. I had no way of protecting myself, so Jerone stayed by my side, shooting from his pistol instead of his energy rifle. We heard Qhatlyn yell in pain, but before either of us could turn around to see if she was behind us, another swarm of androids turned sharply towards us.

"Fuck fuck fuck! Meekon, we got another bunch of those fuckers here!" The heavy man grimaced from the weight on his shoulder and stopped running. "Zhor, find the control panel in here and disable those fuckers!" His rifle was back out and pressed against his free shoulder, his cyber-eye blinking red madly as he targeted the androids.

"But Saren -"

"Nothing we can do for Saren until we're out of here, now go!"

Somehow, I made it to the control panel in the storage room and remembered the right sequence of code to disable every android in the facility. Before we escaped from the storage room, I managed to grab two other bags of RAM chips. Qhatlyn also had managed to grab a few from what I could see, but all I could focus on was Saren.

*-*

"Is he gonna make it?" Meekon questioned me as he paced back and forth around the small room. The holograms had faded to the background and none of us really paid attention to them anymore. The smell of cigarettes hadn't quite diminished, as our leader kept smoking his electronic nicotine stick non-stop for the last two hours. The stench of blood was still permeating the air, but this time it bored a more sinister tale.

"The 'droid's bullet passed right through, and the hardness of his abdomen scares me for internal bleeding... But he'll make it long enough." Long enough until the impact kills us all, I thought to myself bitterly. I was prepared for death, as it was inevitable and something I had made my peace with, but knowing that Saren might die of internal bleeding before the rest of us, it hurt.

"Alright, as long as he can enjoy some of his last days with us..." Meekon pulled me in an awkward hug and tapped my back, emotions coursing through his real eye and threatening to cause a tear to slip out. "He's a good lad. Thanks for patching him up."

I didn't feel like I deserved a thanks, it was my fault if Saren had been shot by an android. But what was done was done, and no amount of guilt would make it un-happen. "I slipped in a RAM chip for him, he should be feeling like he's dreaming now."

"Good, good. We all deserve this, I think."

"Amen to that," mumbled Qhatlyn as she gulped down beer. One good thing about alcohol was that it rarely went bad, and most of us were accustomed to heavy amounts of drinking when things were really shitty. "Lesnot stay 'ere, lesgo to that... place, the boy told us 'bout. The cliff." Her slurred speech went unremarked by any of us.

Jerone nodded and finished washing out the blood that had seeped into his uniform. "Yeah, that. We always said we'd get front-row tickets to the crash."

In silent agreement, we settled around to catch a bit of sleep. Saren was breathing normally, which was a relief, and despite the high possibility of internal bleeding, he was free of any fever throughout the night. Jerone still had to carry him once we left but even in his groggy state the boy was all smiles and silly jokes. I could tell he had dreamed about the stuff from the RAM chip, since he kept mentioning someone called "Sarah" and how drunk he was at her wedding last week. I had experienced second-hand RAM chips myself, and I was looking forward to escaping into someone else's memories as the comets would hit the Earth.

The trek took most of the day. By the time the sun had disappeared, we had to use the light coming from the cluster of satellites in the sky to find our way. Through his irrational mumbling, Saren managed to guide us to the right place. Meekon was carrying a large backpack with water bottles and the bags of RAM chips we had stolen, while I had been tasked with bringing bedsheets and pillows stolen from the dank room we had slept in the last few days, and Qhatlyn was carrying the guns and ammo. We hoped we wouldn't need them, but the last thing we wanted was to be disturbed by a crazy cyborg running around.

"We're here." Meekon dropped his heavy pack on the ground and pointed in front of us. The other two nodded in acknowledgement; they must have been able to see something different with their cyber-eyes, as I couldn't spot anything special about the spot Meekon was pointing at. "I got us a treat a couple days ago, friends. I didn't wanna spoil it until now."

Intrigued, I also dropped the blankets and pillows and squatted down beside our leader. Squinting in the darkness, I was able to make out what he was holding out of the pack. I hadn't seen one of those in forever, their production stopped over a century ago!

"A radio?" Qhatlyn looked in awe at the antique, her post as our guard and gunwoman forgotten for a moment.

"Not just any radio. It can play cassettes and CDs, and it was all the rage back in uh..." Meekon scratched his head, trying to remember the date.

"In the late 20th century and early 21st! Meekon, this is... I won't even ask how you found this! Does it have batteries?" Without waiting for his answer, I grabbed the metallic and plastic box and fiddled around until I found the back pocket. I pried it open, and from what I could it was intact but empty.

"As a matter of fact, if you were a lil more patient... Yes, here," he rummaged through his pack and handed me two very old, very big batteries. "I tested them, they work. I didn't want to drain them by leaving them in the radio."

I instantly reached for them and placed them in the back of the radio. I played around with the radio stations for a couple minutes while the others started setting up our little camp. We wouldn't have more than two days here, as the comets were predicted to come into collision with the planet in that time frame. Once Saren was laid down in a bundle of pillows and wrapped in a blanket and Jerone was sitting close by Qhatlyn, Meekon sat down beside me.

We stayed quiet for a few minutes, simply listening to Saren's gentle snores and the incessant buzzing that came from the sky. After a while I stopped playing around the radio stations and turned towards Meekon.

"What gave you the idea of... this?" I spoke softly after I reached for a blanket to wrap around myself. "We've all tried someone else's RAM chip. The 22nd century's mind-altering drug, they called it. Who would've thought we'd go out high as fuck?"

Meekon smiled and popped the cap of a bottle of alcohol that read Whiskey in hand-written letters. "I had a little sister, she had an accident when she was real young. I couldn't've been more than nine or ten myself. Doctors at the time were going full on experimental with memory chips. They were the new, hot thing at the time, y'know. One of 'em said that if we shared our memories with my sister, my brothers and I, it would help her come back. Load of bullshit that was, but my mother she believed 'em." He took a swing of the liquid and grimaced, but the smile didn't waver off his face. "Once we'd put our RAM chips back in our own necks, we felt these... imprints she'd left."

"Imprints? You mean... You mean she left some residues of her own emotions on the chips?" I looked at him in awe, my eyebrows raised and my jaw dropped. The smell of whiskey was foreign but just like the cigarette odour it didn't bother me.

"Yeah, something like that. Anyway, it was a fucking trippy thing. The doctors probably didn't know what they were doin', fuck, no one knew the long-term effects of this. Or that we'd become the scum of humanity, heh."

Meekon handed me the bottle of whiskey and I took a small sip of it. Not bad.

We both remained quiet after that, and as soon as dawn arrived, I went to work on everyone. The slots in which the RAM chips were going to be inserted always had to be covered, the flesh protected the tiny circuits, and as I was the smallest one and most dexterous I was tasked with stitching up everyone. We didn't know which chips contained what, and some weren't even labelled, so it was impossible to tell how long we'd be "under" the memory overload. Since I had to stay alert in order to swap out chips for the others, I listened to the cassettes Meekon had found for the radio. One of them was particularly pleasant, and I listened to it most of the day.

By the second day, we could see the ginormous comets falling elsewhere on the surface of the planet. We didn't have much time left, so everyone picked the chips they felt would be the most interesting.

"Just a few more hours, I reckon." I drank the rest of the last bottle of water. It was time for my own chip, and I was more than ready to get off the fucked up planet.

"Here, I saved one for you." Meekon winked at me and proceeded to open up the slit on the back of my neck. I winced in pain, it was an awkward sensation I could never get used to, and remained still as he fitted the RAM chip. I instantly felt a little electric shock course down my spine. "Zhor... Try to remember..."

I was about to turn around when I felt the stitching needle pierce my skin. "What are you talking about? Isn't the whole point of this to just forget and die vicariously?"

"Yes, but... You'll know what I mean. Here, drink this."

He shoved a closed bottle at me, and thinking it might be more of that whiskey of his, I was about to refuse. But the flash of orange caught my eye and I opened the bottle.

"This smell... I recognize it. What is it? So sweet..." I breathed the scent in, shivers running across my body and and goosebumps raising the hairs on my arms. "Peach juice?"

Meekon cut the stitching string and came to sit next to me again. There was something strange in his face. In front of us, Saren, Qhatlyn, and Jerone were seemingly sleeping, but I knew they were simply passed out from the memory overload. I could tell from the smiles on their faces that they were enjoying this last trip down someone else's memory lane.

"Drink it, you'll see."

I cast Meekon a playfully distrusting look, and took a small sip of the juice. Yes, peaches. Oh... I wasn't sure if the RAM chip was already working its magic, but a flow of memories triggered by the juice filled my mind and their familiarity was overwhelming. "What - what is this, Meekon?! Did you use one of my old RAM chips? I feel like I've... I've seen those before."

"That's because you have, Zhor. Focus on one memory, tell me what you see." His voice was soft and warm, but distant.

I did as told and focused on the sensory memories first. I took another sip of juice, this time a much bigger one, and at the forefront of my mind I saw two little boys playing. They had little cars and were running them over drawn lanes in the sand. Vroooooom, ksh! ksh!.

Play with me Zhorane, you can use my blue car! One of the little boys grinned at me.

Noo Me-me, I want the red! I heard myself say in the memory. Why did this feel so real and familiar?

No, no, you know the red is Jerry's. You can have the blue. The second little boy turned his head towards me and pulled his tongue, his small hand clamped around the red toy car.

"Okay Me-me, give me the blue one." Gasping, I realized I had spoken out loud. My eyes flew open and I scrambled to my feet, but the dizziness from the overload was making me weak, so I just managed to shuffle to the side. "What the fuck is happening?!"

Once I caught sight of Meekon, the memory I had just experienced overlapped with reality and I realized that the boy Me-me was in actuality Meekon.

"Me-me?" I whispered, tears filling up my eyes. No, no - I was just feeling some of those... imprints left by the last user. Those emotions were not my own, they couldn't be!

"Yes, it's me. Zhor... Zhorane, it'S me, your brother. Please, try to remember, one last time..." His manly face was contorted in pain, but it wasn't from physical pain. He looked desperate and immensely sad. So sad. "Come back to me one last time."

What followed was a whirlwind of memories and emotions I'm still not positive were my own, but with aplomb they continued to creep through me until I was curled up in a ball. Breathing heavily, I covered my mouth and let the tears stream down my cheeks freely. It was all coming back to me... The accident, the foreign RAM chips, the never-ending travelling, and Meekon's and Jerone's faces everywhere I looked. My brothers.

"How... how..." I mumbled through clenched teeth, doing my best to hold in the sobs that were coming from nowhere.

"It's okay, it's okay, we're here with you now. Remember that story I told you the other day? I keep... I keep telling it to you, every few years, when we have to change your RAM chip. Your slot is damaged, and... It's okay, shh, let me hold you..." He pulled me on his lap and wrapped his strong arms around me. "Your very first chip... It was in that facility. We had been trying to get in there for years, Zhorane. We finally did it, little sister."

He was crying too now, and despite the impossibility of what he was saying, I knew the words rang true. Just as I was about to respond to his confession, a comet hit not too far from us, shaking the ground and sending a storm of dust in our direction.

"I remember, I remember!" I screamed as yet another comet fell, resonating loudly in the canyon under our cliff.

"Thank you, thank you, oh God, thank you!" Meekon sobbed louder and held me tightly against his chest.

"Thank you for never giving up on me. See you on the other side, Meekon!" I started coughing from the never-ending clouds of dust surrounding us, and as I squinted an eye open I saw the flaming rocks were falling consistently around us and everywhere all at once.

"See you on the other side, Zhorane! I love you, mother loved you, Jerone loves you."

I opened my mouth to reply, to tell my brother I would never forget about them again, that I loved him - but I saw the humongous rock as it dropped rapidly towards us. I closed my eyes again and exhaled against his chest, the scent of peach juice still on my breath. And I smiled.
I remember when I was a kid I knew right from wrong. I stole the pen from the fat girl in class because I thought she was ugly, and it was alright if we took from things we thought didn't belong, right? Of course, I didn't belong either, and someone back then tried to take my self-respect from me: I think they succeeded, although self-respect is too abstract a thing to actually lose.

I remember when I was a kid I knew right from wrong. But then right and wrong are kinda abstract, too. I remember I stole the book from one of my dearest friends, who at the time was growing apart from me. Or I was growing apart from him, or we were growing apart from each other, although right now I don't feel grown up. We were under the arch that led into our school, and cars were passing under it, and we were walking beside the cars like carnies stroll beside elephants. He showed me the notebook: its cover was a piece of black cloth with red streaks all over. I think those red streaks were figures, but really I don't remember.

I think I kept that notebook, out of fear of returning it to him. I never touched it, though. It was still his, even as I've left it gathering dust in our old house.

He told me it was a gift from his new girlfriend. His new girlfriend was three years younger than either of us, but that didn't mean anything since we were still kids. I'd already saw her by then, and I wasn't impressed. I wasn't jealous either, or maybe I was, but jealous of what? The love that he was receiving, or the love I wasn't? Anyway, I told him I wanted to check the notebook out, grabbed the notebook, and slowly walked away. He thought I was joking at first. It was four o'clock; classes were done for the day; we were all about to go home. He started quickening his pace, shouting after me. I started running. The next day he asked for the notebook, but I told him I forgot to bring it. The day after that, too, and the day after that, and the day after that, and so on. Eventually he forgot about it.

Then I put it on the bookshelf. Four years later we moved to a different house, a cleaner house, with white ceramic instead of moldy parquet for a floor. The notebook's still there. I never touched it, not even to put it on my shelf. It floated out of my bag.

I remember when I was a kid I knew right from wrong. I didn't know what was right and what was wrong, though, at least not in all matters. I didn't know masturbation wasn't right until it was too late. I didn't know masturbation wasn't wrong until it was too late. I didn't know sin wasn't concerned with right or wrong, it was concerned with the breaking of boundaries: mildew on a sock, eczema all over one's arm. I suppose I stole my virginity from under my future lover's nose, but that doesn't really mean anything.

Neither, I think, does stealing looks from all the girls I've liked. My gaze over their eyes, their hair, only occasionally their breasts: what did I take from them, that wasn't too abstract for them to lose? Not even their comfort, since I could never maintain eye contact, not with the fat girl who lost her pen, not with my friend who lost his notebook, not with my future lover who doesn't mean anything. I remember when I dreamed up my future lover, I couldn't even focus on her emerald green eyes, her nose was a far greater comfort ---

But that was when I was a kid. Now I own a computer. Now I own a cellphone. Now I own books, and a watch, and notebooks and pens of my own. Now I own robots, robots who cook and clean for me, robots whom I could occasionally fuck. And when you have robots whom you could occasionally fuck, why care about right and wrong? Why care about right and wrong, when you'll have all the comforts of the world?

--- even when her nostrils flared, and she cried I was sucking her dry.
“You’re kidding.”

Aednit Amderton Malus looked around the decrepit, decidedly empty launchpad as sand stuck in his eyes, whipped by the wind. His cousin, Miro, stood a ways back as the former ran his hands through his hair, staring up into the sickly yellow sky.

”You are kidding! Kidding me!” Aednit shrieked at the sky as he kicked the launchpad, only serving to stub the toe of his Survival-all™ suit’s boot.

“Maybe he’ll head back once he realizes we weren’t with the group -” Miro half-heartedly suggested, but Aednit paced back and forth.

“I told you. I told you it wasn’t worth it. Was it worth it? To see three piles of triangular rubble left behind by cavemen, on a planet that’s going to be blasted away by its own sun?” Aednit pleaded as he gestured with a stern jab of an open-palmed hand towards the mentioned ‘piles of rubble.’

There was a pause as Miro put his hands on his hips and hung his head.
“They were Egyptians, not cavemen.”

Aednit buried his head in his hands.

“Whatever! And I told you Haemit wasn’t any good. That ‘guide’--”

And this dubiously generous term was further marked by rudely fingered quotation marks.

“-- decided to get going as soon as the wind picked up. ‘Oh, but it’s half price, Aednit, and this is the last time, the Earth’s gonna get wiped out by Sol and I’ll never get to lick an Earth rock ever in my life!!’ And now we’re stuck here. On a dead planet.”

Aednit opened his arms to grace the entirety of the lifeless dust mote they happened to plant their unlucky feet on in a mocking presentation. Undisturbed wasteland in every direction threatened to swallow them, a desert that had probably outlived several civilizations (and NKorea-3 presidential terms), as inhospitable as the ex whose digicard you stole. The very air seemed noxious, as if the soot of a hundred Industrial Revolutions had finally evened out to cover the planet in an egalitarian coat of phosphorus oxide. While it was technically ‘breathable’, the two boys’ lungs - used to air scrubbed free of even nitrogen itself - were finding it just a small bit heavy.

Aednit finally seemed to get a hold of himself, as he crossed his arms and frantically tapped his foot.

“Well… what do we do now?” he asked, throwing up a gloved hand towards the desolate pad.

“I… I think these suits have an emergency pack system,” Miro said, gesturing to the backpack sewn into the fluorescent orange, gaudy outfit.

Aednit nodded his head as he turned to look up at the sky, obscured by both sand and pollution.

“Do you think they’ll come back for us?”

Miro turned his face in the same direction and swallowed.

“Yeah! Totally. I only paid Haemit half his money. I didn’t trust him that much.”
***​

“You know, I think I’m actually starting to like synthetic coffee.”

“You realize I’m not letting you near any of the knives now, right? Because that must mean you’re cracking up.”

It was the sixth day. Their chronometers, also sewn into their Survival-all™ suits, had told them as much. Aednit had bags under his eyes as sleep was hard to come by on the sandy floor of a hunk of rubble that essentially doubled as an ancient tomb, a fact that Miro was all too happy to divulge to pass the time. The fact it served to severely increase Aednit’s superstition seemed a plus to his cousin.

He nearly pissed the inside of his suit when Miro started clanging together pots and pans in the middle of the night to make more coffee. He really was beginning to like the stuff. He decided to keep the fact that it was rumored to cause hallucinations to himself.

The two sat on foam sleep pads in the old pyramid with their backs against the wall, glow sticks lighting the interior with an uncleanly green phosphorescence. For some reason, the survivalists who made the packs decided that a green reminiscent of radioactivity was a good fit for this sort of situation, maybe to deter stranded chums like themselves from burning through their whole supply too early. But who knew? They certainly weren’t about to find out.

The silence stretched between them as Miro sipped his coffee, thinking hard about the choices he’d made. After all, he hadn’t had to come to the Cradle of Humanity, the Homeworld, the Rock Called Earth, the - He shook his head. He didn’t have to make this trip. Sure, he had wanted to come here since he was knee high. Oh, absolutely, he’d literally dreamed of stepping foot on humanity’s birthplace. And he might have squealed a little on the inside as his boot sole hit the tarmac of the landing pad and he laid eyes on glorious, lovely Giza. So perhaps he got a little overzealous crawling inside of an unstable stone feature dating back literally a few millions of years. It was strange that this single decision, and the surprise windstorm after it, kicked off this whole chain of events, because he couldn’t withstand the force of his throbbing passion for ancient historical architecture.

But it had been six days, with no contact. Haemit and the others weren’t coming back for them.

“It’s kind of pretty out there, when you look at it kinda like this,” Aednit muttered as he looked over to the pyramid opening. Miro glanced over at his cousin and his eyebrows furrowed. The dying sun made the swirls of sand look like a red murmuration of dancing clouds, and Miro gritted his teeth.

“Man, I’m really sorry,” Miro said, surprised to find himself choking up.

Aednit didn’t say anything.

“I chose to come,” he said, lightly slapping Miro’s shoulder with the back of a gloved hand. “I wasn’t about to let you go alone. Not when I saw that guy’s ugly mug.”

Miro’s lip began to quiver as he leaned his head back against the wall.

“It was my dream,” Miro said, “and it would’ve been okay if I - you know, just me, if I just got stranded here. But you - you don’t even like history. I mean, this thing is the best history shit, and you called it a pile of rocks.”

He gestured to the pyramid they were in, and Aednit scoffed.

“That’s because it is a pile of rocks,” he jabbed back and Miro shoved him, causing a brief smile to flicker on Aednit’s face.

“Like I said, I wasn’t about to let you go alone.”

Aednit hugged his knees and set his chin on top of them.

“I’m not going to lie. I was mad the first two days. I’d rather see a mudetni light show on Brava or something. But I’m not about to like… hold a grudge until I die because you decided to prance into a pyramid,” Aednit reasoned. “If I’d’ve known, I totally would’ve grabbed your ass out of there, but…”

Miro swallowed and held his cup of coffee close.

“But it could be worse,” Aednit stated.

Miro looked up at the other boy, who was grinning widely with white, professionally straightened dentition.

“Aunt Merda could have twisted my arm into going to another one of Mida’s baby ‘gender swap’ parties.”

***​

“You getting any signal?!” Aednit shouted over the scream of the wind that threatened to dash him backwards and down the face of the pyramid. He coughed into his elbow, a constant habit of theirs now that

“How the hell am I supposed to know? I can’t see past my nose!” Miro shouted as he held up the transmitter.

After nearly three weeks of nothing but algae bars and synthetic coffee, the boys had decided that they would at least get their money’s worth and explore the area. After all - it wasn’t every day that you had the opportunity to dig into humanity’s path in such a literal sense. Of course, it wasn’t every day that someone got stranded there, either, three months before a coronal evacuation of the sun.

But, as luck would have it, they found a former tourist outpost, and inside of it, a distress beacon. Aednit had never been happier to potentially miss a massive fireworks show in his life.

“Give it to me!” Aednit said, trying to snatch the thing out of Miro’s hand, but Miro yanked it away with an annoyed look.

“I can do it,” Miro whined as he held it up in the air and stared at it, as if he were fiddling with a cell phone instead of their one life line back to a civilization where synthetic coffee was a travesty, not a legitimate excuse to stop thinking about the imminent end of the Earth (and being present for it).

The beacon - a sturdy-looking thing that could have easily doubled as a weapon - had an antenna about two feet long, which whipped in the wind dangerously close to Miro’s head. He squinted at the tiny screen on the monolith’s face, finding that the electronics on it were so dated, he expected it to let loose a dial-up screech.

To his surprise, it actually did let loose a dial-up screech, and he about dropped the thing down the pyramid.
“Oh! I think it’s getting through!” Miro screamed over the wind as he held it up over his head with both hands, wondering idly to himself why the pose reminded him of something having to do with lions and a baboon.

“Don’t move! You might lose it!” Aednit ordered.

However, the wind seemed hellbent on the boys’ failure, as Miro fought to keep a hold of the thing while also battling the frequent, sandblasting gusts. In his attempt to compensate for the juggernaut blasts, Miro’s foot slipped along the edge, and he fell backwards, tossing the thing to Aednit as he fell to the side.

Aednit, unsure of which to grab, took hold of the lighter, less-likely-to-yank-him-down-5-stories object, lifting it high into the air as it continued the song of its kind into the stars. In the meantime, Aednit peered down in terror as he searched fruitlessly for the eye-watering orange suit Miro wore.

Something grabbed his ankle, and he yelped, nearly falling backwards himself, as Miro hauled himself up again, and Aednit bit back the urge to rub the bottom of his boot sole against the younger boy’s face.

“I landed on my feet on the next level down!”

“You do something like that again, and I will personally take a dump in your boots!”

Miro’s grin, however, was pained, and Aednit’s nose flaired.

“Did you get hurt?!”

“Maybe a little bit?”

“How is that a question?!”

***​

He was more than a little bit hurt. Much to their dismay, they found that Miro’s impact on his feet had rolled his ankle, and by nightfall, it had turned an angry puce, swelling to nearly twice its size. Aednit managed to set the foot and ankle in a splint with their existing materials, drawing on the little first aid he remembered, as well as instructions from a helpful little kit inside the survival packs. Yet, without ice, all Miro could do was sip coffee and the low-dose pain meds that were in the emergency pack.

Both were acutely aware of just how much they’d taken for granted ready access to a Mr. Fixit Tub, ice cubes, and internet.

Another month passed by, without another word. Their coffee was almost out (the amount packed seemed a bit disturbing), their food stores had begun to run low (not helped by the fact Aednit ‘sacrificed’ bits to “the Pharoah” just in case), and at last they were forced to eat the dice they’d made out of stale algae bars, a fact that admittedly was met with a few tears. Outside, the sky took on a more and more red tint as the sun steadily began its dissolution. At one point, the beacon suddenly emitted a last static screech before bursting into sparks, a fact that Miro had to quickly explain as electromagnetic in nature, rather than the curse of a ghost pissed that a kid had been relieving himself in a pyramid shaft. Even so, Aednit had half-heartedly spread some salt in a miniscule circle that he sat and slept in, just in case.

And then, suddenly, the storm outside stopped.

“Aedie?” Miro asked weakly, tapping his cousin awake.

“Hm? Yeah?” Aednit said, jerking awake.

Miro’s face was gaunt, but his eyes were still alert as he looked out. His lips were cracked and pale, despite the little moisture their converter managed to net them. He licked them as he pointed outside.

“The storm. It’s gone.”

The two shared an appreciable silence, though it was weighted by a strange knowledge. It wouldn’t be long.
“I want to go see outside,” Miro said, looking up at Aednit, and Aednit gave him a lifted eyebrow in response.

“What, you want me to haul you out there to watch the sun explode?”

Miro pouted, and Aednit threw his hands up.

“ ‘Oh, thank you, Aedie, you’re so strong,’ “Aednit mocked as he hauled Miro onto his good foot. “ ‘Thanks for hauling my idiot ass off that pyramid and massaging my leg and helping me piss and not fall down a pyramid shaft and end up a ghost’.”

“Shut up, I gave you the last dice to eat, and I sewed your pants shut. You could have sand up your dickhole right now,” Miro reminded him as the two awkwardly walked their way out.

The sight they beheld stemmed their bickering for once. They stood in stunned silence as, for the first time, they got to see the entirety of the planet they had had to call ‘home’ for the last two and a half months. The dunes seemed like red gold spreading as far as the eye could see, the remains of what had once been skyscrapers hundreds of stories tall climbing high. They seemed like a crown that spread across the entire southern horizon, a shimmering wave of spires. The sky had turned from noxious yellow to a burnished bronze, an almost lovely maelstrom of clouds tinted by the red sun that hung in the sky, dim and surprisingly soft. It was deathly still, impressively quiet, and the boys took the moment to soak it in.

“Wow,” Aednit murmured, breaking that silence.

“Yeah,” Miro muttered back. “I expected it to be… I don’t know. Louder.”

“It’s kind of crazy,” Aednit said. “You know we’re going to be the only people who’ll ever see this? Like, this way.”

“I don’t know, maybe there’s another idiot somewhere on the planet who’s stuck in like what used to be Siberia or something.”

“Nah, I think this kind of stupidity is unique to us.”

The two stood in silence as they stared out at what remained of the home humans had claimed, perhaps with too much sentimental value and too little property management.

“You know… I kind of think I want to go home,” Miro admitted.

“Oh, really? What a coincidence. So do I,” Aednit stated facetiously. “But… honestly I’m glad that I’m here with you.”

“Dude, don’t lie.”

“Why do you think I’m lying!?”

Miro grinned despite himself.

“Okay. Fine. Even though you’re lying, I’m glad you’re here too.”

And low on the horizon, just near the red hungover eye of the sun, a small dot grew larger and larger in the distance. Miro squinted as he stared at it, rubbing his eyes to make sure it wasn’t an effect of turning his eyes towards the dying sun for too long.

“What… what is that? Aedie, what is that?” Miro asked, slapping his cousin on the chest frantically. “Aedie! Is that a ship!?”

Aednit stared on, and he didn’t even bother with a quip as Miro cheered, pumping his fist into the sky, his eyes sad as he stared out across humanity’s first home.
_main_system_reboot:successful

_accessing:history_log

_set:new_journal_entry


transcript_#14276
Voice journal number 14151. Base Andre, 41 post calamity, June 22nd, 8.16 AM, this is Doctor Thomas Randall. Actually, Amara, remove Doctor from that, I don't think it matters much at this point, or that I deserve [indeciperable]. Nevermind. Yesterday at 6 PM the Purists, that's capital P Amara, took Havensfell. My contact was cut, that means my supply line is too. Soon they'll find out that there's no food in the city and start to widen their search. I don't have much time. I've sealed all communications and deadlocked all entrances, that should buy me some time, maybe weeks, maybe months, I don't know. I will use the Mindshift. Amara, put [itemspec#649] in the transcript.

NeuroQuantum Displacer - Prototype#649
Weight: 1946.27 lbs.
ResourceMag: 249 TR/s/relative-s
Capacity: Unknown.


The Mindshift is not ready. The Mainframe is only half done, the Biosupressor, the Dampener, QuantumReloc, all missing. There's so much more to do, so many things I need, not to mention [indeciperable]. I'm going in blind. God help me. I'm not ready, not even close. I don't know what's going to happen. None of the precautions are ready. God help me. I have to do this. The Pompeii Project should never have existed. This is my sin to atone for, my legacy, my [indeciperable]. I need to have faith. The Lord is on my side. Tomorrow I will wake up in a land of peace, before the calamity, before the war. Maybe I will see her again.

James 1:6, but when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind.

_saved:new_journal_entry
_standby

_mindshift_protocol:activated
_accessing:mainframe
_breach_process:executing
_countdown:10_9_8_7_6_5_4_3_2_1

_alert:system_crash
_initiating:reboot_sequence
_alert:[rebooting may corrupt data integrity. Proceed?]
_confirmation:unconfirmed
_initiating:main_system_reboot

_main_system_reboot:successful

_accessing:history_log

_set:new_journal_entry


transcript_#14276
Voice journal number 14151. Base Andre, 41 post calamity, June 22nd, 8.16 AM, this is Doctor Thomas Randall...
 
May the best story win!
 
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I'm sure y'all deserve to win :3

It's nice seeing so many entries again!
 
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I'm sure y'all deserve to win :3

It's nice seeing so many entries again!
I think if you managed to finish, you're already a winner!
 
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I thought the participation award was lame before, but if there're only 8 entries instead of my presumed 37 then I will gladly take it.
 
They're all so good, you guys!
 
Oh stop it you
 
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I thought the participation award was lame before, but if there're only 8 entries instead of my presumed 37 then I will gladly take it.
The first MISC had twenty-five entries, an inaugural contest on another site I used to frequent had twenty-eight. Exciting? Yes. Hell on earth for voters and reviewers? Also yes. ;)

eight's nice for spring
save the horde for summer
 
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The first MISC had twenty-five entries, an inaugural contest on another site I used to frequent had twenty-eight. Exciting? Yes. Hell on earth for voters and reviewers? Also yes. ;)

eight's nice for spring
save the horde for summer
Are you planning on reviewing this time, Holmi? :3
 
Are you planning on reviewing this time, Holmi? :3
I always plan to, but whether I will or not will depend on how quickly I can finish all my final reports at uni. Once I graduate I should be much more consistent and nobody will be able to escape my wrath!
 
I always plan to, but whether I will or not will depend on how quickly I can finish all my final reports at uni. Once I graduate I should be much more consistent and nobody will be able to escape my wrath!
Best of luck then! I enjoy your reviews... No pressure though!
 
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Come on people, where are your votes! It's been so quiet this round it's weird
 
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I think everyone's waiting for the other one first.

I'm going to finish reading the stories today and hopefully write out my meager thoughts for them tomorrow.
 
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Finally finished reading all the entries! My apologies for the delay! I have to admit voting was quite tough this time around for two reasons, first one being that I don't normally read these genres and the second being that they were all written so well! Congratulations all of you for the efforts you put in writing! :bsmile:

As my usual way, I'm just going to put my thoughts for the stories in general as I don't consider myself as someone who can criticize/review others' writings.

I managed to write for the first three today and I'll do the rest tomorrow ^_^ *crosses fingers*

Pathfinder-[spoili]I have to say that the story was really well written, so kudos on that! It did however take me a while to read since the small use of different languages without translation threw me off. That's not to say it was a bad thing (one of my friend's really enjoyed it, in fact!), it's just without knowing what the persons were saying, it made me lose some of the immersion in the story. I think besides that and a few apostrophes missing, everything else was great. It simply wasn't my cup of tea, which is why I didn't vote for it. Anyone who knows me even a little knows scifi isn't my forte. :sweatdrop:
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Little Miss Robin Hood- [spoili]I enjoyed this story! In fact, this was the second story I read, despite it being longer than the rest (I think?). I enjoyed the inclusion of different races like goblins and elves; it kind of gave me vibes of the movie Bright from Netflix. There were a few punctuation mistakes but nothing that really deterred me from enjoying the story. There was the one moment were I felt Vic finding out Mankins address was a little too convenient for my taste. I think my main issue with the story was that the after a while the heist didn't seem to be the main part, rather the main plot was revolving around Kyle rather than the heist itself. I also felt a little iffy about Vic leaving with Kyle at the end, though that could have very well gone either way. In any case, it was a nice story, so kudos to the author as well! :thumbsup2:[/spoili]

Function Interval- [spoili]Now this story I loved from the get go. Once again I enjoyed the humans and fantasy creatures mishmash, reminding me of the movie I mentioned before. I think what I really enjoyed about this story was how it reminded me of the caper movies and shows I watched, in particular Leverage. I dunno if the author's watched that show, but if they haven't, I think they'll enjoy it. I loved the comedic aspect being kept throughout the story, even when things were getting super tense. Peter very much reminded me of the usual culprits' leaders I'm used to seeing in heists. Seeing I voted for this story, I guess I can stop here. :bsmile:[/spoili]
 
My favorites were the last three -- "This is the Future" is weird, "Omega Men" has beautiful imagery, and "Second Chance" is quite novel. I also loved "Function Interval" -- it was quite the romp -- but it was kinda overshadowed by these last three. As for the others, I found "Dark Sky" to have a deficient arc, and I got kinda hung over at just how skeptical the protagonist is, even as she was born in a world where a more skeptical point of view would have been rather distant; reading "Pathfinder", it all felt a little detached from reality, insomuch as when I went to Russia I couldn't quite tell by their faces which was a Chinese tourist and which was a Siberian; and for "RAM Heist", there seemed to be too much dissonance between the narrator's voice and the narrator's dialogue. Do note that I become less of a careful reader the more obvious the stylistic or grammatical mistakes are in a piece, especially when that piece is gonna take ages to read, which may also be why I only really dug into the first five pieces I mentioned here.

As for my vote, of my favorites, I just chose the one which already had a vote. ;)
 
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