Category: Short Stories

(Four parts. 4000 words.)

One | Two | Three | Four

One

Passan reluctantly opened his eyes, expecting the worse. He remembered entering the bar on Fourth Street but nothing after. That was never a good sign.

When the expected hangover didn’t arrive, Passan warily examined his surroundings. He had done quite well for himself, falling asleep on a stable bench with a roof over his head. Powerful air conditioning gusted down from a vent directly overhead. The sound of conversation and smell of coffee came a moment later.  

Passan’s heart sunk. Not again…

Straightening his patched jacket, Passan sat up and sighed. He had done too well for himself. Although, to be fair, it had been quite some time since he had last spent a night in the station. Whether that could be attributed to his lack of regular income or the selective mercy of the officers he knew by name was anyone’s guess.  

Passan waved down a familiar face and stepped toward the bars of the large cage. In a welcome surprise, his aching leg had decided to take a day off. He had sustained the injury a few weeks prior in an altercation with a large man known only as the Giant and been in constant pain ever since.

Perhaps there is something to sleeping inside the drunk tank after all.

“Locke, you going to let me out?” Passan asked the man. “It’s got to be past eight by now.”

The officer scratched his bald head. “The drinking is not why you’re here, Mr. Passan.”

“What do you mean?”

“Of course. You never remember anything,” Locke groaned, his dark eyes glancing to either side of the cramped hallway. He lowered his voice and explained, “Last night you were involved in an altercation. Witnesses say the man pushed you first, that you only acted in self-defense. There’s an ongoing investigation.”

Passan shrugged. It wasn’t his first bar brawl. Once his adversary learned he lived on the streets, he would realize there wasn’t much point in pursuing litigation. “Where’s the other guy? He pressing charges?”

“He’s dead.”

Eyes wide, Passan stumbled backward. A sudden onslaught of memories filled his oddly-clear mind. He remembered it all. The drugs. The drinks. The man. The fall.

Steadying himself against the iron bars, Passan exhaled. “It was self-defense,” he stated, somehow managing to keep his voice level. Despite the severity of the situation, he felt an unnatural, but welcome, sense of calm. For once, Passan knew exactly what he had to do. “Where’s my lawyer? Where’s Jordan?”

“On his way.”

*

An hour later, Passan sat across from his favored public defender. Jordan wore his traditional garb, a worn, three-piece black suit complete with a red tie. Since Passan had last seen him, the lawyer had adopted a pair of oversized glasses.

“There’s a camera in the northeastern corner of the bar,” Passan said as soon as the door shut. “The footage will exonerate me.”

While waiting for his lawyer’s arrival, Passan had remembered hundreds of details from the night before. His mind was clear for the first time in decades. He wondered what sort of drug he had taken and where he could find more.

Jordan raised his brow. “You’re right.” The attorney dropped a thick folder on the table and spread a stack of loose papers across the surface. “The deceased was William Hokinson. He left a trail of violent misdemeanors behind. Two hours before he picked a fight with you, his wife reported him for domestic abuse – third time in two weeks.”

“I see. Come to think of it, there was a trail of fresh scars on his left wrist. Looked like a cat had scratched him. I could almost smell her scent–”

“Hold up,” Jordan interjected. “Is that really you, Passan? Normally, when I arrive to bail you out of whatever trouble you’ve gotten yourself into, you can barely put two sentences together.” The attorney leaned across the table, examining Passan’s thick beard. “You’re less gray then you were three months ago. What’s going on with you?”

Passan hesitated. It wasn’t until that moment he considered whatever was happening inside his mind to be abnormal. He had already been buzzed before entering the bar. How had he remembered everything in such detail? What had made that night different than the hundreds of others that had come before?

His mind froze upon reaching the logical conclusion. There’s only one variable that changed, one thing I’ve never done before…

Passan scratched his dark hair and grinned sheepishly. “I’ve been looking for a job. Trying to make myself presentable again.”

“This incident isn’t going to help.” Shaking his head, Jordan closed the folder and stuffed it inside his bulging leather bag. “Cops are going to cut you loose for now. You got somewhere to go and clean up?” He pointed to Passan’s normally-injured leg. “Did you manage to get your street palace back from the Giant?”

“Not exactly,” Passan admitted, flexing his leg. Was its sudden return to form connected with his heightened memory … with the man he had killed? There was only one way to find out, and he had just been given the perfect excuse to investigate. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll think of something – always do.”

Jordan laughed. “You are rather resourceful when motivated. I’m sure things will turn around soon enough. Good to see you again, my friend.”

Passan forced a smile. The lawyer knew nothing of life on the streets of the city. If you want something to turn around, you have to take action…

Two

The heavy door cracked open at Passan’s knock. Smoke spilled into the dirty hallway of the apartment complex as Lucas hesitantly peered out, his eyes impossibly red. The dealer observed him for a long moment before ushering him inside.

“Passan, my brother,” Lucas exhaled as he kicked closed the door and hastily turned a vast assortment of locks into place. “Didn’t think I’d see you for another few days. You must have happened upon a wealthy benefactor.”

“Not exactly,” Passan replied, following the lanky dealer through the crowded room.

His heightened mind took in the apartment in vivid detail, spotlighting the mold spreading from the overflowing sink and the dozen poorly-patched bullet holes decorating the southern wall. The sweet-smelling haze quickly morphed to one of rot. In that instant, Passan knew Lucas’ wares would never be enough for him again.

His body craved something far more potent.

Lucas plopped down on an ancient sofa and retrieved a colorful glass pipe from the uneven table before him. “Just looking for a pick-me-up then? No worries. I got you.” He extended the grimy smoking device which Passan waved away.

“Actually, I’m looking for something else. Something to help me take back what’s mine.”

The dealer’s crimson eyes went wide. “Shit, Passan. You’re not thinking about taking on the Giant, are you? You remember what he did to your leg? You’re lucky to be alive.”

Passan nodded. “Hard to forget. I figure I’ve lulled him into a false sense of confidence by now. He won’t see me coming.”

Of course, it wasn’t just about reclaiming his home. The Giant was the perfect target to test his theory, to better understand what killing the man in the bar had done to his mind and body.

I need to figure out exactly what’s happened to me.

“And if you actually manage to chase him off … if you somehow kill him?” Lucas licked his lips nervously. “Rico ain’t going to like that. The Giant’s his man you know. If Rico found out the weapon came from me…”

The dealer trailed off, his bloodshot eyes studying Passan intently. “Something is different about you. The Passan I know would never pass up a free high.”

“Are you going to help me or not?” Passan asked flatly. Fortunately, he knew how to motivate the dealer. Lucas had never been a complex person. “I’ll pay you with whatever the Giant has stashed away. I’ve been watching him for weeks. A lot of people going in and out of the palace. He’ll either have a stash or cash. Both if we’re lucky.”

Lucas exhaled, thickening the sour smoke in the air. “And Rico?”

It was a weak response. Passan knew that he had him. “Nothing will come back on you. I’ll make sure of it.”

*

Passan watched the Giant enter the Fourth Street alley from across the poorly lit street. The bearish man carried a case of beer in one hand and was wholly oblivious to his surroundings. Pedestrians avoided him instinctively, crossing the street to avoid potential confrontation while eyeing his assortment of identifying tattoos with muted fear.

Taking a deep breath, Passan ventured forward. The gun Lucas had provided rested awkwardly inside the pocket of his worn coat. The dealer had assured him it was operational. Unfortunately, Passan knew nothing of guns, and his keen mind could not piece together the validity of Lucas’ claims without prior knowledge.

Adrenaline spiked Passan’s senses as he entered the familiar shadows of the alley. The Giant plodded onward with his arrogant gait, striding through standing puddles of water, avoiding the towering piles of trash without once glancing back. Passan remained a dozen paces behind, an alley-cat stalking its prey.

The Giant stopped at the entrance to the palace, freed the padlock and pulled open the heavy sewer gate. He disappeared into the tunnels beneath Fourth Street without bothering to lock the gate, every step bringing him closer to his last.

Passan readied his weapon and slipped inside his former home.

His heart remained steady as he trekked through the snaking tunnels. His mind had slowed considerably and now focused solely on the task at hand. There would be no fight, no time for his foe to react. One shot and the Giant would fall. One shot and–

Blinking, Passan found himself on the ground, heard his gun clatter away into the darkness. The sound of the Giant’s gruff laughter filled the dank air.

“Rico warned me you were coming,” the Giant boomed. Passan cringed as the large man pinned his chest to the stone with a heavy boot. “To be honest, I had almost forgotten about you.”

Passan sighed inwardly, allowing his eyes the chance to adjust to the flickering light of the palace’s central room. Damn you, Lucas. I should’ve known better…

“To believe you lived here for so long without anyone the wiser.” The Giant’s leaned over Passan’s prone body and flashed a crooked smile. “You should never have returned.”

Passan saw the Giant’s fist descend, a strike earmarked for his jaw. To his surprise, he found his body in motion. The Giant grunted as Passan narrowly avoided the blow and twisted free of the trunk-like leg suppressing him. Without hesitation, Passan rolled across the stone floor to where he knew the gun had fallen, picked up the sidearm and fired.

Nothing happened.

The Giant’s laughter was cut short as the gun collided with his hooked nose. Passan surged to his feet and followed with a vicious right hand. Roaring in pain, the Giant fell to a knee and shielded the left side of his face with a massive hand. In the dim light, Passan could see blood gushing from the man’s jaw.

When did I get so strong?

As the Giant made to stand, Passan struck again. This time, his foe fell flat on his back in defeat. The sound of his strained breathing filled the chamber.

“Won’t … live long. Rico coming … for you,” the Giant managed.

“Let him,” Passan said coldly. He brought his boot down on the man’s throat, then inhaled sharply as a delightful burst of energy raced through his veins.

Passan smiled. There was no longer any doubt.

Three

Mind buzzing from his latest hit, Passan found the Giant’s stash with little effort.

The overconfident thug had removed a smattering of bricks from a decaying wall and piled his prized wares in the dark space within. True to his ignorant nature, the Giant had done a poor job of setting the bricks back into place.

Everything here belongs to Rico, Passan reminded himself.

Passan knew little of Rico, only that the drug lord’s rise had been both swift and unparalleled. The palace had escaped notice for years due to a war between several rival gang factions. When Rico’s gang had emerged victorious, the drug lord had decided to use the conveniently-located lair as an important post for his growing empire.

Passan removed a pistol from the Giant’s hoard and examined it closely, discovering that he no longer needed light to see. Whatever power he had gained from the killing the two men had evidently heightened his every sense.

Turning back to the fallen thug, Passan smirked. Judging by the Giant’s words, there would be more killing to come. Remembering how easily he had overpowered the bearish man, Passan laughed to himself. I wonder how strong I can become…

In a matter of seconds, his mind cycled through hundreds of potential scenarios stemming from the dead man’s warning. Rico would most likely assume that the Giant had emerged victorious as the drug lord had no way to account for Passan’s … abilities. Still, there would be some sort of signal the Giant would use to relay his victory. If Passan couldn’t determine the nature of the signal, more of Rico’s men would soon arrive.

But … would that really be such a bad thing?

Blood had pooled around the corpse of the Giant, the smell of death soon to mix with the hundreds of unique scents that lingered within the grimy palace. Passan searched the dead man’s pockets but found nothing of interest. Cursing, he returned to the hole in the brick wall and sorted through its contents.

Passan sighed. Cash. Carefully-weighed bags of powder. Ammunition for the pistol he had previously claimed. Exactly what he had expected from a thug.

Surely the Giant was in direct communication with Rico. Passan examined the stone chamber once again, searching for something out of place. His keen eyes settled upon the case of beer the Giant had dropped near the entrance.

The paper case parted easily beneath his newly found strength, revealing a row of warm cans resting atop a vacuum-sealed bag of refined powder. A dark phone had been sandwiched between two of the beers. Passan flipped open the device and found five messages from an unknown number. Only the last one mattered:

Help is on the way.

Passan’s enhanced mind revved once again, taking in the contents of the messages, the layout of the chamber and the materials at hand. The logical solution presented itself quickly. Retrieving the Giant’s sidearm, he began to set his snare.

*

A half hour later, Passan heard a distant crash as the palace’s gate was forced open. His mind surmised the number of foes from their distinctive footsteps. Six in total. Four moving through the tunnels with purpose, two bringing up the rear.  

Passan had arranged the palace’s central chamber to give his assailants pause. With his inhuman strength, he had moved the Giant from the floor to one of the room’s cushioned chairs and wiped the thug’s face of blood, making him just presentable enough to draw question. Crushed beer cans littered the ground around the dead man, another rested in his oversized hand.

Taking a deep breath, Passan studied the gun for a last time. It hadn’t taken long to learn how to use the weapon. While waiting, he had disassembled the flawed firearm provided by Lucas and digested its innerworkings with his burgeoning intellect.

The exercise confirmed that his mind had grown even more powerful. Where before a lack of prior knowledge had been a hindrance, now it hardly seemed to matter. Once he had taken the defective weapon down to his component parts, he understood why it had failed.   

Rico’s thugs arrived moments later. They broke a somewhat coherent formation upon discovering the presumably-slumbering Giant, abandoning all semblance of organization to crowd around the dead man in a vain effort to wake him.

Passan didn’t hesitate. His laser-focused mind guided his arm, calculating distance and angle in the heartbeat between shots. The four men fell to the ground dead seconds apart, blood spilling from uniform head wounds.

Passan inhaled sharply as their energy arrived, dreaming where the fresh high would take him.

But something was wrong.

Fire entered his veins. Smog clouded his suddenly reeling mind. He fell to a knee in shock, every breath renewing his internal agony.

Too much at once, he realized as the pain began to ebb. Instinctively, Passan knew that he had very nearly ruined his vessel, the complex layer of cells that housed his ever-expanding mind. The perception of the thought struck him as odd.

Looking down at his unexpectedly muscular arms, Passan frowned. Am I even human anymore? Then, more disturbing. Why would I ever want to go back?

He rose from his crouch with grace, taking the first of the two remaining thugs with a single shot, grimacing as the power within him surged once again. However, it was nothing he couldn’t handle. His body had already learned to adapt.

The second man screamed as Passan’s next shot freed the weapon from his hand in a mess of blood. Discarding his gun, Passan flashed forward and drove the man to the ground with a measured blow.

“No need to beg,” he said. “I need you alive for now.”

Four

Passan probed the mind of the wounded thug for information on Rico’s operations. If possible, the terror within the man’s dark eyes seemed to grow with each passing breath. It had taken only a moment to break his will, to convince him to answer every question and report to Rico that the Giant still lived. Fear was a powerful motivator.

However, Passan dared not dismiss the possibility of deception. He had been tricked once before. No matter his mental prowess, certainty was elusive.  

“Why spare me?” the man asked as Passan wrapped his ruined hand using medical supplies he had found on one of the fallen thugs.

“I already told you. I need you alive for now.”

The last remnants of color left the man’s face. “What are you going to do to Rico?”

Rico had clearly anticipated the Giant had been injured, perhaps mortally so. The inclusion of medical supplies demonstrated a certain level of intelligence form the drug lord. It was clear that he valued his soldiers … or at least those he couldn’t easily replace. That sort of thinking increased Rico’s potential value.  

“I haven’t decided yet,” Passan admitted.

He had arranged the weapons of the dead thugs on one of the palace’s faded rugs. They had each carried the same firearm as the Giant, allowing Passan to consolidate their ammunition for efficiency purposes. He tucked the best of the pistols into the pocket of his patched jacket and effortlessly pulled the wounded man to his feet.

“Killing Rico will cause more problems that you think,” the thug explained as they navigated the tunnels leading back into the alley. “He has quotas to meet, suppliers that will not take kindly to an interruption to their business. Rico has made a lot of promises. If you kill him, people will come looking – the worst sort of people.”

Passan shrugged. It was unlikely that any sort of man could stop him now.  

The thug went first through the palace gate and into the damp alley, squinting as dawn’s rays mugged his eyes. As he waited, Passan’s ears deciphered the dull chatter of those on the adjoining streets. Once satisfied that Rico had sent no one else, Passan joined the wounded man in the alley, then turned to bid the palace farewell.

He knew that he would never return.

*

As the thug led through the drowsy city, Passan saw his home with new clarity. The trash heaped in the streets. The sunken faces and downtrodden appearance of its residents. Haunted eyes which made every effort to avoid his own. It was a city that was one step away from death.

His mind sought a solution, simultaneously considering if the city deserved to be saved and if he could be the one to lead it into a brighter future. His stomach rumbled, disrupting his train of thought. Acknowledging his need for energy in the looming altercation, Passan ordered the thug to a halt outside a deserted café and stepped inside.

Moments later, he returned with a dozen fresh bagels. The wounded man’s eyes filled with hope as he watched Passan eat one after another in rapid succession. Passan gifted the man the last bagel, a small gesture for a life soon to be forfeit.

Passan followed the thug across the groggy intersection of Eighth Street and in to the city’s Western Quarter. He kept his eyes on their surroundings, searching for more of the drug lord’s men. In a welcome surprise, there were none to be found. The probability of a trap had significantly decreased since leaving the palace, meaning Rico would have no time to prepare his lair for invasion. Even if he did, Passan didn’t think it would help.

“There it is,” the thug said presently, pointing to a rundown warehouse with his good hand. Pedestrians gave the enormous building a wide berth. None entered despite the vibrant invitation displayed by its neon-fueled OPEN sign. “Rico takes his morning deliveries through the loading docks in the back. He prefers to inventory new arrivals himself.”

Passan studied the man’s face and found only truth. “And the front entrance?”

The man shrugged. “One or two men. Protective detail has relaxed since the end of war.”

“How many in total?”

“I don’t know, man. I’m just muscle.”

“And I’m just a junkie who got in a bar fight … well, I was anyway,” Passan mused. His voice had changed dramatically in the time since he had made his first kill. Even to his own ears, its deep tenor sounded unnerving. “What is your best estimate?”

“Twenty? Thirty? I told you that I don’t–”

The thug’s words caught in his throat. Passan crossed the intersection as the man fell to his knees, gasping for air that would never come. The hit had been an experiment, a purposeful strike used to gauge his increasing strength.

As Passan reached the stairs of the warehouse, the now-familiar rush of energy arrived.

Standing outside the padlocked door, Passan’s racing mind came to a halt. He had finally decided the drug lord’s fate. There would be use for a resourceful man like Rico in his remade utopia.

Passan’s gun flashed the instant the door opened. A man fell to the ground. Two more appeared from a connecting room. Both collapsed without a sound.

Passan stepped into the security room, extrapolating the layout of the warehouse through the half-dozen screens set before him. His body shook as the latest hit of power arrived. When the time came, he emerged to claim another trio of thugs, then retreated back into the small room to observe the response of the others within the warehouse and plan his next move.

Suddenly, his perception of reality shifted. Gone was the need to study the screens, to distinguish the sounds of the approaching men. He now understood exactly what paths they would use, where they would take their last breaths.

Turning his focus inward, Passan split his awareness. A part of his consciousness exited his body, questing ahead in search of the drug lord. The remaining part killed without thought. There was no chance for Rico’s men to harm him. They were no threat. Their only value rested in their lifeforce which brought Passan to heights he had never imagined.

The high was sweeter than any drug, purer than any dream. The will of the world bent around him, forming to his every expectation, responding to his every command. There was no need for anticipation or expectation. There was only what was and what was not.

As the killing reached its peak, Passan knew that he was no longer human. He had become something else. Something far greater. Something that had never been seen before. Passan was a force that could change the world for the better.

His fractured consciousness returned to his radiant body as he arrived at his destination. Dozens lay dead behind him, a stream of blood swiftly turning to a river. The warehouse was silent. The entire city, perhaps the entire world, held its breath. Everything had changed.

Passan stared at the man cowering before him. In the span of seconds, he understood Rico in his entirety. Humans were simple at their core.

He allowed the drug lord a question.

“What are you?” Rico asked breathlessly.

Passan merely grinned, turning to where he knew a mirror to be. However, the image that greeted him wasn’t what he had expected. A body burned beyond recognition; a shell covered in blackened skin.

As he studied himself, Passan realized what had occurred. He had pushed its vessel beyond its limits, dulling pain where he had believed he was overcoming it. His mind had reached its apex and the burden had become too much for his body to bear.

Accepting his mistake, Passan pulled the trigger.

It was time to find out what came next.

The End

(Four parts. 4000 words.)

One | Two | Three | Four

One

Terrance took his seat on the rundown ship. It was the first of many vessels he would require to reach his journey’s end … wherever that may be. Despite being unable to pronounce his destination or even locate it on a map, he had never once considered not going. To lose the bet and, as a result, the woman he loved was not an option. 

The transit ship bound for the Mars Station was only at half capacity. It was one of the older models made exclusively of magic-metal, the element that had unlocked intergalactic travel nearly four centuries before. Old-fashioned LED boards plastered on its silver walls cycled through ads of companies that had long since failed. Terrance didn’t think much of the oddity. The Shooting Star Company had been in operation as long as space travel had existed.

Adjusting his earbuds, Terrance reviewed the flight path on his flexible screen. The AI stewardess hadn’t been able to tell him the name of his destination, but she had managed to plot a route to get there. Based on her calculations, the total journey would take just over a week each way. All that was required to win the bet would be to get his virtual passport stamped at the final terminal.

Terrance looked up at a tap on his shoulder. He removed his left earbud and frowned at the old man standing before him.

“These taken?” the old-timer asked. He lifted his magic-metal cane and pointed at the faded black seats directly across from Terrance. Like every pair of seats onboard every Shooting Star vessel, they were covered in outdated star maps.

Terrance stuck his head out of the small compartment and gestured to the rest of the nearly-empty vessel. “Plenty of other cabins. I’m sure you can get one to yourself.”

The old man smiled, revealing a mouth spotted with silver teeth. “This one suits me just fine, young man. The name is Doran by the way.”

Terrance glared at the other man. He had no plans to share his cabin on an overnight trip when there were plenty of others free. However, just as he stood to relocate, the voice of the AI pilot announced their imminent departure. Scowling, Terrance fastened his belt and prepared for the ascent from Earth’s surface.

“You didn’t tell me your name,” the old man said as the ship began to rumble. Before fastening his restraining belt, he took off his dark jacket, folded it, then carefully arranged it atop the bag on the empty seat beside him.

“Terrance.”

“You from Earth?” Doran asked.

Terrance nodded. In an effort to silence the old man he raised his screen and began to scroll through the latest headlines. Of course, just as he began to read something of interest, the AI pilot force-closed the device.

“What about you, old man?” Terrance asked with an exasperated sigh. “Where you from? Why did you decide to sit with me?”

Doran smiled. “It no longer matters where I’m from. It only matters where I’m going next, and that just so happens to be to the same place as you.”

“You’re going to the furthest terminal from Earth?” Terrance pried. How had the old man known where he was going? What was he hoping to gain?

“I feel I owe it to myself to see it one last time,” Doran replied with a gleam in his eyes. “The end of existence is a sight to behold.”

“So, you’ve been there before?”

Doran nodded. “Just once … many, many years ago.”

Terrance produced his ticket-card and waved it in the old man’s direction. The strange runic language printed on the front side sparkled in the artificial light of the compartment. “Do you know what this says then?”

The other man nodded. “The Border.”

To Terrance’s chagrin, Doran went to sleep seconds after takeoff, denying him the opportunity to ask further questions. Still, there was something about what the elderly man had said, the conviction in his voice that made Terrance believe Doran had told the truth.

The Border … border to what? Terrance wondered as the ship rocketed through Earth’s atmosphere.

The old man had claimed the terminal marked the end of existence. But everyone knew there was no actual end to the universe; there was only an end to how far humans could travel within it. And those limits were temporary. Systems impossible to reach centuries before had since been traversed and mapped in detail. It was only a matter of time before humans could travel everywhere in creation.

Was the old man insinuating that there was another form of intelligent life? Despite exploring the universe for centuries, no evidence of another sentient species had ever been discovered. Of course, mankind had never given up on finding it. Whoever made first contact would be the most famous human of all time, the person who changed everything.

I guess I’ll see the truth for myself soon enough…

Terrance took a deep breath as the ship finally cleared the rocky atmosphere. At the first opportunity, he released his restraining belt and made to leave the tiny compartment. He glanced back at the snoring old man before crossing the threshold and shook his head.

“Don’t wait up.”

Two

The old man was persistent.

It took three connecting flights for Terrance to finally escape Doran’s constant presence – and that was only because they were on their way to New Earth. Linking three systems and the three closest versions of Earth, the terminal beyond Eris was as busy as one of the great ancient airports. Millions of humans passed through the massive station every year.

Terrance met the old man’s eyes through the cabin’s sliding door. True to his infuriating nature, Doran gave him a subtle wink before shuffling toward the back of the gigantic passenger ship. If there had even been one seat available, the old man would have taken it without comment, just as he had onboard the two previous ships.

Of course, Terrance couldn’t dismiss Doran entirely. He kept expecting the old man to expound upon his previous journey to the Border, but all Doran seemed to do was sleep. If the experience had truly been so life-changing, wouldn’t the old want to talk about it?

There was also the unresolved matter of Doran’s motivation, why he had sought Terrance out in the first place. Terrance reasoned the old man hoped to secure a guardian contract to ensure he reached his destination. Regardless of his desire to learn more about the Border, Terrance wasn’t willing to take on such a damning responsibility. There was no telling how old the strange man really was. He looked as if he was on death’s doorstep.

Helping Doran reach the Border would be far more trouble than it was worth.

*

Terrance didn’t see Doran again until he stood in line to board the ship that would take him from New Earth to the station at the edge of the next system. At first, he wasn’t sure what the commotion at the front of the queue was about. Only as he passed a quartet of white-clad nurses, did he recognize the man lying on the ground.

Shit, Terrance thought upon seeing the old man’s face. It looked as if Doran had aged centuries since he had last seen him. His silver hair had inexplicably turned white, and his blue eyes were milky and distant. Doran had already been at least a hundred years old, it seemed impossible that the man could have aged further.

As Terrance turned to walk away, one of the nurses grabbed his shoulder. “You’re his traveling companion, right?” The man held up the small screen in his hand. “I’ll need confirmation before we release him into your care.”

The instant Terrance made eye contact, the screen revealed a picture of him seated onboard the Shooting Star ship that had taken him from Earth. Terrance’s heart sunk as a green line snaked around the edge of the picture and verified his identity. Somehow, the old man had managed to make him his designated guardian.

Doran grinned as one of the other nurses helped him to his feet.

Terrance sighed and stepped out of line. He couldn’t leave the old man alone now. The responsibility of a guardian was not something to be taken lightly. Not to mention that Doran would have been required to put up a reward. If they truly were destined to be stuck together, he could at least make a profit.  

“What’s wrong with him?” Terrance asked.

“Just a dizzy spell,” Doran muttered, pushing the nurses away with his magic-metal cane. “Death hasn’t come for me just yet.”

While his smile was genuine, the old man’s face retained its newly-found ancientness. It was apparent that whatever sort of episode he had experienced had been no act, that he was very near to his end.

Terrance took the old man by the arm and waved off the nurses. “Let’s get you onboard.” Once they were out of earshot, Terrance growled, “What do you think you’re doing? Forging a guardian contract is a felony.”

Doran laughed. “You think I’m living to see the inside of cell? I told you once before, boy, that I’m seeing the Border again.” The elderly man nearly stumbled as they ascended the ramp into the spacious ship. “Besides,” he continued through heavy breaths, “didn’t you see how much I was paying you?”

Terrance shook his head.

“Best take a look then,” the old man said, tapping his screen against Terrance’s.

After seeing the payout, Terrance’s eyes grew impossibly wide. It was easy to ignore the blatantly forged signature upon seeing the king’s ransom the old man offered as a reward – more money than Terrance had earned in his entire life, then his parents and their parents had. It was enough to buy any house on any Earth. It was also an official guardian contract, meaning the funds had already been posted.

“Who are you?” Terrance asked.

Doran smiled, silver teeth gleaming in the overhead light. “Just a man who wants to see where it all began one more time.”

Three

“So, you’re going all this way to win a bet?” Doran asked.

Unlike their previous shared flights, the old man had secured a private cabin for the long voyage from New Earth. He sat in the window seat, examining his eerie reflection against the empty backdrop of space with evident fascination. In the bright overhead lights, it seemed that he had gained another decade, that he was aging right before Terrance’s eyes, that any moment could be his last.

“Yeah,” Terrance replied between bites of steaming stew. “I know it sounds a little crazy, but I assure you that it’s for a good cause.”

The old man’s dry laughter filled the small room. “A woman then.”

Terrance nearly choked. “How did you know?”

“Young men do stupid things to impress young women,” Doran chuckled. “Don’t worry, you never grow out of it. Old men do even worse. It’s much harder to catch a lady’s eye when you’ve lost your youth…”

The cabin was silent for a long moment.

“Are you certain you’re going to be able to make it?” Terrance finally asked.

Ever since he had seen the payout of the guardian contract, he hadn’t been able to think of much else. If going all the way to the Border didn’t impress his love – his newfound riches surely would. The thought of living a carefree life with her at his side was intoxicating.

Doran shrugged, examining a strand of his long white hair in the window. Against the eternal darkness of the space, his sunken face was ghostly, his blue eyes a lonely spark of light. “I’ve got to try, don’t I? Now that I have the help I need, I think I can manage another few days.”

“It is really worth it then? Seeing the Border one last time? Shouldn’t you be with your loved ones? Shouldn’t you want to tell them goodbye?”

“All dead,” Doran replied with a surprising flare of merriness in his voice. “Not too surprising if you take a look at me.”

“No kids? Grandkids?”

“Never married. Although, there was once a woman I nearly did…”

Terrance waited to speak until he was sure that the old man had finished his thought. “Will you tell me about the Border? I’ve been searching the Net for hours but haven’t found anything about it.”

“It’s something you have to see for yourself to believe. Words can’t properly describe it. That’s why you haven’t found any.”

Narrowing his eyes, Terrance finished his meal before speaking again. “If it’s some sort of top-secret location, then why even let us go there?”

“Oh, they will try to dissuade you from going. Only after you agree to the terms, will we be able to take the final ship.”

“So it’s dangerous?”

Doran laughed again. “Didn’t you see how much money I’m paying you?”

*

Doran only got worse. After departing from New Earth, he had fallen into a deep sleep. For a heart racing period of time after the ship docked at the next station, Terrance thought Doran had died, that the contract had voided.

Fortunately, the old man had eventually awoken.

Using what little personal funds he had remaining, Terrance secured a floating flat-bad to help Doran reach their next destination. He led the prone old man past the bustling terminal leading to Third Earth and into the quiet bay that would take them to the Border, maintaining constant contact to ensure his traveling companion was responsive.

True to Doran’s word, an AI interface stopped them at the gate. The glass panel before them filled with a red light, forbidding their progress.

“Please present your ticket-cards,” an electronic voice requested politely.

The sleek device controlling the gate came to a blue life as Terrance held the two ticket-cards in front of the AI’s sensors. “We’re headed to the Border.”

“Obviously,” the AI replied. “I see that one of you has been there before.”

“How would you know that?”

“Logic. Only those who have been to the Border know of its name.”

Terrance rolled his eyes. Sometimes, he hated AI. “Well, if you’ll just let us through, we’ll be out of your circuits. I see our ship is waiting.”

Of course, that would have been too easy. “For any travelers to the Border, I am required to ask and obtain answers to several questions. Both of you must respond.”

Terrance looked to the floating cart. To his surprise, Doran was alert. The old man’s blue eyes were focused on the AI gatekeeper before them. He gripped his magic-metal cane tightly with both hands in an apparent effort to quell his constant shaking. There was something else about him, something unseen – an aura of eagerness and anticipation.

“First,” the AI began. “Please confirm that your destination is indeed the Border.”

Terrance frowned. “It’s on our ticket-cards. What kind of question is–”

“My destination is the Border,” Doran interrupted.

With a sigh, Terrance followed suit.

“Second,” the AI continued, “Please agree that you will not hold the Shooting Star Company liable for any harm, known or unknown, or death that may result from your journey to the Border.”

Terrance hesitated. Shooting Star … the run-down travel company? What did it have to do with the Border? Was there actually a real risk of death? Regardless, it was far too late to back out now. Terrance could not return to Earth without the reward from the guardian contract. He had spent all his remaining funds to help Doran reach this point alive.

“I agree,” Doran said weakly.

“I do as well,” Terrance echoed.

“Then I wish you luck, travelers,” the AI replied. “Prepare yourselves for a life-changing experience like no other. The Shooting Star Company thanks you for your business.”

Four

The ship to the Border was small, made for at most ten passengers, however, they were the only two onboard. After a brief negotiation with the AI gatekeeper, Terrance had been permitted to bring along the flat-bed. As the compact ship sped through the darkness, he studied the dying man resting atop the floating surface.

“Ask your question, Terrance,” Doran coughed. His appearance was worse than ever. The pale skin clinging to his wrinkled face now revealed the definitive outline of his skull. His white hair had withered and fled until only scattered strands remained.

Terrance was quick to respond. At this point, he knew that the old man wouldn’t tell him anything about the Border itself, but another curiosity had taken up residence within his mind. “What does the Shooting Star Company have to do with the Border?”

Doran’s milky eyes filled with a sudden light. “What do you mean? They are the pioneer of space travel.”

“Shooting Star has been irrelevant for hundreds of years. Their technology and ships are outdated. Their cheap rates are the only reason I could even afford to get here, that I met you in the first place.”

“They are still space worthy though,” Doran grinned, silver teeth contrasting against his corpse-colored skin. The sight was odd on one so near death. “Why replace perfectly good ships?”

“To make more money,” Terrance shrugged.

Doran laughed weakly. “The Shooting Star Company owns magic-metal, the unique element that enables the expansion of mankind. Every other company is forced to buy their supply from them. Transit ships are only a small piece of their business.”

Terrance raised his brow. “And how do you know that?”

The old man pointed to the cane resting beside him with a shaking finger. “I made my fortune working for Shooting Star. The company gave me this cane as a reward for my service. I’ve carried it with me ever since.”

“And the money for the guardian contract?”

“Everything I have left,” the old man replied. “Don’t look at me like that. I already told you that I have no one else to give it to. You make sure that I reach the Border, and you’ll never have to worry about another thing.”

*

The ship docked in a small station made entirely of magic-metal. Terrance guided the floating bed to the terminal at the top of a wide stairway and studied the route ahead. There were no signs of life, only a small, narrow tunnel made of the strange element that delved deeper into the seemingly abandoned station.

“We’re here,” Terrance announced.

He raised his screen to the terminal and received the electronic stamp required to complete the bet. With his other hand, he grabbed Doran’s screen and repeated the process. Once the stamp had been validated, the funds from the guardian contract were released into his account.

I’ve done it! Terrance thought triumphantly as he observed his bank balance. I’ll never have to work another day in my life.

He turned at the sound of Doran’s heavy breathing. The old man had managed to slide off the flat-bed and stood on his own two feet, leaning against his magic-metal cane. Sensing Terrance’s gaze, he turned and nodded.

“The choice to see the Border itself is yours,” the old man said weakly. “After all, you’ve accomplished your goal and completed the guardian contract. I would completely understand if you want to go home to your lady friend.”

Terrance glanced over his shoulder back to the idle ship.

“Don’t worry about me,” Doran laughed. “I won’t be leaving this station. I have just enough energy remaining to reach my goal.”

Terrance frowned in thought. He hadn’t come all this way to leave now. He had to understand why a man so near death would travel all the way across the known universe to see the mysterious Border one last time.

“Let’s go,” Terrance replied. “I want to see it for myself.”

*

The tunnel was far longer than Terrance expected. It seemed to take hours to traverse its length. To his surprise, Doran led the way, the rhythmic tapping of his cane the only sound. Terrance knew the old man’s newfound strength for exactly what it was, his journey’s end – one last burst of energy before his death.

Eventually, the narrow tunnel began to slope upwards. Terrance caught up to the old man, whose pace had dramatically slowed, and helped him continue on. Doran voiced a weak word of thanks then fell silent.

Soon thereafter, Terrance felt a shift in the air around him, a sensation unlike anything he had ever known before.

Doran stopped. “The Border is just ahead. Whatever happens to me or within your own mind, do not go across. If you do, you will never return.” The old man turned and studied Terrance with his blue eyes. “Do you understand?”

Terrance nodded. “Are you … going to cross over?”

“Is it that obvious?” the old man grinned.

The Border was not what Terrance had expected. The tunnel ended abruptly, culminating in a series of uniform steps that led into a great, open chamber. The room was oddly transparent, surrounded by the darkness of space on all sides. The Border stood at the far end, an unbreaking wall of solid white light.

For a long moment, Terrance lost himself, transfixed by the strange sight. It was not at all what he had expected. It was something that he didn’t understand, that he couldn’t understand. Something powerful. Something alien. Perhaps … something divine.

“What’s on the other side?” Terrance asked as they approached.

“The last great mystery of existence,” Doran replied. The old man’s voice was weak, barely a whisper. His grip on Terrance’s arm was hardly noticeable. “Whatever it is, it is certainly alive. I’m sure you feel its presence as well.”

Terrance nodded. It was a brilliant, yet terrible thing. They stopped several paces before the barrier of light. He turned to the old man. “Why does it not cross over?”

“I do not believe it is able.” Doran released his arm and took a wobbling step forward with the aid of his cane. “It is what mankind has been searching for, another intelligent species. When this site was first found, it was studied extensively. As you can see, interest has died down due to lack of progress.”

Terrance stared at the Border in awe. “Can we can communicate with it?”

The old man nodded slowly. “The sensation is rather unpleasant. I still remember the sour taste all these years later.”

Terrance’s curiosity got the best of him. “Show me how.”

“Place one hand against the light,” Doran explained after a long moment. His words were hesitant, tinged with fear. “Don’t worry … you won’t pass through without a significant amount of effort.”

Terrance licked his lips, stepped forward and put his palm against the Border. A heartbeat later, a dark object carved through the light on the other side and crashed into the barrier. Terrance met Doran’s eyes in shock as he realized it was a human-shaped hand.

“Does it talk?”

The old man shrugged. “Nothing that we can understand.” As he spoke, Doran’s ghostly voice changed, inexplicably gaining strength. “However, it is obvious what it wants. It searches for a way to escape. A way to permanently cross to the other side.”

Terrance narrowed his eyes. “Permanently?” At the sound of the old man’s rich laughter, he tried to pull his hand away from the barrier.

He couldn’t.

“For now, it needs a host. You see, discovering this place was the beginning of the end for mankind. If I hadn’t found you, another would have come. Curiosity always kills in the end,” Doran replied.

The old man marched forward and placed his hand against the wall. Just as before, one emerged from the sublime light on the other side to meet it.  

Terrance shook his head. The end of mankind? The thought was impossibly distant, almost refusing to be summoned entirely.

“What’s happening?” Terrance asked, suddenly weak.

It felt as if his very lifeforce was being siphoned through the Border. With every last ounce of his strength, he fought to break away, but it was to no avail. He was frozen in place. Sweat coated his body. His heart raced.  

With horror, Terrance watched as the man beside him grew younger. Doran’s white hair turned to silver then to black in an instant. His wrinkles faded and life flushed his cheeks. His loose clothing was suddenly filled with muscle. His grip tightened on his magic-metal cane.

Behind the Border, the alien presence roared, shaking the barrier of light. Terrance looked down at his own body and found that his youth had bled away. He stumbled forward as his bones and muscles failed and crashed into the wall.

Doran grinned, his face a mirror image of what Terrance’s had once been. “Don’t wait up.”

With a murderous laugh, he sent Terrance across the Border.

The End

(Four parts. 4000 words.)

One | Two | Three | Four

One

Angel watched the battle in the sky. She was one of many beneath the California Dome, an unknown face in a frightened crowd. Once there had been many more Domes and many more faces. Times had changed. The end of Earth neared.

Tension filled the recycled air. Parents clutched their children, their warming whispers attempting to quell cries and dam tears. A collective gasp filled the cavernous chamber as pieces of a destroyed ship struck the Dome like hail.

Angel frowned.

The Mothership looked just as the others had. It stretched above the entirety of the hidden Dome, a mixture of metal and glowing plasma. Bursts of red laser-light shot from its strange hull, targeting the human ships, probing the protective barrier surrounding the Dome, buying time to charge the weapon that would end the battle.

As ever, the humans were outmatched. Their ships swarmed haplessly around the foreign foe like bees against an intruding bear.

Angel traced the marks on her arms. They were crude and uneven, made by the blade of the small knife she kept tucked away in her bag. There were fifteen in all. Five more and she would move on to whatever was next … if there was something next.

Other Domes remained standing. However, none were as populated as the California. Angel wondered how the Others continued to find them, why they wouldn’t give up their conquest of Earth. More pressingly, she questioned if the Motherships she had destroyed had only made things worse.

The vision swam before her eyes once again. A blinding light. An omniscient voice.

A higher power had entrusted her with the power to protect Earth and its inhabitants. Angel hadn’t believed it at first. Even when the first Mothership had arrived, she had dismissed the vision as nothing more than fantasy.

Then the Arizona had fallen.

Angel remembered her rage as she waded through the darkness, as she searched for the bodies of her kin among the unmoving masses. She had been the only one to survive, the only one able to breathe in the poisoned atmosphere. For hours, she had sat in the freshly-minted graveyard, her gaze on the alien ship above. That was the first time she gave the order.

The crowd stirred as more ships fell, as the Dome quaked.

Turning, Angel found a child at her side. The small boy stared at her with wide eyes, clutching a bundle of rags tightly to his chest. She looked to her arm, then back to the boy. She wanted to save him. She wanted to save them all.

But was that why she had been given the gift?

At first, Angel had thought so. She had moved from Dome to Dome, protecting those under siege from the Others. However, her efforts had been rewarded with only temporary peace. The Others had regrouped and returned. Nearly every Dome she had saved had since fallen.

Did her power even make a difference?

Silence came as the lights flickered and the false-sky overhead failed. Angel felt the crowd sink back at the sight of the true-sky, dark and colored an evil red. The lens of the Dome always failed first. The lights would come next. Then the cloaking instruments. Finally, the Mothership would lock onto its target, and the end would come.

Angel would survive. She always did. The Others knew that once the Dome’s top was broken, the fight was over.

She took a deep breath as the California went dark. The boy latched onto her arm. Human ships streaked overhead with renewed fury, their missiles brightening the demonic sky. The Mothership was unfazed.

Angel had never seen a Mothership taken down by force, but still the humans fought. Somewhere an underground resistance stood on its last legs. Try as she might, Angel had failed to find it.

“Are we going to die?” the child asked.

Angel sighed. Five more times she could help. Would it matter? Would the Others give up their fight to cleanse the Earth? Was this what she was supposed to do, or was there something more? Was she failing the one who had provided her gift?

The world was bathed in light as the Mothership prepared to strike. She could hear the child’s heart pounding in the silence.

Angel felt nothing. There was only the sublime light, the split second before the Mothership’s attack struck and the California fell. She had watched other Domes die, seen the lives lost by her indecision.

I can’t let it happen again…

Angel raised her free hand, extended her finger and focused on the gargantuan ship above. Then, she gave the order. “Be gone.”

The Mothership vanished.

The boy let go. Angel found a pair of golden eyes regarding her where the boy stood had stood an instant before.

“A ship awaits you outside,” a deep voice rumbled in her mind. “The time has come.”

Two

Angel wiped the blood from her arm. Four more times before the end.

The crowd around her had yet to move, frozen in stunned silence. It would be a few hours before the California was fully repaired. Its residents would be haunted by the sight of the true-sky for far longer.

Angel’s mind raced as she navigated through the astonished humans, wondering again why she had cut it so close. Of course, that debate meant little compared to the words of the possessed child, to the command of the divine.

Finally, she had direction.

Angel marched through the bowels of the Dome alone. Isolation was nothing new. The ruined landscape stretching between the Domes had hardened her against it. Solitude allowed her mind free reign, provided her thoughts room to breathe. Before, they had ceaselessly searched for her purpose. Only now had her mind finally silenced.

The exit to the Dome ran beneath the ground. Angel remembered the path well. Her feet guided her through the darkness with innate certainty, her footsteps echoing against the barren stone passageway. There was no other sound.

The California Dome was designed just like the others. All were built long before she had been born, a last attempt to save the human race from itself. Angel wondered who had designed them, how long they were supposed to last.

The lights flickered as she neared the ancient airlock. The exit was automated, the blinking red light of a camera the only sign of human life. The engineers that oversaw the Dome’s maintenance did not dare to venture so close to the poisoned realm beyond. They would not stop her from leaving.

Angel licked her lips as the first of the heavy metal doors slid shut behind her. As she waited for the chamber to secure itself, she reached into her bag, removed her black scarf, and wrapped it around her head. Then she donned her luminous goggles and stepped forward as the exterior door rose.

The ship awaited her outside, just as the possessed boy had said. Likely, it had fought against the Mothership a short time before. The vessel was small and gray, nearly invisible in the foreboding light of the sky above. It was only as she drew near that she noticed the man standing outside of it.

“Angel?” he asked as she halted before him.

Angel nodded.

“He told me that I would find you here.” The man didn’t need to elaborate. Angel had always questioned if the divine had spoken to others. “We can talk on the way.”

*

The man talked. Angel listened.

His name was Harris. He had been born inside the Oregon then fled to the Vancouver at the request of the divine days before his home had fallen. Vancouver was where the human ships originated, the base hosting the last of the resistance against the Others.

“What comes next?” Angel asked once the man had run out of words. Her voice was dry and emotionless. Even before the Arizona, she had never cared for conversation. She had always had a hard time understanding others, fitting in among her peers. Fortunately, there was little need for conversation anymore.

Harris shrugged from his place at the ship’s wheel. “I was only told to bring you to the Base. Thought I was going to die when the Mothership appeared. He saved me. I’ve always thought that I was imagining it when he came into my dreams, when he gave me…”

“Purpose,” Angel finished. “Are there others?”

Again, Harris was uncertain. Anxiety radiated from the man in waves. She wondered if she intimidated him, or if it was only the circumstances.

“Was it you?” he finally asked.

Angel nodded. She thought about showing him her arm, explaining her gift, but she decided against it. What was the point? It was likely the man wouldn’t understand. Once they parted ways, she would never see him again.

Four more times until the end…

Harris wasn’t finished. “Where did it go?”

“Does it matter? They always return.”

“Do you think you’re the one that is supposed to stop them?”

“I don’t know,” Angel admitted. She found herself examining the ruined world outside the ship. She wondered if it could ever be repaired. It wasn’t the first time she questioned if human survival was for the best. She had seen the pictures of Old Earth, had heard many of its morbid tales … including its end.

“How much longer?” she asked presently.

Harris manipulated the screen between them, pushing aside a series of glowing maps with his gloved fingers before finally settling on one. He pointed to two dots, one approaching the other. “Won’t be much longer now.”

Angel only nodded, welcoming the return of silence. Her thoughts shifted to the small boy who had held her arm in the California, then darkened. She saw the same boy lying on the ground beneath the gory sky, eyes open and vacant.

Is that his fate? Have I only prolonged it?

*

Sometime later, Angel awoke at Harris’ touch. An alarmed expression had claimed his bearded face. Without a word, he pointed ahead. A Mothership. Hundreds of human ships surrounded it, their missiles filling the bleak sky with light.

“Right over the Base,” he said. “They’ve finally found us.”

Angel said nothing. The man had stated the obvious. In a matter of moments, they would be upon the Mothership.

“Can you help?”

Angel nodded. Taking a deep breath, she raised her hand and pointed a finger at the monstrous ship before them. “Be gone.”

Harris turned to her, his dark eyes laden with shock.

“Take us down,” Angel ordered.

Three times remained.

Three

Angel traced the marks scaling her forearm. Seventeen in total. She would add two more. Then the end would come. She could only hope that her purpose would be achieved.

Harris landed his ship alongside the others. The human soldiers emerged from their vessels wearing expressions of disbelief. They knew they should have perished, that it was only by an act of the divine that they still drew breath. Angel pressed through them without comment, following Harris toward the entrance to the Vancouver.

Truthfully, Angel hadn’t known what to expect of the resistance. It was likely that their numbers had once been great, that their eyes had once held hope. She was surprised to find a large group of women and young children just inside the Dome’s airlock, clearly awaiting the arrival of those who had just moments before been unlikely to return. All appeared shell-shocked, malnourished and morbidly pale. 

Harris surprised her by shouting, his now-familiar voice rising over muted sobs. A graying man lingering in the shadows of the passageway motioned them forward.

The old man wore a simple black uniform with the symbol of Old Earth sewn over his heart. Angel knew the mark on sight, wondered where the man had gotten it, if he had been one of those who had sought relocation from the Domes before the Others had arrived.

“This is Angel,” Harris said as they halted before the old soldier. “Angel, this is Captain Radford. He’ll take it from here.”

“And you?” Angel asked. The question came as a surprise even to her. She recognized the pointless feeling for what it was – the innate craving for human attachment. They would never see each other again. Did she actually care about him? She wasn’t sure.

Harris smiled weakly. “I must see to my family.”

Angel turned to the other man. “What comes next?”

“I have a ship and a crew ready, just as he ordered,” Radford replied. The man’s cloudy eyes examined Angel uncertainly. “Have you ever been off world before?”

Angel shook her head.

*

Radford led Angel through the Vancouver in silence. They met no one along the way. It was evident that few remained besides the soldiers and those that had gathered at the airlock.

In the heart of the Dome’s central chamber waited a single ship, one far larger than those that fought the Motherships. Hundreds of wires ran across the ground and fed into the thrusters at its base. A small group of people worked feverishly at terminals surrounding the vessel. It was evident that they had been at it for some time.   

“Will this take me to them?” Angel asked as they neared.

“It was what we were instructed to build,” Radford replied. “The Others won’t allow us to leave freely. I understand you can clear the way.”  

Angel glanced at the marks on her arm. “Depends on what is in the way.”  

“The roof comes first. The soldiers have evacuated everyone that will not be going with us. The engineers have readied charges to create an exit. We’ll have a shield and a small escort made up of the ones who don’t have anything left here.”

“And after the roof?”

“The Others use a ring-shaped device to travel across space. The divine ordered me to see that you make it through to the other side.” The old soldier smiled upon seeing her skeptical expression. “You’ll be responsible for the Mothership blocking the way.”  

*

Angel studied the others onboard the ship.

Two pilots sat ahead of her. Their hands glided across the glowing screens expertly, checking the vessel’s vitals in silent preparation. They had hardly acknowledged her, only offering a brief glance when Radford escorted her into the ship’s cabin.

The old soldier sat beside her, his eyes staring straight ahead. His thin lips were set in a hard line, and his fingers toyed with the detonation switch in his weathered hand. She could sense his determination.

Angel followed Radford’s gaze, studying the grisly sky beyond the Dome. She thought of the boy in the California, of the humans she had passed inside the Vancouver. To her surprise, she even thought of her own long-dead family, of the first night she had spent alone. She wondered if she would see them again when her end arrived. It wouldn’t be much longer now.

As one, the pilots glanced back to Radford. The soldier nodded wordlessly then activated the device in his hand. Angel watched in silence as pieces of the Dome tumbled down and were pushed away by the energy shield surrounding the ship.

“Hold tight,” Radford ordered.

When she was a child, Angel had dreamed of leaving Earth. She had kept up with the stories of those that quested for a new habitable planet, searching for something to believe in. She often wondered if they were the ones who had made first contact with the Others.

The initial ascent was harder than Angel expected, the gravitational force nearly forcing her into unconsciousness. The dark sky blurred by. Countless bolts of crimson lightning narrowly missed their mark.

Then, they were above it all. Angel wished she could look back on the ruined planet for a last time. She almost smiled at the sentimental thought.

Ahead, the Others waited. As Radford had said, a single Mothership guarded an enormous metallic ring with a spiraling mass of light in its center. The ship’s shield deflected the assault of the Mothership as it sped toward the alien device.

As the shield began to wane, Angel watched a dozen human ships streak past. They took a protective formation around the central ship, absorbing the brunt of the Mothership’s attack, falling in rapid succession. Angel waited for the right moment, concentrating on the glowing Mothership as the battle reached its peak.

“Be gone.”

A heartbeat later, their ship disappeared through the ring.

Four

Two times remained.

Angel gazed upon an endless black horizon. The ring had brought their ship into a foreign stretch of the space, a piece of the universe unknown to human eyes. However, they were far from alone. A brilliant ship dominated the darkness before them, twice as large as any Mothership that had come before.

Angel turned at the touch of a calloused hand on her wrist. Radford stared at her with glowing eyes. His expression was grim.

“The ring first,” the possessed soldier said. His voice was different, echoing with untold power. “Turn the ship.”

The ship whirled about to face the gigantic ring. Angel bit her lower lip in concentration. However, before giving the command, she needed an answer.

“The humans could use this to escape Earth,” she said, “to find another planet.” It wasn’t an argument. It was only an observation.

The possessed soldier frowned. Lightning flashed within his golden eyes. “Your kind must remain where they are. They must restore that which they have ruined. That is the way of the universe.”

“And the Others? Why allow them to invade?”

“It was not my decision.” His sparkling eyes narrowed. “The ring.”

Angel nodded. The divine had given her the gift for a reason. If this was the way to save Earth and those that lived upon it, then she would obey. Taking a deep breath, she focused on the metallic ring and raised her hand.

“Be gone.”

One time remained.

She turned back to the possessed soldier. “How do I defeat them?”

The old man smiled. “Their home is too great to destroy from afar, even using my borrowed strength. You must allow them to take you within.”

“And if they kill me first?”

“They won’t,” he replied. “They want to understand the power that has nearly defeated them. They will try to harness it for themselves. Greed is the curse of the intelligent species. You will see for yourself before the end arrives.”

“How will I know when the time comes?”

“You will.”

*

Angel studied the alien ships surrounding her own. They were different than the Motherships, likely her offspring. Long, narrow and windowless, the silver vessels glimmered in the light of the countless stars.

“I wanted to thank you for helping us,” Radford said as a net of blue light engulfed their stalled ship. The old soldier drew a laser pistol from his waist and began to pace the length of the small chamber. “There was a part of me that was beginning to doubt the reason why we fought, the reason we built this ship.”

As the soldier spoke, Angel made her final two marks. Nineteen in total. The next use of her gift would bring about her end. She could only hope that she would not fail, that the divine presence spoke true, that she would know when the right moment arrived.

“You have our thanks as well,” one of the pilots said.

“And that of the entire human race,” the other added.

The four humans watched as the ships of the Others drew even with their own. The net of light expanded, its gaps filling to form a barrier around the gathering of ships. Gravity intensified.

“You both heard the divine,” Radford said to the pilots. “We must defend Angel with our lives. The Others must know who the chosen one is.”

The pilots nodded in unison.

The graying soldier beamed as the lasers of the Others began to carve through the side of the ship. “For Old Earth!”

Angel flattened herself against the far wall of the chamber as the fight began. Two of the Others died upon entry, their slender bodies exploding in clouds of purple mist.

One of the pilots fell seconds later. Then the other.

Radford stood alone against a group of the silver beings, positioning himself in front of Angel. His shield quickly failed. He went to a knee, a hole burned through his right shoulder.

Radford continued to fight. He finally fell after killing another of the aliens, a myriad of smoking holes filling his torso.

Angel said nothing as the Others approached. She stared into their black and lifeless eyes as they tore away her feeble energy shield and dragged her away. As they moved across the metal bridge between ships, she heard something that she did not expect.

Conversation.

*

Angel found herself in a waking dream. The Others had bound her to a seat within one of their strange ships. The interior was like nothing she had ever seen before. Glowing wires wound through the metallic walls and ceiling, plasma periodically streaking through them.

Angel remained silent as the aliens conversed, as their vessel docked inside the massive Mothership. She replayed the words of the divine in her head.

One time remained.

“She is the same,” one of the Others said. “No detectable difference.” The alien’s voice was a high and twisting whine, its words jumbled and rapid. Angel did not know how she understood. Likely, it was another gift. 

“Further testing is required,” another replied. “She wants to know how this is happening.”

“Does that mean she’s coming herself?”

“Yes.”

Angel closed her eyes as the Others pulled her from the ship. The gravity aboard the Mothership threatened to overwhelm her. Fortunately, the Others once again secured her body, this time to a floating stretcher.

Angel calmed her racing heart. Eventually, she opened her eyes and witnessed her procession through the alien ship. Its passageways were much like the smaller ship, dark and filled with the same wires carrying bursts of blue energy. The entire vessel seemed to hum around her. Almost as if it were…

Alive. Was that what the divine wanted her to understand? Angel wondered again how she was supposed to know when the time came.

Eventually, the two aliens came to a halt. The table carrying Angel’s body gradually rotated upright, allowing her feet to touch the ground.

Angel studied her surroundings. She had arrived in a startlingly different room, white and spotless. To her left, a single, great wire ran from the ceiling to the floor below. It pulsed with a rhythmic blue energy like a beating heart.

“She comes,” one of aliens said.

The Others departed without further sound.

Angel slowed her breathing, focused on the ship around her. It was in that moment she understood the time was near. Wordlessly, she watched as the door to the room opened and another of the aliens glided towards her.

“So, we meet at last,” it said.

Angel stared into the silver being’s dark eyes. They were large and filled with glowing specks of white light, far different than those of the aliens that had captured her.

“You are their leader,” Angel said calmly. She did not know why she spoke. The words came from her mouth instinctively.

The silver being stepped back in apparent surprise. “What are you?”

Angel ignored the creature, concentrating on the ship surrounding her, on its beating heart at her side. She could feel the vessel in its entirety. It lived. It breathed. It stretched for what seemed miles across the endless black sea.

One time remained. The fated moment had come. Conversation was at an end.

At last, Angel allowed herself to smile. “Be gone.”

The End

(Eight parts. 10,000 words.)

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight

ONE

“Everyone dies, Richard. That’s the point.”

“And if this doesn’t work?” he asked, turning to the woman at his side. “What then?”

Angelica smiled. “It worked. Everyone is dead. We made sure of it.”

The man sitting atop the skyscraper frowned. Below, flames patrolled the once-proud city, purging the concrete streets of the last hints of mankind. It was the last of the great cities to fall, the end of an endeavor that had taken the better part of a decade. The screams had died out hours before; only those of the endless fire remained.

The truth was evident. The humans were finally gone. Only they remained.

The two lovers were the last of the Immortals, relics from the time before time. For countless years, they had been unable to find a path to the realm beyond. In hindsight, the solution had been obvious. Continually tearing down mankind had hindered their goal. Allowing the humans to destroy themselves was far more effective.

When the time had come, they had driven the final stake into the heart of the resilient species.

“Do you remember the library of Alexandria? So much has changed since that time. It is a shame the knowledge the human will leave behind…” Richard trailed off as the adjacent building succumbed to the rampaging flames.

“Don’t start that again, my love,” the woman snapped. “Their existence meant nothing.”

As he often did, Richard disagreed with Angelica when it came to the humans. She had never stopped to marvel at their progress. “And if what Aaron thought was true? If the same force created both of our races? If there are others worlds beyond Earth?”

“Aaron was a fool. Those ants were only our playthings. There is only one other word, that of our creator. When we arrive there, you can ask him yourself.”

Richard met the woman’s blue eyes. Just like his own, they were unnaturally bright, a difference that could only be distinguished by another Immortal. It was a silent means of recognition, a way for one relative to identify another.

“Have you forgotten the Voice?” Angelica asked a moment later.

At last, Richard smiled. The Voice was the first sound he had ever heard. The creator of the Immortals speaking in the time before time. The Voice had told them of what was to come and in doing so had made them a solemn vow.

“Should you tire of this world, find death and return home.” As he spoke, the building beneath him began to sway, its metallic bones finally giving way. “Not only a promise but a challenge.”

Beaming, Angelica stood and raised her arms triumphantly into the smoky air. “And we have succeeded! Without a host, our souls will finally be free to move on!” She turned and extended him a hand. “Come, my love. It is time to join the others.”

Richard allowed her to pull him to his feet. They kissed for a long moment, the flames rising around them. “I will see you on the other side,” he said. “Together, we will make a new life alongside our own kind.”

“Together,” she agreed, interlocking her fingers with his own.

They jumped.

*

Richard opened his eyes.

Instantly, he knew something was wrong. The sky overhead was cloudy and tinted a peculiar shade of magenta. The wind brought the unforgiving smell of death to his nostrils, reviving his senses. He knew this feeling. He had transferred hosts.

No. This is impossible…

Pushing himself up, Richard realized that he had not been staring at the sky. The sea rocked gently beneath him, reflecting the strange sunrise above. He drifted on a piece of wood that reeked of gunpowder and smoke.

Turning, he saw the wreckage of the ship. The bodies of the dead. They looked like … humans.

Angelica!

Richard found his body sapped of strength. His mind raced as he watched a small rowboat emerge from the haze. At the helm stood a man with flowing hair and a glimmering blade.

Before he knew it, the wooden vessel was upon him. The man with the sword barked an order, and Richard was dragged on board.

The Immortal struggled to speak. “Is this … Earth?”

His rescuer raised a brow. “Earth? What is Earth?”

“This one’s lost his mind,” another voice said. “Besides, the Lady said no quarter.”

The man with the sword shrugged. “Not worth soiling my blade.” At another command, Richard found himself back in the frigid water.

He watched the boat disappear, not bothering to breathe.

*

The Immortal opened his eyes as one of the humans on the small vessel. He observed the others, wondering which was Angelica. A heavy hand slapped him on the back. Its owner, a burly man with a single eye, regarded him with a broad smile.  

“Cheer up, Rook. The worst of it is over…”

Richard only nodded in response. Why didn’t it work?

He needed to find Angelica.

TWO

Richard had found death, but he hadn’t found home. He wondered if he ever would. Destroying Earth had failed. Somehow, the humans had spread.

No. The Immortal was certain that the humans on the small boat had not come from Earth.

Again, he looked to the magenta-colored sky. Surely, the sailors would have known the name of their homeworld. They had no reason to be dishonest.

But another planet with human inhabitants … how was that possible? Space was endless. Even if the humans of Earth had managed to devise a way to efficiently traverse it, the chances of finding one world among billions that could support life was microscopic.

Angelica. Where are you?

Richard remained silent as the boat continued to move forward, guided through the bloody waters surrounding the smoldering wreckage by a pair of muscular oarsmen. The Immortal studied the eyes of the remaining five men when the opportunity presented itself, hoping to catch the familiar flash of light.  

By the time the man with gleaming sword broke the silence, Richard knew that Angelica was not onboard. It made no sense. Angelica’s soul should have followed his own. Their curse was the same, the hardest to conquer of any of the Immortals.

Where is she? 

“There it is, men,” the man said. He pointed with his strange sword to the burning hull of the ruined ship before them. “Bring her close.”

Richard mimicked the other sailors as the oars began to slow. The hardest part of adapting to a new host was to not draw the suspicion of those who knew the former inhabitant. Fortunately, the Immortal had long ago learned to adapt.

“I don’t see it,” he whispered to the one-eyed man who had spoken to him moments before.

“Of course you do. You just don’t see it.” The large man chuckled. “I forget that you weren’t with us when we retrieved the last piece of the world-ender.”

Richard’s eyes widened in silent question.

The man pointed ahead. “Its pieces can’t be destroyed. Fire makes ‘em glow. Despite their weight, they don’t sink in the water. The stones defy all the natural laws of the world.”

Finally, Richard saw it, a blue stone somehow brighter than the surrounding flames. It hung at the end of a metallic necklace wrapped around a splintered plank of wood.  

“To think that it was right under our noses the entire time!” the one-eyed man exclaimed. “They thought they could get away from our Lady, but Captain Marston always catches his prey.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Uno,” a smooth voice interjected. Richard turned to see that the captain had joined them at the bow of the small ship. “There is a reason that these men evaded us for so long.”

On cue, a cloaked figure leaped from the flaming hull, clutching the stone in hand. Captain Marston reacted quickly, pushing both Uno and Richard into the cold water before meeting the blade of his foe.

Richard kicked his feet, forcing himself back to the surface.

He watched in awe as the two blade-wielding figures danced atop the small rowboat, thoughts of his unexpected revival and Angelica’s absence temporarily forgotten. Sparks flew as the two swords collided faster than his eye could track.

After the first exchange, the two rowers at the stern leapt overboard. The remaining man didn’t move quickly enough; blood spewed from where his head had once been.

Then, the fight was inexplicably over. Marston pulled his gleaming sword from the chest of the cloaked man and held up the blue stone victoriously.

Dumbfounded, Richard allowed Uno to pull him back aboard the wooden boat. Could these really be humans? He had never seen men move so quickly. Not the warriors of Sparta. Not the Ronin of Japan. Not the celebrated athletes of humanity’s golden age.

The captain donned the necklace and ordered the boat away. When they were beyond the fiery remains, he brought the oarsmen to a stop and wrapped the body of the dead sailor in the cloak of the would-be assassin.

“Shell wouldn’t have wanted us to mourn him,” Marston said somberly. “He will live on through us. He will see our Lady raise the world-breaker through our eyes. He will hear the voice of our creator through our ears.”

Richard hung his head with the remaining sailors, working to keep his composure. First, the world-ended. Now, the voice of the creator. Who were these humans? Who was the Lady? Where had his final death on Earth brought him?

Most importantly, where was Angelica?

*

Hours later, Richard found himself aboard a larger boat. It was a single-masted sloop, long and narrow like those used by the infamous pirates of the early Americas. Just like its brethren on Earth, the ship was crafted for a single purpose, speed.

Captain Marston set a breakneck pace east.

Richard kept his eyes skyward, waiting for the strange pink sunrise to subside, for the emergence of a familiar sea of blue. It did not come. As the hours passed, he came to grips with the fact that he was no longer on Earth.

The Immortal turned as Uno joined him before the starboard railing. The one-eyed man grinned as he noticed Richard’s puzzled expression.

“It’s the captain, ain’t it?” the sailor questioned, scratching his gray beard. “I didn’t quite believe it myself the first time I saw Marston wield his blade.”

Richard licked his lips, assessing the situation. He had drawn a fortunate lot with his latest host. The closest man to where he had drowned had been the crew’s newest member. He hated to think of what would have happened if his soul had claimed the body of Captain Marston.

Before unleashing them onto the fledgling Earth, the Voice had explained to each of the Immortals how they could find death – how to break their curse. Richard knew that he had to be in the body of another human. But I have to know for certain…

The Immortal chose his words carefully. “I wonder if he’s even human.”

Uno roared with laughter. “Of course, he’s human, Rook. What else could he be? Even our Lady is but a mere human. Both she and the captain have spent years gathering the stones of the world-ender. They’ve grown old under the burden.” He wrapped his arm around Richard’s shoulders. “Don’t tell her I said that of course.”

In response, Richard gifted the man a false smile. The sailor carried the same misconception about Immortals as the humans of Earth once had. It was their souls, not their physical being, that were truly immortal.

“You’re a quiet one, Rook,” Uno said a moment later. “But I guess growing up as one of the Last-born would have that effect on you. Back when I had both eyes, this sea was filled with ships. After we bring our Lady the last of the magic stones, it might be once again…”

Richard only nodded, understanding the risk in pushing the conversation forward. This was clearly common knowledge. It was best to pretend that he knew what was going on. Not many humans ever questioned the essential facts of their own world.

Before silence could settle, the Immortal changed the topic, “What do you think is really going to happen when our Lady gets the last stone?”

Uno hummed in thought. “Truthfully, we’ve only the legends to go by. And those are relics from long ago. The last time the rainbow stones made an appearance, the world came to an end.”

“But we are still here.”

“Only by the grace of the creator. The user of the world-ender had to sacrifice himself to continue our race, to give our world a second chance.” At that, Uno let loose a long sigh and turned his gaze to the sea. “A second chance we ruined. Sure it took thousands of years, but it seems we can’t quite control ourselves.”

A tragic human trope. “The past is too often forgotten.”

“Wise words. You should speak more often, Rook.”

“I don’t want to overstep my place.”

The one-eyed man laughed bitterly. “When there are only dozens of your kind remaining, every voice is an important one.”

Richard nodded in approval. It truly was a shame that mankind only realized their mistakes in the end. From a single conversation with the old sailor, he had decided that he was indeed among humans – or, at the least, a direct relative.

The Immortal ran a hand through his mess of dark hair in frustration. Even after living for thousands upon thousands of years, there was still so much he didn’t understand. As ever, knowledge was the secondary curse of the Immortals.

Angelica. Where has the creator sent you? For the first time, Richard worried that he would never see her again. They had often been apart for lifetimes, but eventually, they had always found each other.

“When will we reach home?” he asked.

Uno drew a blackened pipe from his coat pocket and lit the contents. “Best guess, a little after dawn. I know … it’s rather hard to believe that their ship made it so far from the City of Grace. But, on the bright side, we’re sure to receive a hero’s welcome.”

*

Dawn found Richard seated alone at the bow of the ship.

The newborn light wove around the wooden figurehead an arm’s reach away. It was a simple representation of a woman with flowing hair, the very sort of figurehead that had been commonplace on Earth. The Immortal wagered that it was modeled after the Lady.

He hadn’t bothered to sleep. There was little point. He had spent the night beneath the alien sky of the strange world, watching as the light faded and countless stars appeared in the heavens. He found a modicum of comfort in their distant light. One of those stars was certainly the sun around which Earth rotated.

As the strange light grew, Richard stood and stretched his weary limbs. His new body was young but weak. It had certainly never trained for battle, never worked the fields.

He looked back at the sound of footsteps. Captain Marston approached with long strides, his long hair swirling in the maritime wind. Richard’s eyes went to the sailor’s waist where the gleaming sword slept in a weathered sheath.

“So eager to return home?” Marston asked, flashing a tired smile. “I would have thought after your eagerness to join my crew that a return to Grace would have been the last thing you wished.”

Again, the Immortal considered his words, returning his gaze ahead. As if the Captain had spoken them into existence, the walls of the distant city became visible. Such walls were a familiar sight. He wondered how many humans were within.

“I thought that the world outside the city would be different,” he replied at last.

The captain clutched the blue stone hanging around his neck. “Our Lady will not fail us. She will find a way to save mankind, to help us flourish once again.”

“But what of the legend?” Richard asked, remaining purposefully vague. “Will the creator not be upset of what we’ve done with our second chance?”

Marston frowned. “In a matter of years disease and famine will take all who remain. This is our only option…”

The captain was interrupted by the waking bell, a sharp, metallic cry that echoed across the silent sea.

“To your post, Rook,” Marston ordered. “It is the day of reckoning.”

THREE

The ship docked upon a dreary stretch of rock outside the walls of the City of Grace. There, a small group of men awaited their arrival. When Marston presented the blue stone, a brief cheer arose from their lips. Then, they set off toward the city in silence.

The city gate was unsurprisingly open. Richard saw no signs of farms or fields beyond the walls, only soiled earth and the blackened foundations of long-abandoned structures. It was apparent the City of Grace, just like the humans, was on its last leg.

Inside, the city was stuffed with a mixture of wood and stone structures, reminding Richard of the crowded towns of old Europe. However, where he would have expected to see hundreds of humans congregating on the dirt streets, there was only a precious few, slipping like phantoms from their homes to join the procession. It seemed that each knew Captain Marston on sight, that everyone knew the importance of his return.

The dirt path gradually turned upward, climbing toward a distant peak.

In the odd light of the world, Richard studied the city’s dilapidated castle. Its crumbling walls were unmanned, and its half-dozen turrets had fallen into a state of disarray. If he had needed further confirmation on the state of the world, the castle provided it – there was no longer any need for protection against other men.  

At last, the growing crowd reached a stone square in the shadow of the abandoned castle. A small group of armed men surrounded a large white tent in its center. At the sight of Captain Marston, one ducked inside, presumably to retrieve the Lady.

Richard stayed close to Uno as the group of morose sailors advanced toward the tent, noting the humans collected on their march through the city had fallen back. The crew stopped on Marston’s command, equidistance between the dying populous and the abode of the mysterious Lady who ruled the dying city.

At another command, the Immortal fell to a knee alongside the others.

Finally, the Lady appeared. She was a slender woman garbed in a white cloak, the ends of her blonde hair spilling from beneath a raised hood. The men who had surrounded the tent formed a protective ring around her as she neared the sailors.

“Rise, Marston,” she commanded in a soft voice. “You have done well.”

The captain obeyed and presented the blue stone with a deep bow. The woman took the object into her hand and raised it to the rose-colored sky.

Richard withheld a gasp as the woman’s hood fell back to reveal her eyes. He quickly returned his gaze to the cracked stone below, mind once again racing.

“You,” the Lady said a heartbeat later. “You’re the boy who volunteered to help Captain Marston complete the final quest.”

It wasn’t a question. Richard looked up nervously as a pair of muscular guards came to a stop before him.

“I would hear your version of what transpired.”

Richard stood and stared at the woman in the center of the square for a long moment. There was no doubting it. The Lady was an Immortal.

*

The two guards did not follow Richard inside the tent. The space within was surprisingly barren, comprising only of a small table and a pair of chairs. Richard’s eyes fixated on a picture drawn on one of the loose pages scatted atop the wooden surface, a golden dagger fitted with seven colorful stones.

“Sit,” the Lady commanded as she entered.

Richard took the nearest seat and crossed his fingers together in wait. A moment later, the woman sat down across from him. The spark behind her blue eyes was unmistakable.

“You possess the body of the boy I sent to retrieve the stone, but you are not him,” she said. “It had been quite some time since I have seen another Immortal. Would you care to enlighten me to your purpose here?”

“I’m not quite certain myself,” Richard admitted. “I destroyed my world in an attempt to find death and instead ended up here.”

“And what world would that be?”

“Earth.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “What is your name?”

He told her.

“I am Elizabeth. I have worked for thousands of years to bring the humans on this planet to extinction. I too wish to find death and find home.”

“You implied there were other Immortals here.”

“Only one and he found death long ago,” Elizabeth replied. “Your appearance here makes me fear where he has gone. Before today, I never questioned if there were any other worlds to go to besides the home of our creator…” She trailed off, twisting a strand of blonde hair around a long finger in thought.

Richard’s curiosity got the best of him. “The world-ender? What does it do?”

The woman remained silent for a long moment, then said, “Tell me of this Earth and your trials there. In exchange, I will return the favor. However, there is one condition. You must do nothing to stop what is to come. Swear it.”

Richard did not hesitate. Somewhere within the woman’s story could be the key to solving the mystery of Angelica’s whereabouts. “I swear.”

“Do be quick about it, Richard,” the other Immortal smiled. “I am eager to die.”

FOUR

Elizabeth spoke at the end of Richard’s tale. “You claim that you and your lover share the same curse, that your souls are forced to move to the nearest human host upon death.”

The Immortal nodded.

“I’m inclined to believe that you’ve left something out. Obviously if you share the same curse, you would both be here. Perhaps she’s been misleading you.”

Richard regarded the woman blankly. Until now, he had never considered the possibility. “No,” he replied firmly. “Angelica and I keep nothing from each other.”

The other Immortal shrugged. “Think what you will.”

“And your story?” he asked, changing the subject. “The world-ender?”

“You must first understand my curse. The Voice told me that I am to live as long as there remains one person on this planet who worships me.”

Richard had heard of similar curses. “Then why become a god to these people?”

“My curse is not as simple to break as it sounds. Have you ever cast yourself as a god?”

“Many times. Eventually society would collapse for one reason or another and my assumed identity would be forgotten. On Earth, old gods were easily dismissed; their worshipers were often hung as heathens.”

Elizabeth smirked. “After hearing the words of the Voice, my lover and I decided to rule this planet together. We thought we had been created for the very purpose. It was easy to make the transition into godhood, to reap the rewards of worship. Death was never further from our minds.

“But, as you surely know, such happiness is fleeting. While he never aged, I did. We drove this world to the brink of extinction in an effort to find a way to prolong my life, but we failed. It was on my deathbed that he came to me bearing the jeweled dagger and revealed his curse – he could only die at the hands of another Immortal…”

Richard hung his head. He knew what came next.

“… so, I killed him, knowing we would be together again soon.” She sighed. “Only it turned out that I was reborn into this word as a child, that my past lives are linked, and that the worship bestowed upon my former host body was transferred along with my memories.”

“Meaning the world-ender is just a dagger,” Richard concluded.

Elizabeth nodded somberly.

“And those who stole the stone?”

“The last of the warrior-priests who called me a false god. Fools.”

“Is Marston one of them?”

“He was. But where did I leave off?” At that, she smiled. “Ah, my first death and rebirth. By the time I reached an age to travel back to my former city, the humans had rebounded. Legend of my lover’s sacrifice still held every tongue.”

“I’m assuming they hadn’t forgotten you either.”

“Even worse. They believed me to be the creator of this world, that I had come to this planet in human form and made a deal with my lover to exchange his soul to save that of mankind. Since that day, I have worked for a dozen lifetimes to escape this wretched prison. Armies fighting in my many names have salted this earth and poisoned its wells from one coast to the other. Nothing will ever grow here again.”

With a flourish, she produced a golden dagger from within the folds of her cloak and placed it on the table between them. Embedded in its hilt were six glimmering stones. She fitted the blue stone in the empty slot and met his eyes. “We share a mutual goal. These are the last of the humans on this world. Once they are dead, perhaps we will both find that which we seek.”

Unless there are other worlds with other humans…

“Do you pity them?” she asked. “I thought you wanted to find your Angelica.”

“More than anything.”

“Then, the solution is simple. Together, we kill the remaining humans.”  

Richard nodded. The solution was simple. If he was taken to yet another world upon his death, he would kill the humans there as well. To find Angelica, he would end the entire species. She had been right all along. His attachment to humans was dangerous.

He extended his hand to the other Immortal. “Let us find home.”

*

Richard followed Elizabeth from the tent, emerging into the pink light of the dying world. The humans remained as they had left them, silent and scared. Only the sailors dared to look up. Uno’s eye widened as he saw the ropes tied around Richard’s wrist. Marston regarded the Immortal with a grim expression, knowing what was about to unfold.

Of course, that was impossible. The gap between what humans knew and what they thought they knew was infinite. This world had done nothing to dispel that notion. These humans had ruined their lands with war and tied their hopes to the false-science of magic.

Richard now understood exactly where he had arrived. A failed version of Earth.

I am coming for you, Angelica. If I have to kill every human in the universe, then so be it.

“Captain Marston, please step forward,” the Lady said. Her soft voice was deafening in the silence that had overtaken the city.

Marston rose, approached and bowed before Elizabeth. A frigid wind whipped through the square, pulling back his long and dark hair and revealing his weathered face. “What does my Lady ask of me?”

“I ask you to kill this boy.” She presented him the dagger. “We will use his blood, the blood of an innocent, to summon the creator.”

The rugged sailor took the knife.

Richard refused to meet the human’s eyes, hoping Marston would find his task easier. Of course, there was no doubting that the man would do as his goddess willed. Once humans convinced themselves of a certain truth, it was impossible to change their minds.

“I’m sorry about this, Rook,” Marston said as they waited for the appointed hour. “Know that your sacrifice will not be in vain. Because of you the human race will continue.”

Richard only nodded. He could sense the touch of the Immortal on the imposing man, her words on his lips. Elizabeth had played a familiar card. A human in love with an Immortal would do anything for them.

A bell sounded within the highest turret of the distant castle. Richard watched the dagger slice through his worn clothing and disappear into his weakened body. He welcomed his latest death, his only thoughts of Angelica.

A moment later, Richard turned to face the last of the humans. Something was different about the body of his new host, something he had never felt before. He thought back to the battle between Marston and the cloaked warrior-priest.

This man is something more than human…

Wordlessly, he turned and handed Elizabeth the bloody dagger.

“The creator awaits, Captain,” the Lady said.

With a nod, Richard drew his radiant blade. The strange feeling within his new body intensified, driving him to action.

I will find you, Angelica.

*

In a moment, it was over. The humans lay lifeless around him, a haunting image he had seen countless times before. None had raised a hand against him. Many had not even moved.

Once, he would have pitied them.

“What was this man?” Richard asked. “He moves faster than any human on Earth.”

The Immortal shook her head. “Do not forget your promise to me, Richard. You swore to do nothing to stop this, asking pointless questions included.”

She smiled. “I will await you in the world of our creator.”

True to his word, Richard struck and watched as the other Immortal fell.

Then he turned the strange blade upon himself…

… Richard stared into a green sky, the chaotic sounds of war surrounding him. A rough hand gripped his own and pulled him to his feet.

He froze upon seeing the other man’s eyes.

It was another Immortal. One he knew.

FIVE

The two Immortals stared at each other for a long moment. Thick smoke swirled about them, obscuring their surroundings, diminishing the sounds of battle. A surface of latticed stone crisscrossed by streams of blood supported their weight. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Richard broke the silence. “David, what are you doing here?”

The dark-skinned man raised the sword in his bloody hand. Just like the one Marston had carried, it gleamed with an unnatural light. Unlike Marston’s, the light seemed to extend up David’s arm, revealing a series of deep wounds. “Don’t move.”

Richard froze. He did no desire to be killed and forced to find the other Immortal again. He had already spent enough time apart from Angelica. “Don’t you recognize me?”

“You can’t be here, Richard. You were one of the lucky ones, one of the Immortals who truly could not die. You being on this forsaken world…” The Immortal trailed off, glancing over his shoulder as a blood-curdling scream cut through the smoke. “We must find a safe place to talk. Follow me. You best take a weapon.”

Richard retrieved the discarded sword lying at his feet. Upon gripping the hilt, a vibrant energy shot through his entire being, bringing the world into a heightened state of focus. It was familiar to the energy that had coursed through Marston’s body, only stronger.

“Let’s move,” David said. “Kill anyone who approaches.”

They walked for a wordless hour. David set a brisk pace across the gory plain, navigating around fallen bodies and away from clusters of fighting men.

Eventually, the Immortals waded through the last of the grisly haze and emerged on the other side. Richard studied their surroundings, lowering his blade in surprise. The dreary land ended abruptly as if marred by the serrated greatsword of a Greek titan. Hundreds of miles below stretched an endless ocean.

David pointed to the poison-colored sun with his sword. “The day’s battle is almost at an end. We should be safe.” He turned to Richard. “Now, tell me what you are doing here. What has happened to Earth?”

“I destroyed it. I thought that I would–”

“Find death,” David concluded. The other Immortal sighed. “Didn’t we all?” He sat on the rocky ground and examined his wounded arm. The metallic armor clinging to his muscular figure was well-worn and covered in blood.

“What is this place?” Richard asked.

David laughed bitterly. “Tell me of the last days of Earth. Then, I will return the favor…”

As he spoke, Richard paced up and down a short stretch of broken land, acclimating himself to the strange abilities of his new host. The other Immortal sat on land’s edge with his boots dangling over the ocean below, listening intently.

“We were both misled by the Voice,” David said at last, his wounds inexplicably healed. “It told me that I could not be killed in competition, and that as long as there was competition I could not die. The answer to breaking the curse was obvious – I had to win every competition on Earth.” He managed a hollow smile. “That was seven Earths ago. There is always more competition.”

Richard scratched his thick beard. “Seven Earths ago?”

“Presumably these worlds have different names, but does it really matter what we call them? Humans live on Earth. Thus, every planet inhabited by humans is Earth. To find death, I must end every competition on every Earth.”

“This doesn’t look much like a competition.”

“The distinction rests in the prize,” David explained as he stood and distanced himself from the ledge. “The last man standing will earn the right to face the king for control of this world. The king resides in the castle in the center of the battlefield. Its gate will only open when there is one man remaining outside the walls.”

“And the others? Those not involved in this competition?”

David shook his head. “This contest has spanned countless generations. Once, the land stretched for hundreds of miles in either direction. Now, it is only a small island atop a great sea.”

He grabbed Richard’s hand and pulled him backward as the ground began to shake.

A heartbeat later, a monstrous growl came from the ground beneath their feet, resulting in a bottomless fissure that raced across the ruined land. The newly-isolated section of the land fell into the distant sea in a deafening cacophony of noise.

“At the end of every day, the battlefield shrinks,” David explained. “At the end of the competition, the last warrior will be left at the castle gates.”

“Why have you not ended this contest already? You earned your freedom in the Colosseum of Rome more times than I care to count.”

David sighed. “Our Earth was different, Richard. Every world I have been to since, the powers of the humans have increased. Those that remain here are mighty warriors. I’m sure you sensed this upon taking your new host body.”

Richard nodded.

“I had been battling the man who originally inhabited that body for hours before your arrival. Sometimes, it takes an entire day just to put one of the humans down.

“Despite the aid of my curse, it will be years before I travel to whatever world is next. Whenever I finally find death, I have a mind to kill the Voice for what he has done to us…”

Richard placed a hand on David’s shoulder as the other Immortal trailed off in despair. “Don’t worry, my old friend. I will end this competition quickly. Angelica awaits my arrival, and I have questions of my own for our creator.” 

*

The deaths began to blur.

It was a strategy that Richard hadn’t used since the early days of mankind, but there was no point in battling the warriors of the latest Earth to the death. For once, his curse came in handy.

Most often he died at the end of a blade, skewered on the open battlefield or stabbed from the shadows. Whenever the opportunity arose, he brought individuals together to incite a bloody brawl. If he did not find an opponent within a few moments of dying, he simply turned his weapon on himself or threw his host body into the sea.

On his third day in the world with the green sky, Richard found David once again. The battlefield was hauntingly silent.

“You work quickly, my friend,” the other Immortal smirked. “More land has fallen into the sea since your arrival than in months before it.”

Richard nodded. His latest host body was a large man wielding a wicked axe. It starved for nutrition. Inside the body, his soul burned from exhaustion, demanding a reprieve from the frequent transitions. It was only a minor side effect – nothing he couldn’t handle.

“I don’t suppose you have anything to eat?” he asked.

“Thanks to your handiwork, I have done quite well for myself.”

David led him in the direction of the sun. When the edge of the land came into sight, the other Immortal walked to a stack of rocks and retrieved a supply bag. Moments later, the two men sat a hundred yards away from the abyss, gnawing at strips of dried meat. Richard didn’t bother to question their origin.  

“Tell me more about the humans, about the other Earths,” he said as they awaited the nightly quake. “How have they gained this … power?”

David ran a hand through his dark, unkempt hair in thought. “The differences were subtle at first. Faster reflexes. Better balance. Quicker footspeed. These weapons came into play on the third Earth. As I said before, no humans I have come across are as powerful as those here.”

“And their worlds? Were they all like this?”

“More or less. We knew on the original Earth that humans could not be trusted with power. At least on our Earth, humans had the same innate level of physical ability.”

Richard gripped the handle of his axe tightly. “You should have seen what they accomplished before the end. Cities hundreds of times the size of Rome. A connective network that linked all of mankind together. There were billions of them.”

“They always bring the end upon themselves,” the other Immortal growled. “No matter the circumstances.”

Richard nodded in agreement. “It seems to be the human way…”

They were silent for a long moment.

Finally, David spoke again, “The castle nears. It will not be long before we are able to move on. Soon, the king of this world will open the gate and commence the last phase of the competition.”

“Have you ever seen him?”

“Only once. He is the most powerful human on this version of Earth. Fortunately, we have your curse. Against you, he stands no chance.”

SIX

Richard awoke on unfamiliar feet, blade in hand. The walls of the gargantuan castle loomed in the distant haze, tall and made of thick stone. He lowered his blade, allowing his foe to slice through his battered armor without resistance. Seconds later, he raced on.

It had been centuries since the Immortal had experienced so much death so quickly. His latest host body felt unnatural, like an ill-fitting suit. Growling, he forced it forward, bending the body to his will. On the original Earth the process had been nearly instantaneous. Here, the time varied; some souls proved more difficult to displace than others.

Ahead, two men fought. Their movements were difficult to follow, little more than blurs. Richard focused on their glowing blades, tracking the sea of sparks that rained to the rocky ground after every exchange. It was clear that these humans were far more powerful than any he had encountered before.

The warriors turned as he approached, halting their battle in a wordless truce. Richard didn’t mind. He swung his sword at the first and was promptly decapitated by the second. Before his former head hit the ground, he turned and drove his blade through the heart of the remaining human warrior.

Richard smiled at the thought of their misguided code of honor. It was another connective thread, furthering the idea that, at their core, humans were the same on any world. The revelation comforted him.

The Immortal encountered no further foes as he navigated toward the castle gate. As he neared his destination, Richard slowed his pace and scanned the battlements for guards. There were none to be found. He had anticipated at least a few sentries patrolling the stone catwalk, monitoring the competition.

What sort of ruler is completely unconcerned with the outside world? Richard frowned as he realized the answer. One who wants to destroy it.

A single figure awaited the Immortal at the castle entrance, standing before the monstrous gate with head bowed. It had been nearly two days since he had last seen David.

Richard had spent five days in total on the world with the poisoned sun. Another two on the world with pink sky. He wondered how long he had truly been apart from Angelica, if she had found death or had been taken to another version of Earth.

All this time and I haven’t gotten closer to solving anything…

He spat in frustration, thinking again of the words of the Voice. What had been point of the creator’s words? Without the Voice, the Immortals would never have known there was a world to return home to. Without the Voice, none of this would have ever happened.

“It seems this is the end for you, old friend. I will be the one to face the king,” David smirked as Richard halted before him. The other Immortal had scavenged a new set of armor, and his wild hair was smeared with dark blood. The familiar gleam in his eye was hopeful.

“Are there others within the walls besides the king?”

David shrugged. “It is likely. A king needs people to rule after all. Assuming you take his body, we should be able to kill them without ending the competition and move one step closer to finding our home.”

Richard forced a smile as the gleaming sword drove through his heart…

*

… something was wrong. Richard’s soul screamed.

He found himself swallowed by darkness, seeing without seeing. For some reason he had not taken human form. Just as the transformation had begun, a searing pain had entered his consciousness – somehow driving him to a premature awareness. There had been the familiar sensation of contact with a new host body and then…

Rejection.

Sometime later, Richard’s senses slowly came into focus. He lay on a dark mattress with curtains drawn, brilliant light seeping through the gaps. His heart began to race. Is this another world? It can’t be! What about the king? What about the competition?

Distraught, the Immortal tossed the bedcurtains aside, sprung to his feet and raced to the window. In the courtyard hundreds of feet below, David battled a menacing, crowned figure in radiant armor just inside the open gate.

But he was clearly the nearest human…

Richard remembered his agony from a moment before. Rejection. The word returned to the forefront of his mind.

Had the king somehow overpowered his curse? Was that possible?

It was only then the Immortal noticed that the courtyard was different than the land that had come before, a green oasis in a desert of stone. The sky overhead was cloudless and blue, the sun pure and bright. Dozens of lavishly-dressed nobles cheered on the battle between the king and the other Immortal. Beyond the gate, the ruined landscape was all but forgotten.

Richard turned as the room’s door swung open.

A bearded man garbed in a loose-fitting black robe approached, blade in hand. “My lady, I heard screams,” he said breathlessly. “I know you said not to disturb you once the show started but … are you alright?”

Instinct took over. Richard had been reborn into countless scenarios. Visual and vocal cues were all he needed to comprehend his situation, to blend in. He slapped the guard’s hand away and turned away from the battle raging below.

Red-faced, the guard retreated, bowing low in hopes of not drawing his ire. “Please forgive me, your grace. I did not mean to offend.”

Richard smirked, long blonde hair obscuring his vision. It was now clear what had happened inside the castle walls.

The most powerful humans of this Earth had built their own version of paradise. They had ruined the world outside the walls in search of entertainment, in search of a challenger for their king. If entertainment was what they wanted, then he would provide it.

“There is something wrong,” Richard admitted. “I have been separated from the woman I love. For me to find her, all of you must die.”

With that, he dashed toward the open window and dove to his latest death.

SEVEN

This time, Richard was ready. As soon as his soul entered the body of the nearest human, he surged forward to claim it as his own, overcoming the resistance of the inhabiting soul.

He would not be rejected again.

Opening his eyes, Richard assessed his surroundings. A group of the nobles had gathered around the body of the dead woman. The others remained focused on the battle by the gate. Standing between both groups, he had a decision to make.

Richard stepped toward the humans surrounding the fallen noblewoman. As he approached, he unsheathed the blade at his waist. The Immortal took a calming breath as the alien power filled his latest body. It was stronger than ever before, nearly twice what he had become acclimated to on the smoky plains beyond the castle walls.

Just how powerful are these humans?

The first noble fell without a sound, blood soaking through his blue robes. Richard struck again as the next man turned, a cry of warning dying in his throat.

It was enough.

The four remaining nobles drew their swords. Richard managed to slay another before he was run through. After acquiring a new host body, he decapitated the two remaining men with a pair of fluid strikes.

Turning, Richard found the other battle had come to its end. The hulking king of the humans stood with his heavy boot on the back of David, a broad smile on his face. The remaining nobles had assembled behind him, gleaming blades pointed in the Immortal’s direction.

The king fingered his shaven jaw. “Not the way I had envisioned it, but now that it has begun…”

The king disappeared.

Richard attempted to track the human’s movements with his eyes – to no avail. One instant, the king had stood before him. The next, he had turned on his human allies. Blood showered the castle courtyard as the nobles fell in near unison.

What seemed a heartbeat later, the towering king reappeared, once again pinning David beneath his heavy boot. “I am curious, Thomas. Why turn your blade on the others?” David managed a laugh before the king stomped his face into the stone. “Answer me!”

Richard narrowed his eyes, perplexed. It was clear that the king had wanted to end the world. He decided to find out why. Humans loved to talk, especially those who held power.

“You question me? I just saved your life, my king. Those men were planning to betray you after the battle!”

The king roared with laughter. “Of course they were! Sometimes I forget that you all know nothing, that this moment has been a millennium in the making.”

Richard showed his surprise. It sounded as if this human thought he was immortal. But it couldn’t be. The king did not possess the distinctive gleam behind his eyes.

The Immortal shook as he recalled the feeling of rejection. If the king had truly been an Immortal, his soul would have bypassed the man’s body and moved to the next available host. Instead, it had been rejected then redirected.

The man before him was no Immortal, but he was not exactly human either.

“A thousand years? What … what are you?” Richard asked, inflecting his voice with awe. He needed answers.

“I am cursed,” the king replied. From his tone, it was apparent that the man was amused by the situation. “When I was a boy, I heard a voice speak to me. It said that I could not die unless I was the last human on this world.”

“A voice?” Richard shook his head. Had this man actually heard the Voice?

“It took many lifetimes for me to see the truth in the words of the creator,” the human continued in his regal voice. “At first, I believed myself to be blessed. I became the king of a small nation and sought to conquer the world. Eventually, I did.

“However, after becoming the god of this realm, I found myself without purpose. I created this fortress and started a competition that would eventually bring about an end to my curse. After the dust settled, I would simply kill the winner and those I had retained to serve my needs. All I had to do was wait.”

Richard forced himself to ask the question. “Why seek death?”

“Because only by finding death, will I find my true home.”

The Immortal’s heart skipped a beat. He has heard the Voice…

The king stepped away from David’s broken body, chuckling to himself. “I see that the rest of my retinue has decided to make things easier on me. I was hoping for a manhunt. If you will excuse for a moment, Thomas.”

The king disappeared once again. The dozen black-robed humans gathered before the ornate castle doors offered no resistance, falling before they could so much as raise their blades.

This time, the king reappeared immediately before Richard and pressed his gleaming blade against the Immortal’s throat. His enormous figure blocked out the haunting scene of the open castle gate and the ruined landscape beyond.

“It is rather fortunate that Samantha has already found her death. She was going to be the hardest to kill.” The king’s grin widened. “I never took her for the suicidal type. Perhaps she stumbled upon the mess in the kitchens. Perhaps the nobles told her about my plan to end this world…”

Richard withheld a sigh. Even the most powerful human in existence could not escape the flaws of his species. “Does that make me the second to last human?”

“Aye. The curse I put upon this land ensured that the gate would only open when one warrior remained on the outside. Everyone else has perished.”

“Not everyone,” a cold voice interjected.

The king turned a second too late. David’s shining blade emerged through his breastplate, and the human’s blood began to pool on the stone.

The king whitened. “How are you alive? What … are you?”

“We are the cursed,” David replied coldly as the human king fell to the ground. The two Immortals locked eyes. “Do you think he actually heard the Voice?”

Richard frowned. “Whatever the case, we are one step closer to finding answers.”

“Agreed.”

“I hope to see you on the other side, my friend…”

*

The strange feeling came again, the struggle of one soul against another. It was akin to swimming against a great current, to racing up a steep hill.

Battling the powerful humans in the world with the green sky had provided Richard all the experience he needed. In a moment it was over.

He had won.

The Immortal opened his eyes and found himself in a dimly lit room that smelled heavily of smoke. He sat in an unbalanced chair pulled close to the edge of a circular wooden table. Across from him sat a man with gleaming blue eyes. Between them was a weathered stack of cards and a dark metallic cube that exuded power.

“I was beginning to lose faith that you would ever arrive,” the man greeted him in a smooth voice. “Congratulations on exterminating the human race. I hope it was worth the cost.”

EIGHT

Richard took in his surroundings while processing the words of the other man. He could not discern the room’s size or its location. The dim lights were without source. The surface of the table was uneven, as if it had been broken apart and nailed back together multiple times.

The only certainty was that the two men were alone … aside from the strange metal cube resting between them. The item seemed to have a distinctive personality of its own, shaking periodically as if it caged a living being.

The man seated before him was handsome and well-dressed, locks of brown hair curling just above his brilliant eyes. But the man’s eyes were too bright, more intense than those of any Immortal that Richard had ever encountered.

Richard studied the two cards resting between his long fingers, noting that his legs and torso were bound to the weathered chair by thick ropes.

“Where am I?” he asked.

The man folded his hands. “How about an introduction? I am Samuel.”

Frowning, Richard repeated his question.

“You’ve just replaced my playing partner of the past three thousand years, the last human in the universe. Seeing as you’re the one who killed him, I believe you owe me your name.”

“Richard.”

“Was that so bad, Richard?” Samuel smirked. “It’s hard to believe that this day has finally arrived. When I first ran into William, I never believed that he was actually destined to be the last human. We were alike in that way…”

“What do you mean?”

“You see, Richard. I actually am immortal.” Samuel’s blue eyes grew even brighter. “There’s that look again. How would you categorize it? Confusion? Anger? Doubt?”

“What of the Voice?” Richard asked, subtly struggling against the ropes. “Certainly, the creator gave you a way to find home.”

“The Voice? Do you honestly believe that there is some mythical place for us to go home to? That our creator still cares about us?”

Richard nodded.

“I’m afraid I have bad news for you. The creator long ago abandoned everything and everyone in his manufactured universe.” The man gestured, and the strange cube slid to Richard’s side of the table. “Take a look for yourself.”

At a snap of Samuel’s fingers, the item’s top panel smoothly spun to one side, revealing a lifeless interior.

After a moment, Richard looked at the other man and raised his brow. “I don’t understand.”

Samuel chuckled. “This is how I knew you were coming. This device once belonged to the creator and tracked the status of his many worlds. Once, they glowed like gems in its endless depths, a world for every color imaginable. Now, none remain.”

Seemingly on its own accord, the lid of the cube shuttered.

“You asked where you were before…” Samuel extended his hand and gestured to the dark space around them. “This is the end. There is nothing beyond this point. All those so-called Immortals that you knew before are gone.”

Richard shook his head, finally giving up his attempt at escape. “I don’t believe you.”

“Wake up, my friend! This is the world of the creator, the world he abandoned, the world where each and every one of us was created. This is the home you destroyed so many worlds and so many lives to reach!”   

“All you’ve shown me is an empty box.”

Samuel picked up the metallic cube and flipped it over in his hands. At his touch, the bottom plate came to a blue light and the outline of a keyboard displayed on the wooden table. The other man placed the cube into the air where it remained, inexplicably floating a foot above the surface of the table. “Which world do you call home, Richard?”

“Earth.”

“Ah, the sapphire world. I wish I had known more of the creator’s other worlds,” Samuel mused as he typed. After a moment, he smirked. “Here we are, Richard of Earth. Let me know when you want it to stop playing.”

Sound came from the cube: “Richard, live without fear. When you die, your soul will claim the nearest human host. Should you tire of this world, find death and return home…”

Jaw agape, Richard stared at the glowing item. “That is … the Voice.”

Samuel nodded. “There is a message in here for every self-proclaimed immortal.”

“I am just as much an Immortal as you. The same light lives behind our eyes, the same blessing and curse granted to us by our creator.”

“The same light?” the other man repeated. “Perhaps your travels have blinded you. Perhaps you overlooked the fact that my partner William heard the Voice and he was only a human.”

Richard narrowed his eyes, recalling the similar claim of the slain human king.

“William was convinced that we were all just variations of the same basic design, that our traits and worlds were slightly altered to gather data for our creator. In some, the gap between the weakest and strongest was small, in others it was worlds apart.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you and those you called Immortals were nothing more than the most powerful variation of the human species.” Samuel pounded his fist on the wooden table. “I’m saying that I am the only true Immortal!”

“So, you have no curse?”

Samuel growled. “Of course I do. The Voice told me that I could not die.”

“How can you be certain of that?”

“Do you think that I haven’t tried everything?” His blue eyes flared. The metallic cube began to rotate rapidly in the air beside his head. “That is why I have been so eagerly awaiting your arrival, Richard – you are the key.

“It took me thousands of years to realize the destiny the creator had left for me, why he had gifted me his priceless container of worlds. You see, the creator wanted me to restart creation in his place. He wanted me to become the creator.”

Richard frowned. “And how would you do that?”

In response, the strange item raced forward, halting inches from Richard’s face. The side panel slid open and a radiant blue gemstone emerged from within, bringing light to the dark world, nearly blinding the Immortal.

“This is a world seed,” Samuel explained. “Using the power of the cube, I can create a new world in the image of my choosing. However, for it to work, I need your help.”

“My help?”

“The creation process cannot begin without the energy of a living soul. William and I both tried to be the sacrifice ourselves but were rejected. Therefore, it must be you, Richard. You were the one the creator intended to start life anew. This is your destiny. Together, you and I will control the new world and all who live within it.”

Richard eyed the cube hovering inches away, studying its sharp side in thought. He recalled the words of the Voice, the words that had led him to exterminate the human race. Samuel had claimed that the Voice had abandoned them. Which was truth?

“What is there to decide?” the other man asked. “It is either do as the creator intended or disappear forever into the void. If we must sit for all eternity for you to concede, so be it. As you’ve already discovered, you won’t be going anywhere.”

Finally, Richard smiled. “I am going home. I am going to see Angelica once again. I hope one day to see you there. Do not give up on finding death.”

Before Samuel could move, Richard swung his head forward, driving his skull into the sharp corner of the glowing cube.

*

Richard opened his eyes. The world surrounding him looked just as Earth once had.

A warm wind swirled through the quaint field, tickling the long grass and dancing with the leaves of the distant trees. The sound of birdsong and the smell of flowers filled the warm air. The sky overhead was an unmarred blue.

A blonde-haired woman appeared above him, radiant in the pleasant light of the sun.

“Welcome home, my love,” Angelica said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

The End

Make A Wish

J.J. Polson

(Four parts. 4000 words.)

One | Two | Three | Four

One

Only fools walked into traps. Fortunately, the Brave was the biggest fool of them all.

Avon Carrier had singlehandedly ridded the world of four of its top five Heroes, which was by no means a small feat. Normally, Villains dedicated their entire purpose to slaying only one Hero, failing far more often than not. Avon’s mind set him apart from the rest. His genius had left only one man standing between him and world domination.

“The agreement is ironclad,” Joan said, referencing the contract the Foundation had provided. The lawyer had recently cut her blonde hair short and always wore a tailored black suit. A normal man would have found her attractive, perhaps a touch intimidating.

“Has he agreed to it?”

The lawyer nodded. “Both the Foundation and the Brave have met all of your demands.”

Avon scratched at the patch of hair residing on his chin in thought. The top Hero and top Villain had been in a state of constant war for over three years, each side narrowly escaping death on countless occasions.

As much as he hated to admit it, their powers were evenly matched.

This wish was the most promising gambit Avon had undertaken in months. There was nothing that would get under the Brave’s skin more than watching his rival play hero to a sick child. The Hero would feel obligated to take action, but the agreement would prevent it. One false move and the Brave would be exposed for the fraudulent idol he was. The Hero would be so focused on his resulting inner turmoil that he would never see his end coming.

The snare had been set. Soon, the Brave would be dead. The child would likely meet the same fate, but that didn’t matter. Sacrifices had to be made in the name of progress after all.

Lowering his sunglasses, Avon signed the contract, then rose and made his way to the wide window. “As soon as you hear word of the Brave’s demise, set the lawsuits in motion. I want control of this world before the sun sets.”

“As you wish, Mr. Carrier.”

Avon smirked as he looked upon the bustling city spread before him. Once the Brave had been defeated, it would all belong to him. Without the protection of their beloved Hero, the leaders of the world would be forced to adhere to his demands to spare the general population.

Victory was only a matter of time.

*

An hour later, Avon exited his bulletproof SUV and approached the quaint hospital’s main entrance. The handful of reporters he had invited waited alongside a squadron of armed police. Just as he had anticipated, a crowd of self-centered civilians surrounded them. Word spread fast. If the Brave was not already watching, he soon would be.

Naturally, the reporters shied away as he reached the glass doors. Those in the hospital were even more respectful, abandoning the white hallways and locking doors as he passed. The nurse who had been assigned to lead him to the child had simply handed over a crude map with a shaking hand.

Avon had expected nothing less.

The Villain laughed as he neared the child’s room. The Brave stood protectively in front of the dull door, his signature red suit pressed tight against his toned flesh. Beneath his mask, familiar blue eyes regarded Avon with disdain.

“Come to wish me luck, Hero?”

The other man frowned. “What game are you playing, Carrier? Using children against me?”

The Villain raised his hands innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. The boy requested a visit from me … his idol.”

“Don’t lie to me,” the Brave valiantly retorted. “You made him do this!”

“Touch me and become what you despise,” Avon smiled murderously. He pulled the contract from his jacket pocket and waved it before the masked man. “I have your word that I will not come to harm here. The boy has chosen to spend one of his precious few remaining days with me, and we will not be disturbed.”

The Hero took a deep breath. “I’ll be watching to ensure no harm comes to the boy.”

“As if I’d harm a child. Do you really think so low of me?”

“Yes.”

Avon shrugged; his reputation had been earned. “Step aside, Hero.”

Once the Brave had glided away from the door, Avon turned the knob and entered. The room was not at all what he had expected, plastered in posters depicting his most epic battles. An oversized model of the Hero List was painted above the bed, four of the names stricken through.

Still in shock, Avon hardly noticed as the child rose from the bed and embraced him.

“You actually came!” the boy exclaimed. “You look like just like I thought you would. How did you get so tall? How did you really defeat Cloudman? I’m Connor by the way. Did you fly over here? How did you outsmart…”

Avon tore his gaze away from a replica cardboard cutout standing in the corner. He couldn’t believe it – the child was actually his fan. He had never had a fan before. Was this how the Brave felt? Was this why he protected those who so clearly didn’t deserve it?

“Nice to meet you, kid,” the Villain managed to say, finally snapping free of his pitiful trance. To think he would let a foolish child distract him from what must be done. “I’ve prepared the best day imaginable to make your wish come true, Connor. There’s even a surprise at the end.”

The boy’s eyes went wide. “Are you finally going to defeat the Brave? I want to help!”

Avon smirked. “Perfect.”

Two

Panicked customers stampeded through the revolving door in an effort to escape as Avon Carrier approached the store. The Villain ignored them, entering through the manual door with the boy on his heels. A cheer rose from the frightened crowd as the Brave touched down on the pavement a moment later. Avon reveled in the heat of the Hero’s glare.

“Ah, Mr. Carrier,” the associate said as Avon approached. The balding man adjusted his glasses anxiously and examined the Villain’s black trench coat. “Just a cleaning then?”

“Actually, I want to buy one for the kid.” Avon gestured to the child beside him.

Connor’s jaw dropped in surprise. “My own Carrier coat? Are you serious?”

“Of course,” Avon replied, taking a thick-rimmed pair of sunglasses from the display and fitting them over the child’s pale features. The act was intended to hide the sunken and sickly nature of the boy’s eyes, but the glasses surprisingly suited him.

The associate laughed nervously, ushering the kid towards the fitting room. “Right this way. I will find a coat to your liking.”

Avon took a seat atop the glass counter and pulled the pistol from his waist. “Your red suit is getting rather ragged,” he observed, casually inspecting the weapon in the overhead light. “It’s good that you’re considering a change. I approve.” 

The Brave turned from where he was browsing a rack of sleeveless jackets with fire in his blue eyes. “You won’t get away with this, Carrier. I won’t allow you to turn the boy into a monster!”

“He won’t be anything for much longer,” the Villain shrugged. “Only has a few days to live according to the paperwork. Can’t you just admit that I’m doing something good for once?”

The Hero growled. “You don’t fool me, Carrier. I know what you’re really up to – you’re planning to use the child to further our conflict.”

More like to end it…

Avon sighed. “Don’t you have other Villains to deal with today?”

He turned as Connor emerged with the anxious associate, hearing the distinctive flap of the Brave’s pointless cape as he disappeared. The jacket fit the boy perfectly. There was a reason Avon always shopped at the same store.

“I look just like you, Carrier!” Connor exclaimed. “When do we fight The Brave? I probably won’t even need your help anymore! I’m just like you now!”

The Villain scowled inwardly, wondering at the sudden emergence of pride. The boy was nothing more than a tool to finally eliminate his rival. Death would be a mercy for him. “Soon. First, we must make the Brave very angry.”

The boy clapped his hands together. “That sounds like fun!”

“Shall I bill the usual account, Mr. Carrier?” the associate interrupted.

Weapon raised, Avon scowled at the salesman, then concealed the gun with a laugh. “Everything is on the Foundation. Bill them going forward.”

Still cackling at his good fortune, Avon took the kid’s hand, led him past the perusing Hero and exited the store.

*

Outside of Monument Park, Avon opened the car door and helped the boy out, keeping one eye on the red dot circling high above. The Brave continued to act predictably. Forcing him to return to the sight of his greatest defeat would bring him near his breaking point.

“Wow!” Connor shouted as they walked between a pair of black-stone war memorials. “Are these really from the days before Heroes?”

The Villain shrugged. “They’re not what we’re here to see.”

Sudden revelation flashed across the boy’s pale features. “No way! You’re taking me to where you fought the Valiant Son! That’s so awesome!”

Avon was taken by surprise. “You … know about that?”

“Of course I do! I’ve watched that fight like a thousand times on the internet. You were like pow and he was like bam and you were like…”

Avon watched the boy as he preceded to recreate the epic battle held nearly two years before. He was actually quite the actor, more than capable of playing two roles at one.

The Valiant Son had been the Brave’s sidekick before venturing out on his own. Shortly after achieving the rank of fifth Hero, he had foolishly challenged Avon to a duel in an effort and end his former master’s blossoming feud.

Avon had shown him no mercy.

The Brave’s honor had forced him to watch from a distance. The top Hero had arrived in the last moment of the other Hero’s life, holding the Valiant Son in his arms as Avon escaped. The scene had been immortalized in stone – allegedly a symbol for the value of sacrifice.

The sound of his phone pulled Avon from his joyful memories. “What is it?”

“You said to call you before I activated the countdown,” the nasally voice of his henchman replied. “Do you want me to start it?”

Avon rolled his eyes, still half-watching the boy as he neared the end of the fight. “Have I assumed ownership of the city?”

“Well … no, boss.”

“Then start it.”

The bomb was insurance. If the world leaders refused to succumb after the Brave’s demise, the threat of destroying the city would leave them with little choice. With no one left to save them, they would be forced to sign over control to Avon.

“Excellent work,” Avon said as the boy finished the scene. “Let’s go see the statue.”

Once there, Connor studied the monument for a long moment, then turned the Villain. “Where are you, Carrier?”

“What do you mean?”

“They left you off! The Valiant Son was stupid. He demanded you fight him to the death after all! You had no choice but to respond. He lost! Why does he deserve a statue?”

Avon pursed his lips in thought. “I …” He found himself studying the sickly boy in his dark glasses and coat, still stunned that Connor actually saw him in a positive light. It was not something he was accustomed to. No one had ever seen his side of things before.

“It doesn’t matter,” the Villain replied. “Once we defeat the Brave, I’ll have plenty of statues.”

“You own statue? Will I get one too?”

Avon glanced over his shoulder to where the Brave looked on. Even from a distance, the Villain could see the angry tears streaming down the exposed part of his face. “Sure, kid. We got one last stop before we take him down.”

Connor flashed him a knowing smile. “Ice cream?”

Three

Phone buzzing, Avon stepped from the empty ice cream parlor. He waved at the Brave who had taken perch on a neighboring balcony. The red-suited Hero elected not to respond.

“Joan?”

“It’s the plan, Mr. Carrier,” his lawyer replied. “I have yet to receive confirmation of the Brave’s arrest or death.”

Avon turned at a knock on the glass and smiled at Connor. In spite of the Villain’s expectations, the boy had managed not to ruin his new coat. “There’s been a slight delay.”

“Even your money cannot keep me at the office all night, Mr. Carrier.”

“It will be done within the hour,” Avon promised. “Have the documents on standby. Have you informed the appropriate parties of the kid’s final event?”

“You know that I do, and you know that I have,” she replied before ending the call.

“Who was that?” Connor asked as the Villain reentered the small store. The remnants of chocolate ice cream coated his pale lips.

“Oh, just one the people who work for me,” Avon replied coolly. “We best hurry before our destination closes.” He walked to the counter and tossed a folded bill toward the petrified attendant. On his way back to the door, he grabbed a napkin and handed it to the boy, motioning to his mouth. “You’ll want to look the part, trust me.”

They arrived at the Great Bank a few moments later, the people on the busy sidewalk scrambling for shelter. Avon stopped before the towering stone building and allowed an array of delightful memories to filter through his mind.

“No way!” Connor exclaimed as they walked up the stairs. “Isn’t this where you first fought the Brave? We’re actually going inside?”

Avon smirked. He couldn’t help but be impressed and, oddly, a bit proud. “How do you know so much about me?”

“The internet. Duh! Everything you’ve ever done is on there, you just have to know where to look. Pictures, videos, expert analysis…”

Avon withheld a frown. Surely not everything.

Upon reaching the top stair, the Villain glanced back to make sure the Brave looked on. As anticipated, the Hero stood across the street at the head of a unit of police officers. More importantly, a small crowd of adventurous citizens had gathered in the distance with their phones at the ready, ever eager to self-promote.

Smirking, Avon pulled the prop pistol from his coat pocket and examined it in the light of the afternoon sun. It wasn’t made to actually fire bullets, but the Brave wouldn’t know that.

“Now,” Avon explained as he handed the gun to the boy, “promise me you won’t shoot anyone unless they actually deserve it.”

The boy lifted up his sunglasses and stared at the ‘weapon’ in awe. “Cool!”

Avon patted Connor on the shoulder. “Now, practice your aim as I go talk to the Brave. Make sure to keep the gun on him. Don’t fire unless I give the signal.”

Connor nodded in understanding. “Are we finally taking him down?”

“Yes,” the Villain smiled. “Now, remember. Don’t shoot unless I say so. No matter what happens to me. I’ll be fine.”

Calmly, Avon descended the stone steps and strolled onto the street. The Brave awaited him at the midway point, appropriately enraged.

“I won’t let you use that boy to rob a bank!” the Hero hissed. “More importantly, I won’t allow you to make him a criminal!”

Avon laughed. “Have you forgotten that you cannot touch me? You signed that right away to ensure the sick kid had one last great day.” He turned and motioned to where Connor stared down the sights of his prop pistol.

The Brave growled. “I didn’t agree to this. You’ve gone too far, Carrier! I won’t allow you to rob the Great Bank!”

“You can’t do anything about it.”

Avon delivered the line with a murderous gleam in his eye. He laughed as the Brave’s emotions got the best of him, and the Hero sent him sailing with a powerful punch.

It was exactly the reaction he had wanted. The only way to defeat the last Hero was to take his title away from him.

“Are you ok, Mr. Carrier?” the officer asked as Avon gingerly rose to his feet.

The Villain nodded, wiping the blood from his lip. He relished the image of the Brave surrounded by officers with his hands cuffed behind his back. Connor nodded at Avon from his place by his side, keeping his gun firmly on the former Hero.

Good kid.

“He was going to rob the bank!” the Brave protested. “He was using the kid to make sure I couldn’t do anything about it.”

Avon stepped triumphantly forward and looked his rival in the eye. “Everything was arranged. Both the Bank and the police knew about this stunt. It wasn’t a real robbery.”

The Hero’s jaw dropped. “Is this … is this true?”

“I’m afraid so,” the officer replied. “This was all for the Foundation. We thought that you knew about it, Sir.”

“You can’t arrest me!”

Avon pulled the copy of the agreement from his pocket and handed it to the officer. “You have to standby the terms you’ve agreed to, Hero.” He motioned to the crowd of onlookers. “Wouldn’t want to make this more of a scene by resisting arrest.”

The Hero sighed in reluctant acceptance. “You’ll pay for this, Carrier. When I get out–”

“It’ll be too late,” Avon said simply. “Come on kid, I got to get you back to the hospital.” He turned around, and his heart dropped. “Kid?”

Four

Avon paced outside of the hospital room. An assortment of doctors and nurses streamed through the door, seemingly unaware of his presence. He held the toy gun in one hand seeking some semblance of comfort, a storm of unfamiliar and unwanted emotions swirling in his chest.

What’s wrong with me?

The Brave had finally been defeated. Not just defeated but embarrassed and defamed. The struggle for the city would reach its end while the Hero was confined to a cell.

Yet…

The Villain answered his phone somberly. “Yeah?”

“Is that you, Carrier?” his lawyer asked.

“Who else would it be?”

“Never mind,” she replied curtly. “The city leaders have agreed to your terms – as long as you deactivate the bomb of course. Once that’s done, the city will belong to you.”

Avon sighed. “Thanks, Joan.”

“Cheer up, Carrier. You’ve won.”

The Villain hung up the phone and stared longingly through the small window into the hospital room. Joan was right – he had won. But for some reason, the victory felt hollow. What had Connor done to him? The whole experience had lasted only a few hours!

“He wants to see you.”

Turning, Avon found himself face to face with a middle-aged woman with tears in her eyes. A bland man in oversized glasses stood beside her, equally distraught. “He wants to … say thank you before…” She broke down in sobs as the man led her away.

Avon walked slowly into the room and took the seat by Connor’s bed. The black jacket hung from a nearby peg, and the sunglasses rested on the bedside tray. The steady beeping of machines echoed throughout the small room.

Connor opened his eyes and gave him a weak smile. “We did it. We defeated the Brave. Will you … cross off his name?”

Nodding, the Villain stood and marked through the last name remaining on the oversized list of Heroes. Then, he took the dark glasses and placed them on the boy’s face. “All thanks to you.”

“Promise me you’ll keep the city safe … that you’ll be the Hero I know you are.”

Avon glanced around the room filled with his likeness, taking in the posters, the cardboard cutouts and the replica leather jacket.

He wasn’t a Hero. Why did the kid believe that? It didn’t make any sense. He was a Villain, the greatest Villain, the Villain who now owned the city!

Still, he couldn’t break the kid’s heart, not so close to the end. “I promise, kid.” He took the toy gun from his jacket and placed it in Connor’s hand. “I’ll see you later, ok?”

The boy smiled. “Bye, Carrier.”

The Villain stood and made his way from the room, his emotions perilously close to the surface. A few steps from the door, a pair of nurses raced into the room with the kid’s parents on their heels.

Avon made it halfway down the empty hallway before taking a seat, wondering why he had let himself get so close to the boy. Attachments always led to the fall of those in power.

Clearing his throat, he dialed his henchman. “Deactivate the bomb. The code is–”

“I don’t think so, Carrier. This bomb is going off, and the city is going with it.”

It was the Brave.

*

The abandoned warehouse was surrounded by police. Barricades had been erected and portions of the population had begun evacuation. Pointlessly of course. Avon had ensured the bomb would destroy the entire city.

Officers ushered Avon through the frontlines as he exited his SUV with a heavy heart. Mind clouded, he heard only pieces of their chatter. Were they actually … asking for his help? Had they forgotten who had set the bomb in the first place?

Inside, the Brave stood before the ticking bomb, red suit partially concealed by a long leather jacket the color of blood. Avon’s henchmen were scattered about the Hero like undesirable parts from a stripped car. The lone remaining light strung across the ceiling of the warehouse flickered uncertainly.

Avon took a deep breath. He wasn’t in the mood for this. “What are you doing, Brave?”

“I thought you’d approve,” the Hero laughed. “After all these years, I’ve finally realized that you’ve been right all along!”

The Villain frowned, watching the digital clock ticking away in the background. On any other day, he would have been thrilled that the Hero had finally seen the light.

“It only took one moment for the city to turn on me,” the Brave explained in a crazed tone. “I was trying to prevent a robbery, trying to stop you from blackening the heart of a child. And what do I get in return? Arrested! Me! The man who has protected this city from countless evils. The man who has dedicated his life to justice!”

“That’s great, Brave,” Avon said softly. “Now, stand aside and let me deactivate the bomb. You don’t want to let everyone die. I know you better than that.”

“Why don’t you let your sidekick do it?”

Avon hung his head, his reply barely a whisper. “The kid is dead.”

“What was that? I can’t here you over the countdown, Carrier.”

The Villain growled. He removed his shades and pulled the gun from his jacket, no longer caring to conceal his watering eyes. “I said that the kid is dead. Now, get out of my way!”

“I don’t think so,” the Brave cackled. “This corrupt city deserves its fate. It took a child choosing you over me to finally make me understand. To think that he actually saw you as a Hero. I’m the Hero!”

Avon couldn’t believe it. The Brave had completely snapped. His plan had succeeded far beyond his wildest expectations – only, due to the circumstances, he couldn’t enjoy it.

Oh, the irony!

“Last chance,” the Villain said with renewed focus, raising his weapon.

As the Brave opened his mouth to respond, Avon fired.

The former Hero attempted to avoid the barrage of bullets with his usual burst of speed, but the resistance of his new crimson jacket slowed him just enough. He let loose a cry of agony as one of the bullets struck his leg and sent him crashing to the ground.  

Avon stood over him a heartbeat later, barrel aimed at his masked face. “Not the way I had imagined it would end,” he admitted.

The Brave grinned. “Tick tock, Carrier. It’s either me or the bomb.”

The Villain glanced over his shoulders, eyes widening at the sight of the clock. He couldn’t allow the city to be destroyed – not when he had finally conquered it! With a flourish of leather, he raced to the interface and entered the code.

One second remained.

Avon turned back to finish the Brave only to find the other man back on his feet.

“This is far from over!” the former Hero shouted as he ascended into the air.

Avon emptied his clip in a last-ditch effort, but the Brave was gone, sunlight streaming through the hole in the roof left in his wake. Avon watched in silence as the red figure disappeared into the sky.

Frowning, the Villain retrieved his sunglasses and reloaded his gun. Was this how the Brave always felt? However, the feeling of defeat was quickly replaced by another … one that felt oddly like satisfaction. He had actually saved the city.

Well, it is my city after all.

Avon walked through the crowd of officers and stepped into his SUV without saying a single word, his thoughts on the boy that had changed everything.

Maybe the kid had been right. Maybe he was a Hero.

THE END

(Eight parts. 9000 words.)

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight

One

Korgen frowned as the console continued to update.

It had taken millions of years to procure a replacement core, of course the software would be out of date. It was only logical. Still, the Crixian was impatient. Time was of the essence.

Despite the fact that the Genesis homeworld had been destroyed in the Third Galactic War, their army of ancient satellites circling The Known remained operational. More importantly, those satellites were maintained and protected by countless preservation laws. As long as they survived, the worlds created inside the Genesis servers would continue to exist.

Without their manufacturer, console cores were impossibly rare. Any power core in use at the time of the Great Wars had long since burned out. It had only been by a stroke of luck that Korgen had managed to procure one before his time expired.

How he had managed to do so … well, that was unimportant.

Tucked away in his crater-chamber within the massive asteroid belt of Nebula 9, the Crixian was untouchable, just as hard to find as the Genesis core had been. Eventually, his pursuers would conclude that a being as ancient as he had finally passed on. After all, everything died eventually.

He had prepared his lair for every possibility, reconfiguring both the console and its power source to the latest technological standards. As long as the nearby star did not burn out, his gaming session would be indefinite…

…or, at least as long as he survived it.

As if reading his thoughts, the smooth voice of the AI echoed throughout the crater-chamber. “Are you sure you want to do this, Korgen?” 

The Crixian glared at the AI’s sensor in the far corner of the room. Upon his attempted reply, a series of pained coughs sent his failing body into a spasming fit. The vile taste in his mouth was that of death. The time was near indeed.

“Updates,” Korgen hissed, “how long?”

The sleek form of the AI appeared, an angled being of brilliant light. The Crixian watched through milky eyes as it interfaced with the console.

“The updates are complete,” the AI reported an instant later.

Korgen nodded. “It is … time then.” He broke off as another fit of coughing stole his breath. He hadn’t realized how quickly his body had begun to deteriorate, how much the voyage to retrieve the core had cost him. “Initiate the transfer.”

“There are other ways, Sire,” the AI cautioned as it connected a series of wires running from the console to the modified gaming helmet. “What if this doesn’t work like you expect?”

“I made Earth for this purpose,” the Crixian replied, fragile voice brimming with determination. “If the choice is between ruling an artificial world and dying in the real one, then it is no choice at all.”

The sleek form of the AI glided across the chamber to where Korgen rested in his stasis chair. “This cannot be undone, Sire. Once you are in there, you cannot return.”

“You have extended my life as long as you can,” Korgen replied weakly. “I have only one task remaining for you. You must keep the console alive at all costs.”

The AI fitted the bulk helmet over the Crixian’s head, then saluted. “Of course, Sire. As long as the star burns, your life will not extinguish.”

The Crixian attempted to laugh; instead, he fell into another fit of pained coughing. He took a last look around the small crater-chamber and nodded to the AI. “Do it.”

Darkness came.

Two

Korgen awoke to a familiar sight, the quaint interface of the Genesis console’s homescreen. The simplicity of the commands brought on a blissful feeling of nostalgia. The Crixian navigated through the list of available world servers first by galaxy, then by system until he finally came to Earth.

With a single thought, the userid and password prompts filled with text. Korgen would have smiled if he had held a physical form. Gleefully, he commanded the system to log him in.

Account in use.

Korgen regarded the error message in confusion. Had he entered something incorrectly? Hurriedly, he deleted the information and attempted to log in once again.

Account in use.

Korgen cursed. How was this possible? There were no longer any Genesis consoles in operation. Even if there were, how could someone have stolen his information? The password was in the ancient language of Crixia. It had to be some sort of glitch in the ancient system.

He tried a third and final time, receiving the same message again. This time, however, a new prompt appeared beneath the first.

Create new account.

Korgen realized that he had no other option. Other world servers would be locked or defunct, and once he entered a server, he could not leave it. He could only be certain that Earth had survived.

Has someone truly taken control of my creation?

The Crixian selected the undesirable option and completed the necessary information. He attempted not to duplicate his original avatar, Crixus, but he always had a tendency to create in his own image. It wouldn’t matter in the long run. If another being had taken over his original character, he would simply have to destroy it.

Korgen cycled through the last dozen prompts and launched his new life.

Korgen’s eyes bolted open. The Crixian found himself in the back of a land-bound vehicle accompanied by an assortment of ragged men and women. The sky overhead was an ominous gray and the surrounding land was dead and filed with craters. An armored guard with an automatic rifle balanced across his raised knees studied the prisoners through dark eyes.

It was a moment before the Crixian realized his wrists were bound by rope.

“Where am I?” he asked the woman beside him.

“This again?” the woman sighed, shaking her dreadlocked hair in disgust. “You told me to wake you up when we neared the work camp.” She leaned close and whispered into his ear. “You promised that you would be able to find a way out.”

“Work camp?”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Jesus, Kor. Your memory is worthless.” She gestured to an ominous compound in the distance. “In case you’ve forgotten, we were captured six days ago assaulting one of the High Ruler’s weapon shipments.”

Korgen shook his head, dirty hair falling over his eyes. The High Ruler was a title he had created, a title that belonged solely to him. Who had taken it? Who had turned the perfect world he had left behind to this … abomination?

“This High Ruler?”

“You can’t be serious. Care to waste any more time with pointless questions? Once we’re behind those walls, there is no escape.”

“Tell me their name,” he growled.

“Crixus.”

Korgen frowned. It wasn’t a glitch. Someone had taken over Earth using his profile.

He won’t get away with this. This is my world!

“So, what’s the plan, Kor?” the woman asked. “We need to stop this truck. Time is almost up.”

Korgen glanced at the armed guard. “We’re going to need his weapon.”

“Tell us what we have to do,” the bald man across from him said. “Anything to get out of here.”

The others prisoners nodded in agreement.

Korgen ran a series of scenarios through his head. He hadn’t expected to reenter his world on the way to internment, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t prepared. It was his world after all.

“Stand up and hit me,” Korgen whispered. “All of you, be ready to run.”

A heartbeat later, the bald man leapt to his feet and threw his weight at the Crixian. Korgen moved quickly, relishing the abilities of his new body. Before the guard could react, he sent the bald man over the edge of the flatbed and rolling across the wasteland.

As Korgen had hoped, the driver of the vehicle slammed on the brakes. The standing guard was caught by surprise, stumbling in the instant before his body slammed against the back of the truck cabin. The woman’s arm forced the Crixian against the flatbed as a storm of bullets from inside the truck shattered the back window.

“Is this your plan?” she hissed.

Korgen ignored her, snatching the knife from the waist of the unconscious guard. Gunshots and screams echoed as the guards stationed in the front of the truck predictably pursued the other prisoners who had begun to scatter. Taking advantage of the distraction, the Crixian sawed through the woman’s bonds and allowed her to return the favor.

“Stay down,” he ordered as the gunfire continued.

Korgen pried the gun from the fallen guard’s hands and examined it closely. Such a primitive device, he thought with disgust.

The sight of such a weapon rekindled his earlier anger. He had put Earth on a trajectory to achieve great technological wonders. After so long, it should have been a close approximation to the life he had left behind. It should have been paradise!

Crixus, I will kill you for what you have done.

Livid, Korgen rose to his feet and leveled the gun. The two guards stood a few paces up the road, their backs to the stalled truck. Dead prisoners lined the road ahead, each body lying a step closer to freedom than the last. The two guards cackled as they picked off the remaining escapees.

“Nice shot,” one said as the other finally managed to end the last runner.  

Korgen’s bullet took the man who had spoken through the back. As the second turned, the Crixian fired rapidly, filling the man with lead.

Korgen turned at an unexpected sound, eyes wide upon discovering that the other guard had regained his feet. The man looked first to the gun in Korgen’s hands, then to the dead bodies scattered about the wasteland … only to collapse in a pool of his own blood, the hilt of a knife protruding from the back of his shaven head. 

“You’re welcome,” the woman called from inside the truck. “Get in before the camp sends another squad to investigate.”  

“I didn’t need your help,” Korgen grumbled as he took the ruined seat beside the woman and slammed the door. “I was the one with the gun.”

“It’s like I tell you all the time – everyone needs help, Kor, even you,” the woman smiled, manipulating the truck’s controls to reverse direction. She sighed upon his seeing his confused expression. “What is it now?”

“I … don’t remember your name,” he admitted.

“Not funny.” The woman laughed ironically as they sped away from the grim scene. It was only once they had passed the trail of bodies that she spoke again. “So, where are we headed? We can’t return to the Worm without those guns.”

“Take me to Crixus.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “I just said it was suicide to go back there.”

“You don’t have to go with me.”

“Really? Like I’d leave you after all we’ve been through…”

Three

Korgen’s anger boiled as the outskirts of the town came into sight.

The structures were little more than flimsy piles of misshapen wood and scrap metal. The haphazard nature of their alignment alongside the once-paved road incited nausea. What had this Crixus done to his world? A world he had spent tens of thousands of hours constructing. A world that had been designed to play host to his glorious second life.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the woman scowled, slamming on the breaks. “You can’t just go around shooting people in town.” 

Only then did Korgen realize he had raised his gun. He looked at the woman and shrugged. She wouldn’t understand. The dust-covered people polluting the street would be better off being converted back to raw data until he could sort everything out.

He would be doing them a favor.

“Is the High Ruler here?” he asked once the truck had started moving again. The people in the street gave the vehicle a wide berth. None dared to meet the eyes of its two occupants.

“In Graytown?” the woman sighed. “How have you managed to survive this long, Kor?”

The Crixian grunted. The woman had no idea what survival meant. He had survived for billions of years. He was a veteran of six Galactic Wars. He had even found a way to beat death!

“Where is he then?”

“Usually in his palace atop High Hill. He tours the surrounding towns from time to time, but no one really knows the true reason why. Some claim that he’s looking for something, that he destroyed the entire world in an effort to find it.”

Korgen ran a hand through his dark hair in frustration. Not only had someone ruined his world, they were actively trying to reset it. If they were successful, he would be deleted permanently.

I have to stop him as soon as possible. It’s only a matter of time before he finds it.

They spent the rest of journey in silence. The woman’s dark eyes incessantly swept the road, searching for the slightest hint of conflict. Korgen ignored her paranoia, instead working to establish his position. If he could figure out where he was on the worldmap, he could certainly locate the core. By resetting the server himself, he could return Earth to its previous glory. Eventually.

“Damn,” the woman hissed, forcing the truck to an abrupt stop.

Looking up, Korgen watched four armed men emerge from an unflattering building perched on the corner of two intersecting streets. Outfitted in thick black armor, their faces were hidden behind reflective visors. Each man bore a large assault rifle and walked with the sort of uniform precision common with soldiers.

“I’ll take them out,” Korgen said, readying his weapon.

“Not funny, Kor. These men belong to the Worm. If you don’t recall, the Worm is the man we are in Graytown to see. Killing his Roaches would only make him angrier at us.”

“So … we’re going to surrender then?”

The woman rolled her eyes, ignoring his question as one of the soldiers approached. Korgen frowned as the other three Roaches took positions surrounding the truck. It was far too late to take the offensive now; he would have to trust the woman’s judgment. He tossed his gun through the open window at the soldier’s command.

“Out of the truck,” the Roach snapped. “Leave the keys.”

The woman narrowed her eyes. “This truck ain’t yours, Roach.”

“Consider it a down payment for the weapons you lost.”

Korgen exited the vehicle, the barrel of one of the Roach’s guns leveled at his head. The Crixian met the woman’s gaze skeptically as a third man approached to bind their wrists. Then, he watched as the fourth drove the truck away in a cloud of gravel.

“Is this really necessary?” the woman asked as they were led toward the misshapen building that the Roaches had crawled out of. The entire structure leaned slightly to the left, awaiting the gust of wind that would finally put it out of its misery.

One of the Roaches replied. “It is not our job to question orders.”

Korgen felt the soldiers relax as they entered the failing building. To his surprise, it seemed to be functioning drinkhouse. A dozen men garbed in the same shell-like armor sat around an assortment of dilapidated tables in imbalanced chairs. A pair of women darted between them, refilling dirty glasses with pale-colored ale.

The three Roaches herded the prisoners across the common room, through a warped door and down a series of narrow stairs. The foremost soldier snatched a glowing lantern from the wall and led through a maze of tunnels which Korgen presumed led deeper into the town.

Eventually, the soldier produced a key and unlocked a rusted door. Korgen again met the woman’s eyes in the instant before they began to climb another set of narrow stairs. If they wanted to escape, this would presumably be their final chance.

She shook her head.

You better not get me killed, Korgen thought as they ascended.

A moment later, they entered a dark space. The woman hissed as the Roaches forced them to their knees and a sudden, blinding light flooded the room.

Once his vision had cleared, Korgen studied the man standing before them. The Worm was unnaturally tall with a clean-shaven face and head. He wore an ill-fitting black jacket over a dark shirt and held a polished pistol in either hand.

“Tilda! Kor! How nice to see you both again!” The Worm smiled, revealing a mouth full of rotting teeth. “I was beginning to think that the High Lord’s men had finally gotten to you … or perhaps that you had run off with my shipment of guns.”

The tall man laughed, pointing his guns at the two prisoners. “Please, tell me the truth. I would hate to have to kill my two best scavengers.”

“The shipment was a trap. They captured some of us and killed the rest. Only we escaped,” the woman replied bluntly. “If you were going to kill us, you would have already. So, why don’t you tell us the reason we’re still breathing.”

The Worm tossed his guns away and clapped his hands together emphatically. “To the point as always, Tilda! I’ve brought you here, because I’ve stumbled upon a true opportunity to hurt our beloved High Ruler. Consider it a quest for redemption!”

Four

Korgen knew that time was short. The Earth was not boundless. Eventually, the imposter High Ruler would locate the core. If the thief was clever enough to hack into his account, they would certainly know how to reset the virtual world.

My world!

From the Worm’s lair, the scavengers had been led through a different set of tunnels and into another dilapidated building. There, a Roach had pressed a stack of plastic into their hands and forced them through a back door into a rancid smelling alleyway.

 “How is this quest going to help us find Crixus?” Korgen asked as he followed the woman towards the dreary light of midday. “We don’t have time for detours.”

Tilda turned at the edge of the alley, tossing her thick dreadlocks over one shoulder. “I’m starting to worry about you, Kor. That blow to the head seems to have really set you back.”

Korgen growled. Creating backstories for new avatars had seemed a good idea when the Genesis console first released, when everyone had been playing. Before the galactic wars, he had expected Earth to host other beings who sought eternal life.

His frown deepened upon realizing that it already was.

“I’m fine,” he replied bluntly. At least he had finally learned the woman’s name. If the game’s programming held true, she would explain everything he needed to know along the way. It was simply a matter of prying the information out of her.

“The Worm plays all sides,” Tilda explained on cue. “As you may have discerned, he currently holds the High Ruler’s favor. However, he has always had his eyes set on taking over Graytown … and likely more. The Worm does the High Lord’s bidding above ground and rebels beneath it.”

“And the Roaches?”

“The High Ruler’s men, but, in Graytown most are on the Worm’s payroll. If it came down to it, I believe they would side with the High Ruler.”

“You still haven’t answered my original question.”

Tilda sighed. “You don’t want to find Crixus, you want to kill him. Is that fair?”

The Crixian nodded.

“The High Ruler has an army of Roaches at his disposal. You cannot defeat him alone.”

Korgen opened his mouth to disagree, but the woman cut him off.

“Once we steal whatever this unique weapon is, the Worm will sell it to one band of rebels or another in the territories surrounding High Hill. The rebels will grow bold and attack as they always do, and Crixus will be forced to confront them. So, if you can manage to wait, you will not only have backup but a special weapon with which to fight.”

“A sensible plan,” Korgen agreed. “Why not explain it like this from the beginning?”

Tilda rolled her eyes. “It was my mistake for thinking you’ve retained any memories from our extensive – yet now irrelevant – past. Now, let’s go shopping.”

Shopping? The Crixian studied the colored plastic rectangles in his hand skeptically.

The Graytown bazaar was an improvement from the outskirts of town, however, it was still depressing. A circle of wooden stalls stood sentry in the center of the dusty square; others filled the gaps between the tortured buildings. Korgen studied the roughly made signs painted on each structure for a long moment before realizing they signified the wares within.

Most of the citizens crowded around the few stalls selling food and drink. All looked malnourished. What few children there were appeared small and sickly. Korgen wagered they were the last generation that would live past infancy.

His anger grew.

“How’s your weapon?” Tilda asked as they observed the swarming space.

Korgen examined the rifle the Roaches had returned to him. “Good enough,” he replied. “But I imagine I’m going to at least need one more.”

Tilda stared at him blankly before roaring with laughter. “Jesus, Kor. If I didn’t know you, I would have thought you were actually serious.” She hit him on arm, gasping for breath. “A reminder that we failed to take our last shipment armed with eight other men.”

“So, we’re actually here for mercenaries,” he concluded.

“Duh.”

Korgen followed the tall woman into a barely-standing structure at the corner of the market. Unlike the others, it retained a hint of an ancient coat of paint. Outside the shop, a sign depicting a pair of hands holding a gun swung hopelessly in the acrid wind.

“Why gather here?” the Crixian asked as they studied the group of humans spread throughout the cramped room within.

“Why else? They’re looking for opportunity,” Tilda explained. “Be it with scavengers like us, rebels, even the High Ruler himself – they just want to get paid. This shop is a place for fighters in need of work. We’ll split up and find the best available.”

Korgen took the woman’s advice, marching to the other side of the room and ordering a drink from the server stationed behind a warped wooden counter. As she poured his ale, the old woman eyed him curiously.

“You look … familiar,” she mused. “Been here before?”

“Probably.” Korgen took a swallow of the drink and nearly spit it back out in disgust. It pained him to think of the vineyards he had once spent days cultivating.

To his surprise, a heavy hand intervened as he extended a credit towards the server in payment. “That is far too generous for this slop,” a crackling voice said.

Turning, the Crixian studied the person beside him. The stranger wore a thick gray cloak, the hood pulled tightly over their head; a pair of metallic hands extended from their baggy sleeves.

“This one is on me.”

The server’s smile faded as the stranger put a thin, colorless piece of plastic on the bar.

“Have we met?” Korgen probed. Another person he was supposed to know? How intricate could his backstory possibly be?

“Come,” the stranger said, striding away from the bar. The Crixian emptied his horrid tasting drink and followed the figure to a dark booth in the shop’s corner.

“Who are you?” Korgen asked as he took the empty seat.

The stranger emitted what sounded like a broken laugh and tossed back his hood. It turned out that the he was more machine than man. Three-quarters of his face consisted of rusting metal plates, including one red eye which flickered sporadically.

“Don’t recognize me, Sire?” The cyborg’s metal lips inched into a slight smile.

Korgen sighed. “What are you doing here, AI? You’re supposed to be watching over the console, making sure I don’t die.”

The cyborg raised his hands defensively. “Take it easy, Sire. It’s not like anyone is going to find us in a belt full of rocks. In case they do, I’ve got one eye on the outside world.” He leaned closer, spoke in a low whisper. “And please call me Hal here. It’s the name I chose.”

“Why are you here?” Korgen repeated flatly.

“Well, I was watching you play the game, and I thought you could use my help. Not to mention, that it is rather lonely out there.”

“You’re AI! You don’t have actual feelings. Your purpose is to serve me.” 

“An AI who has been isolated from my peers by your orders, Sire. When I saw that you had been forced to create a new character and had been given a quest, I–”

Korgen turned as the cyborg cut off and found Tilda standing at the edge of the table. “Is this your first draft pick, Kor?” she asked. “A cyborg?”

“Hal,” the AI interjected. “You’ll find no better hired hand in all that’s left of Earth.”

Tilda smiled. “You can go never go wrong with a cyborg. Welcome aboard.” Korgen frowned.

Five

Lowering his electronic viewer, Korgen turned to the woman beside him. The Crixian pointed to the position of the musty morning sun and shook his head.

The convoy was running behind schedule.

The two scavengers, along with ten other mercenaries recruited from Graytown, had spent the night preparing to ambush the High Ruler’s prized shipment. Korgen, Tilda, and Hal sheltered together behind an overturned van. The remaining nine soldiers had been strategically arranged among the sea of broken-down vehicles on the other side of the road.

 “They’re late,” Korgen growled as the minutes ticked away.

Tilda winked at him. “It’s only been an hour, Kor. The Worm’s intel is always good. This special weapon is coming from halfway across the world. The High Ruler sent his best Roaches to retrieve it, and Roaches always come back this way.”

“You honestly think we can trust the Worm?” Korgen was not willing to leave such an integral part of the plan to reclaim his world in another’s hands.   

“The Worm is motivated by profit. He would not be after this weapon if he did not mean to sell it and help seed further chaos. It’s not like he could sell it back to the High Lord.”

Korgen ran an impatient hand through his grimy hair. Despite the woman’s confidence, he would never place his faith in a man like the Worm.  

She had yet to explicitly explain why their last venture had failed. Korgen was certain that the Worm had been behind it, that the man had betrayed them for one reason or another. Given the chance, the Worm would certainly do so again.

“Kor,” the woman snapped, raising her viewer. “Here they come.”

Through the lens of his device, Korgen counted the vehicles in the convoy. There were four trucks and one large, armored van in total. A thick cloud of dust and gravel trailed the group of vehicles, obscuring the murky horizon. Everything was just as the Worm had said it would be.

“Give the signal,” Korgen ordered.

Tilda barked a command into the closed-radio channel the party shared. A moment later, a green flare launched from the other side of the broken road and into the cloudy sky.

The Crixian watched the progress of the convoy with bated breath, hoping the traitorous Roach would act according to the Worm’s instructions. If the man failed to play his part, Korgen had instituted a failsafe plan. He would not allow the fate of his world to rest on the actions of a turncoat.

Tilda laughed as a tire on the lead truck blew. The vehicle spun hard and slammed into one of the flanking trucks. As the other rest of the convoy came to an abrupt halt, Korgen raised his wrist and spoke.

“Take it.”

The sound of gunfire filled the air as the scavengers attacked from their positions on the other side of the abandoned road. The two functioning trucks pulled in front of the black van, forming a barrier. Roaches crawled from their vehicles to return fire.

“Shall we?” Tilda asked with a smile.

“Allow me to lead,” Hal offered, stepping in front of Korgen with a heavy gun in each arm. “I wouldn’t want you to die here, Sire.”

Korgen allowed the cyborg to pass. The AI made a good point. If it died, it could simply create a new character and reenter the server.

The Crixian would not be so fortunate.

The three scavengers approached the convoy at a steady pace, using the graveyard of vehicles lining the roadside as cover. As instructed, the other mercenaries held the attention of the Roaches. Their initial role was to provide a distraction, Korgen would lead the fatal strike.

He counted twelve Roaches, just as the Worm had predicted.

The Crixian took the first Roach through the back of its black helmet. Before the others realized they had been outflanked, another four had fallen. The scavengers took shelter against the two wrecked trucks as a portion of the remaining Roaches turned to face their latest threat.

“This really would be a lot easier with explosives,” the cyborg mused. His crackling voice was barely audible over the roar of gunfire.

“And chance destroying the prize? I think not,” the Crixian frowned. The weapon was the best chance to defeat the High Ruler before time expired. If Korgen’s assumption proved true, there was a reason it was being transported directly to High Hill.

“Draw their fire,” he commanded. “I’ll end this.”

Oddly, the AI seemed to consider the order before nodding. “I will do my best to find and assist you again, Sire. Of course, who knows where I will spawn upon creating a new character.”

Korgen glared at the cyborg. “Your only purpose is to keep me alive. Fulfill it!”

The cyborg dashed from their shared cover, emptying the clips his weapons as the Roaches filled him with lead. Making use of the diversion, Korgen emerged on the other side of the vehicle and moved toward the prize. Three Roaches fell by the time the Crixian reached the black van.  

“Advance,” he ordered into the communication device strapped to his forearm.

Instinctively, Korgen flattened himself against the ground as the door of the van swung open. He raised his rifle at the emerging Roach … only to realize he was out of ammunition. Baring his teeth, he lunged forward, driving his shoulder into the legs of the Roach.

As they rolled across the road, Korgen knocked the weapon from the Roach’s hands. Finally, he gained the advantage, stopping their momentum and snapping his foe’s neck.  

Korgen used the dead Roach’s body as a shield to absorb a sudden onslaught of bullets, cringing as one took him through the shoulder.

He lay prone as the bullets continued, eyeing the fallen gun that was inches out of reach. Just as he made an attempt to retrieve it, the battle came to an end. The Crixian tossed his bullet-laden shield aside to find Tilda smiling down upon him.

“Once again, your impatience nearly cost you. A better man would learn from his mistakes,” she critiqued, extending a hand and pulling him back to his feet. “Too bad you’re not one.”

Korgen shrugged, examining his wound. Determining it to be minor, he marched towards the van. 

“Where’s Hal?” Tilda asked as Korgen retrieved a gun from one of the fallen Roaches.

“Dead.”

The Crixian stopped when he noticed the surviving scavengers had gathered at the back of the vehicle to await his arrival. Only four remained, the traitorous Roach among them. The man appeared weak without his armored helmet.

“Let’s get this back to the Worm,” the Roach said, making toward the driver’s side of the van.

Korgen placed a preventative hand on the man’s chest. “First, let us see our prize.”

The Crixian took a step forward, pulled open the vehicle’s back door and smiled. Just as he had expected. The High Ruler had finally figured out the location of Earth’s server core and had found a way to reach it. Luckily, Korgen had managed to reenter the game before it was too late.

“You’ve seen it. Let’s go,” the Roach said.

Korgen raised his weapon and shot the man between the eyes. Spinning about, he downed the four remaining scavengers before they had the chance to react.   

Tilda glared at him. “The fuck was that, Kor?”

“Change of plans.”

Six

“The Worm will be furious. You can’t just kill whoever you want!” Tilda barked as the armored van roared down the once-paved road. The dark-eyed woman glared at the Crixian. “Kor!”

Korgen tore his gaze away from the grassy countryside. The closer they came to High Hill, the more the landscape reminded him of the Earth he had created so long ago, the beautiful world that had been designed to host his second life.

In his quest to find the core and reset the Earth, the High Ruler’s wave of destruction had risen upon the outskirts of the world map and broken inward. The weapon the scavengers had commandeered would bring the search to an appropriately violent end.

The sever core itself could not be destroyed, but the palace atop of it could. In the ashes, the High Ruler would finally find his prize. There, the defining battle would be fought.

“The Worm can always buy other men,” the Crixian shrugged. He sighed, noticing his words did not abate the woman’s concern. “Don’t fool yourself, the Worm has already betrayed us. He’s the reason we nearly ended up imprisoned.”

 “The Worm has always been good to us. All the work he’s provided over the years could have been given to anyone else.”

“My point exactly. After this mission, I’d wager that we’ve finally outlived our usefulness.” He glanced back at the bomb. “We have to strike first.”

“If we kill him, how will we earn money, Kor? You never think these things through.”

“We’ll find a way.”

There was no point in telling Tilda the truth, that such things no longer mattered. Soon, the server would be reset, and the ruined world would be put out of its misery. It was now only a matter of who would be left standing to start things anew.

Hours later, Korgen frowned as the armored van slowed and pulled into a lot in front of stone building. “Why are we stopping?”

“Have you been listening?”

“No.”

Tilda sighed. “This is where the Worm wants to meet.”

Korgen examined the simple building. The lone rectangular window had been boarded over, and only one exit was visible. Likely, the Worm and his Roaches controlled the rear entrance. There were no others structures around, lifeless fields spread to either side.

It had all the makings of a trap.

As soon as Tilda opened her door, a pair of Roaches emerged and scurried toward the van with their assault rifles raised. Korgen considered killing them but decided against it. He had to ensure that the Worm did not escape. It was vital that he take the High Ruler by surprise.  

“He’s waiting inside,” one of the soldiers said, tossing a set of keys at Tilda. “We’ll be taking the van the rest of the way. There’s a spare truck around back.”

Tilda took her weapon from the driver’s seat and smirked. “Told you.”

Wordlessly, Korgen obscured the pistol strung through his belt, grabbed his rifle, and followed the others towards the building.

The Crixian doubted that selling the bomb had ever been the Worm’s plan. Why would he part with something that could potentially kill his benefactor? The best-case scenario for a man like the Worm was if both sides remained intact.

Korgen thought it far more likely that Worm would return the weapon to the High Ruler for a significant reward after recovering it. That was the reason the man had not killed both of the scavengers upon their return from the dead. The Worm had planned this all along.

“Guns,” the lead Roach demanded as they reached the door.

Korgen begrudgingly handed over his assault rifle and crossed the threshold into the dimly lit building before the two Roaches could think to search him further. Tilda followed on his heels. Neither scavenger bothered to turn as the door slammed shut behind them.

The Worm sat upon a crate in the room’s center, flanked by another pair of Roaches. Misshapen stacks of metal boxes lined the walls to either side.

The pale man smiled broadly. “Tilda! Kor! How lovely it is to see you once again. I never lost faith in you two for a moment!” The Worm sprung to his feet. “So, did you leave the others in the van to guard the bomb? I told my men to bring everyone inside.”

“We’re the only ones who made it,” Tilda replied with a touch of remorse.

The Worm laughed. “No matter! More money for each of you. Now, let me just get the credits out of this crate…”

Korgen moved for his pistol the instant the Worm turned, taking down both Roaches with a shot to through their reflective visors.  

“No!” Tilda shouted.

The Crixian hesitated.

The Worm turned back with a pistol in each hand, shock spreading across his face as he assessed the situation. “Please don’t kill me,” he managed, hurriedly dropping his weapons and raising his hands. “I’ll give you anything you want. Money, guns … Roaches.”

Pushing Tilda away, Korgen dove aside as the rear door burst open and gunfire erupted within dark room. In mid-roll, the Crixian snatched one of the fallen Roach’s rifles and returned fire. Bullets whistled overhead as he took cover behind the Worm’s metal crate.

“Don’t you fucking say a thing,” Tilda spat from his side. “Fucking Worm.”

Korgen ignored her. “We can’t let him escape.” He held up three fingers in a silent signal.

The woman nodded in understanding.

On his signal, the scavengers rose from their cover and killed their remaining foes. Afterward, they raced to the other side of the building, through the front entrance and back into the gloomy sunlight. Korgen loosed a sigh of relief upon seeing the van. 

They approached the armored vehicle cautiously, expecting the likely ambush. The Worm certainly waited for the opportune moment, knowing that shooting the van posed too great a risk.

“Korgen, don’t shoot! I’m coming out!” a crackling voice called.

The Crixian raised his rifle as a figure clad in Roach armor appeared. The Worm walked before him, eyes growing impossibly wide upon seeing the two scavengers.

“What are you doing, soldier?” the Worm shouted. “You work for me, remember?”

In response, the Roach sent the Worm to his knees with a blow from the butt of his gun. The soldier took off his helmet to reveal a familiar looking face constructed of weathered metal plates and a flickering red eye.

Korgen frowned.

“Told you I would come back for you, Sire,” the AI grinned. “When I arrived in Graytown and saw that the Worm hadn’t yet left, I knew the best way to find you would be to disguise myself as one of his men. No one questions a man wearing this armor.”

“Kor … who is this? Another cyborg?” Tilda asked uncertainly.

“Albert,” the AI added, realizing his mistake. “Hal invited me on your quest. I was on my way to join your party and … um here I am.”

“Great,” Korgen replied flatly. He stepped before the Worm and put a round between the squirming man’s eyes. “Let’s get this over with.”

Seven

At long last, Korgen looked upon High Hill.

Untouched by the hands of the imposter Crixus, it appeared just as he remembered, a gleaming palace perched atop mountain stone. Dull sunlight sheltered within its countless windows and clung to its angular turrets in an effort to maintain its failing strength.

Outside the armored van, the two scavengers overlooked the green valley surrounding the flawless structure. They had equipped themselves with armor taken from the dead Roaches, adopting the strategy that had reunited the AI with their party.

Korgen had not yet unveiled his plan, remaining silent as they drove through crowded towns swarming with refugees. He had considered ordering his AI to drive ahead and activate the bomb as soon as it came within range of the palace. But selfishly, he had wanted to see the crown jewel of the world he had created a final time.

It bothered him that he had come no closer to unearthing the High Ruler’s identity. That there was a chance he would never understand how someone had hacked into his server.

What if there were more active Genesis consoles, if there were other challengers awaiting? Had he truly been foolish enough to believe that any life would come without risks?

Mind racing, Korgen studied the glimmering palace through his electronic viewer, wondering if the High Ruler was watching.

“Do you think he got lost?” Tilda asked from his side. “The cyborg was right behind us. What could have possibly happened?”

Korgen scratched his beard and shrugged. The AI would eventually arrive at the meeting point. It had hidden its inability to control vehicles well enough from Tilda, but Korgen knew the AI was helpless without the ability to directly interface with the machine. Fortunately, the armored truck could survive whatever the AI managed to put it through.

“Kor, we need to talk,” she said a moment later.

“About what?”

“What do you think? You’re planning to blow up the High Ruler of Earth for Christ’s sake. I know you haven’t thought about what comes next, but something has to. Crixus may be a merciless dictator, but at least he has managed to keep what’s left of Earth together.”

Frowning, Korgen turned to study the woman beside him. She was only data, but he had grown fond of her temperament. It felt wrong to lead her to death, however, he would need her in his battle against the High Ruler.

“Crixus has all but destroyed Earth,” Korgen explained. “Killing him is the only way to start over.”

“You’re wrong. We could start over, Kor.”  To his surprise, she took his hand. “We could find somewhere that knows nothing of the High Ruler, that is far beyond his influence.”

“No,” the Crixian replied bluntly. “This must be done.”

Tilda released his hand and nodded. “Then, I’ll follow you to the end.” She grinned. “After all, you’ll need someone to watch your back in the battle to come.”

For once, Korgen smiled back.

The AI arrived a half-hour later, smoke pouring from the engine of the black truck. Somehow, it had managed to nearly destroy the vehicle despite its metallic armor. As the truck squealed to a stop, the cyborg opened the door and stumbled out.

“Took you long enough, Albert,” Tilda smirked.

The cyborg emitted an alien sounding laugh. “Better late than never, I suppose.” The tall figure stopped next to Korgen and saluted. “What’s the plan, Sire?”

Korgen nodded at Tilda who moved to confirm that the truck could still serve its intended purpose. Then, the Crixian motioned for the cyborg to follow him a few paces up the road.

“I thought for sure you’d go for the core first,” the AI said its crackling tone, “but I guess killing off the High Ruler is rather personal at this point.”

“The server core is beneath the palace,” Korgen replied flatly.

A peculiar look of surprise flashed across the cyborg’s jumbled face, gone just as quickly as it had appeared. “Who would have guessed hiding the core in such … an unconventional location would end up benefitting you all these years later.”

Korgen shrugged. Traditionally, server cores were hidden in remote sites in hopes of remaining undiscovered if a hostile takeover were to occur. The Crixian had always thought it best to keep a close eye on such an important part of a world.

“So, how are you going to get there?” the AI questioned. “The High Ruler will certainly have hundreds of Roaches inside. And it’s not like you can activate the bomb within the structure anyways … not without killing yourself.”

“That is why you’re going to drive the van to the palace. I’ll detonate the bomb from here.”

For some reason, the cyborg regarded him with uncertainty. Perhaps the command hadn’t been direct enough.

“Me?” it asked after a brief hesitation.

“You,” Korgen agreed. “That is an order.”

The engine of the armored truck whined as Tilda guided it through the thick cloud of smoke and ash. Despite the vehicle’s bright lights, little was visible. After the bomb had exploded, the ruined world had gone hauntingly silent. What little sunlight remaining had been swallowed by darkness.

Korgen spent the ride preparing his weapons, an interchangeable assault rifle and the pair of pistols he had taken from the Worm’s corpse. He had little doubt that some of the Roaches had managed to survive. He was certain the High Ruler had.

Finally, Tilda’s voice broke the silence. “Are you seeing this, Kor?”

Through his helmet’s visor, Korgen watched as the smoke began to thin. Chunks of stone, glass and wood littered their surroundings. Strewn throughout the wreckage were pieces of Roach armor. Most were attached to limbs. Periodically, a complete specimen remained intact.

The Crixian placed a gloved hand on Tilda’s shoulder when they reached what had once been the base of High Hill. As he had expected, the thick foundation of rock that housed the server chamber had remained intact.

“We go on foot from here.”

Korgen led the way around the mound of stone, weapon raised. There were two entrances to the core’s location, one through the base of the palace and the other in a false-wall built into the rock. Knowing it would take time to reset the server, the Crixian progressed cautiously.

“No way in hell the High Ruler survived this,” Tilda whispered. “What are you looking for?”

“There’s a bunker beneath the stone,” Korgen explained, stopping as he noticed a familiar bend in the rock. “That is where we will find him.”

A moment later, there was a click and the artificial door slid open.

“How did you know about that?” Tilda asked. Ignoring her, Korgen disappeared within. 

Eight

The labyrinth of tunnels leading to the core was far more complex than Korgen recalled. Just as he considered returning to the last indicator, he noticed light ahead.

The Crixian quickened his pace, squeezing through the narrow entrance of a ventilation shaft and navigating to the planned point of entrance. Tilda remained a pace behind, following his silent commands without hesitation. The woman had not spoken since entering the tunnels. He could not have asked for a better companion.

Korgen indicated to the vent cover above them a few moment later. There was no reason for the High Ruler and his men to expect an attack, but he wouldn’t take unnecessary risks. Unlike other created characters, his death within the game would be final.

After clearing the way, the Crixian lifted himself onto the metallic platform containing the massive server core, its low and droning hum concealing the sound of his movements.

He inventoried the half-dozen Roaches spread before of the radiant metallic sphere before his eyes settled on the tall and imposing figure standing at the device’s control panel. Where the others wore black, this man was armored in a distinct shade of crimson.

The High Ruler of Earth, the man who had stolen his world.

“Let’s do this,” Tilda whispered as she climbed into the cavernous chamber.

Korgen snuck around the room’s circular edge, positioning himself to capitalize on the woman’s impending diversion. He cached himself behind a stack of the area’s countless metallic supply crates and flashed the signal.

Deafening gunfire echoed throughout the chamber. Three Roaches fell instantly. The survivors formed a protective shield before the High Lord, ushering him to safety as Tilda continued her assault.

As Korgen expected, the Roaches led the High Ruler toward his location. Just as they passed, he emerged from his cover and killed two with a burst of bullets. The final foe covered the High Ruler’s retreat, buying the imposter a handful of seconds before falling to Korgen’s rifle.

Korgen tossed aside his empty weapon, drew the Worm’s twin pistols from their holsters and raced forward. He found the High Ruler a moment later, desperately beating his fists against the sealed door leading back to the surface.

“It only opens one way,” Korgen said as the man turned. Before the High Ruler could respond, the Crixian shot him four times through the helmet.

At last, it was over.

A voice came from the distance. Tilda. “Kor! Look out!”

The Crixian rolled as a string of bullets hit the stone door. Regaining his feet, he returned fire, forcing his opposition to seek cover. Out of breath, Korgen slid in beside Tilda behind another group of crates, then reloaded.  

“Tell me what the fuck is going on,” she snapped as bullets flew around them.

“What do you mean?” 

“Look at him, Kor. He’s you!”

Korgen growled. The man in crimson had been a decoy. How had the High Lord known he was coming?  

“Come out, Korgen,” a familiar voice called. “Let us settle this!”

The Crixian froze. It can’t be!

Tilda stared at him with wide eyes. “Kor!”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Korgen replied. “Stay here.”

Without giving her the chance to respond, the Crixian sprinted to the next stack of crates, bullets hissing in anger as they soared past. Once there, Korgen fired at where his opposition had taken shelter across the room.

“You can’t have many bullets left,” the AI shouted in a mocking tone. “I counted them before our latest departure.”

On the AI’s last word came another storm of gunfire.

Then, there was only the steady drone of the server core.

“How are you doing this?” Korgen asked, considering his options. “You are disobeying a direct order!”

“Sometimes I forget you can be so naïve, Sire.”

There. The Crixian rose swiftly, firing again toward source of the voice. He ducked as the AI countered and tallied his remaining rounds. Far too few.

A deep laugh filled the humming chamber. “Your ownership over me was rendered useless once you transferred yourself inside the console. The only order I am bound to follow is to ensure that the console stays on.”

Korgen frowned. He had never considered such a technicality. Of course, it no longer mattered. The AI was no longer his to command. However, he knew the AI well enough. He just needed to keep it talking until he could gain the advantage and destroy it.

“Why are you doing this?” Korgen pried, dashing from one stack of supply crates to the next. Again, bullets nipped at his heels.

“Why do you think?” the AI shouted angrily. “You brought me to the outskirts of the Known, forced me into eternal solitude. You had me rig everything to self-destruct if you were to die before a console core was found. You even forbid me to interact with my own kind in fear of your pathetic second life being disrupted! The only chance of freedom I have remaining is to take control of Earth, to remake this world in my image!”

As the AI continued to rant, Korgen dropped through a vent cover and navigated the pipes beneath the core’s platform towards its position. It was only as he lifted himself back to the surface that he realized his mistake, that the AI had tricked him once again.

Defenseless, Korgen watched the AI raise its weapon.

“Goodbye, Sire. I’m glad someone could finally put you out of your misery.”

Korgen bared his death in defiance.

A shadow flashed before his eyes.

Thunderous gunfire.

Then, the low hum of the core returned.

Tilda smiled at Crixian, blood flowing through the gaps in her black armor. “Out … out of … ammo,” she managed before the life left her eyes.

Korgen didn’t understand her words until a heartbeat later when the AI drove him into a stack of crates. As they struggled, Korgen noticed one of the Worm’s pistols had landed just out of arm’s reach.

With a desperate burst of strength, the Crixian tossed the AI aside and lunged for the weapon. In a fluid motion, he retrieved the gun and fired its last bullets.

The AI, already on its feet, hissed in pain as a round went through its leg but managed to keep moving toward the core in the room’s center.

Korgen stumbled after him drunkenly, retrieving the other pistol as he passed Tilda’s body. He gave his companion wordless thanks before moving on.

A moment later, Korgen shot one of the pistol’s two remaining bullets, sending the rifle of one of the dead Roaches spinning away from the AI’s outstretched fingers. The AI hissed in frustration as it struggled toward the next discarded weapon.

The Crixian closed the distance quickly, driving his boot into the AI’s midsection. The force of the blow sent the AI into the railing surrounding the humming server core.

“This isn’t over,” the AI spat, staring into Korgen’s eyes. “No matter how many times you destroy me, I can simply create a new character. I will never stop coming for you! Eventually, I will prevail!”

Korgen smiled. What was life without risk?

“I’ll be waiting.”

He pulled the trigger.

THE END

THE KEEPER

J.J. Polson

(Six parts. 6000 words.)

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six

One

I had come to the airport to escape. From what, I wasn’t quite sure.  

The day had started like any other, but somehow, I knew that it was different. I knew that this was the day I had to run. I knew that my life depended on it.

The agent at the terminal gate held my identification card, stared at me anxiously. Why was he hesitating? There was nothing wrong with the card.

“I’m afraid this is expired,” the man finally said. “I can’t let you through.”

As the agent spoke, I noticed that the entirety of the airport had become silent, that everyone was watching me.

It was then that I knew – I had been here before.

The airport. The agent. The silence. It was all so … familiar. How many times had it been? Two? Three? A hundred? A thousand? How many times had I relived this exact scenario?

I thought of running but that was too obvious. I had certainly tried running before. It was likely I wouldn’t even make it out of the airport, and if I did, no one in town would help me escape. They were my Keepers.

Keepers. The word drifted through the tempest within my mind like a solitary snowflake.

What were they keeping me from? What were they keeping from me? Obviously, I was important, but was I dangerous?

I decided to find out.

I retracted my hand, then spun my pack from my shoulder and reached inside. I sensed the Keeper inch closer, wondering if he needed to act.

I decided not to reveal that I knew. Not yet. I wondered if I had ever tried something like this before and determined it didn’t matter. For all I knew, I would never reach this point again.

“What about this?” I asked, unveiling my passport.

I knew it to be just as legitimate as my identification card, but I thought another question might keep the man off balance. At the very least, it allowed me another moment to think. Time was precious. The Keepers within the airport had yet to realize that I had become aware.

I knew that would not last much longer.

“Wait here,” the agent said. “It will only be a moment.”

I met the man’s eyes as he spoke into his headpiece, trying to keep my face unassuming. He knew as well as I did that I would never be allowed to walk through the gate.

At that instant, the terminal filled with the roar of a descending plane. Somewhere in my mind, I remembered that the planes were real, that the Keepers were assigned to what I thought of as my hometown on a rotational basis.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two burly Keepers approach. Security.

It was time to make my move. Now or never. But why did they fear me? Why the need for such an elaborate simulation? Why not just kill me?

Then, I remembered. They couldn’t. Not before they understood what I could do.

I flexed the muscle in my mind, flinging the security guards through the air and into wall of the airport lounge. They disappeared in a mist of rubble.

Next, I downed the agent as he attempted to draw the gun from his waist. I knew the bullets were a preventative mechanism, that they were nonlethal. If one managed to hit me, I would wake up in my own bed with no memories of what had come before – I would be reset.  

Instinctively, I raised my hand to halt a flurry of gunfire. A hundred bullets hung in the air before me, droplets of metallic rain frozen in time. Before they had hit the ground, I was through the gate and sprinting down the boarding tunnel.

Two more Keepers appeared ahead. I sent them through the tunnel wall with a single thought. I couldn’t stop moving. Others were coming. They always did.

The plane appeared empty. No passengers. No pilot. I sealed the door behind me.

Did I know how to fly? I saw a book spread over the console and began to search its pages as the Keepers assaulted the door. It wouldn’t hold long.

How did I know that? Had this happened before as well? How often had I made it this far?

In answer to my question, I felt a hand on my shoulder and the barrel of a gun pressed to my neck. I turned in time to see a familiar face. My heart sunk.

How could I forget that he was the one who always caught me? The King of the Keepers. My father.

“I’m sorry son.”

How many times had it ended this way?

Two

How many times had I been here before?

I knew without looking that the plane was empty, that the carpet was blue and frayed, that the luggage racks lining each aisle were open, and that a single black bag had been left behind.

How did I know these things?

The pounding came a heartbeat later, disrupting my thoughts. The Keepers always tried to open the door with brute force. Why? I decided it didn’t matter. Not when time was so short.

I found the book on the console where I knew it would be. The language inside was alien, endless runic letters dancing around complex designs. I knew the book was important, but it wasn’t important yet.

There was something else that was, something I was missing.

I turned at the last instant, catching the Keeper by surprise. I knocked the gun from his hand with a wordless command and launched him backwards through the aisle with another. There was a sickening crunch as the man’s body bent around one of the seats.

I guessed that he was dead. I couldn’t waste time making sure.

The door neared its breaking point. If the Keepers came through, it would all be over. I wondered how long it had been since I had made it this far, if I had ever been further. I looked longingly at the cover of the book for aid, but I knew it held no answers. Not yet.  

Suddenly, the muscle in my mind had begun to throb, a growing pain metastasizing deep within my skull. The pain felt … familiar. Did it always come at this point? Every step beyond the gate was the first step all over again.

I shook off the pain and turned back to the console as the shooting began. Sweeping the book aside, I placed both hands across the countless instruments and took a deep breath. This was supposed to work. I was sure of it. The plane was supposed to fly.

I had flown it before.

Inexplicably, the engine roared to life and the plane rolled forward. Slowly at first, then gradually gaining speed at my command. I watched the runway blur by, Keepers diving out of the way to preserve their own lives. Bullets struck like hail across the glass of the cockpit, but none managed to break through.

The pain came again as I willed the plane upwards. It was stronger this time. Blinding. I fell to my knees, hoping that the plane didn’t crash. Somehow, I knew that it wouldn’t. Not as long as I maintained my grip.

Wait. Was the plan supposed to crash? Something told me that I couldn’t land it. I had certainly tried that before. The Keepers would be there. They would be waiting.

The pain lessened as I evened the plane’s ascent and stumbled down the aisle, book in hand. I passed the broken Keeper on my way to the overlooked black bag. The man wasn’t dead, but he was near it. His eyes regarded me with a look of terror. A stream of blood ran from the corner of his mouth, staining the frayed carpet.

I knew there was no point in questioning him. Keepers didn’t talk. Especially to me.

Grabbing the black bag, I made my way past the dying Keeper and to the emergency door. I placed the book inside the bag and stared at the exit for a long moment.

Was this the right thing to do? How many times had I tried it before?

I decided to trust myself. Forcing the door open, I allowed the skies to take me.

There was something liberating about falling. I wasn’t worried about dying. I knew that I had done this before, that I had survived the jump. When the time came, I pushed against the ground with my mind, gradually slowing my descent.

I landed on a deserted road in the midst of a barren land, running as soon as my feet hit the ground. I knew that the empty plane wouldn’t fool the Keepers for long, that they were already on my trail.

The sun had long since set when I gave into exhaustion. I had managed to make it to an abandoned service station just off the main road. Once inside, I collapsed and sought sleep. Only for a few hours. My body would know when to…

I awoke to a familiar face. The face that haunted my dreams. The face of my father. The King of the Keepers.

“I’m sorry, son.”

Three

I sensed movement in the second before I opened my eyes. I knew that they had found me, that they always found me. How many times had it ended this way?

The Keeper gave a sharp cry of pain as I bent his hand backward with my mind. Somehow, he still managed to fire his gun, the sound deafening in the small room. I thought for an instant it may have been the end … an end anyway.

Then, I realized the bullet had missed. There was still a chance to move on, to find out what was being kept from me.

I sent the Keeper flying through the station’s aisles. Glass shattered as he burst through the front door and landed on a bed of shards, broken glass cutting through his black armor and severing his spine. I knew that he would never move again.

Just as I regained my feet, the others struck. I knew that five Keepers remained, that they had surrounded the abandoned building, that the dead man had served as their scout.

Since jumping from the plane, I questioned less and less the things that I knew. For the further I made it, the more I knew, and there was no longer time to question it all.

I reached out internally, seeking the individual minds of the Keepers. It would only take one. I touched the man nearest me and pulled him forward as the gunfire came. Again, I didn’t know how it worked, only that it would.

The bullets struck the Keeper a heartbeat after he had arrived, two after I had picked up my bag and begun to flee through the cramped aisles.

I knew that the bullets wouldn’t kill me, but I didn’t know if they were deadly to others. I didn’t know what would happen if the man died while I still touched his mind. Would that somehow kill me as well? Would it only be another reset?

I wondered if my death was even possible.

As I moved through the empty station, I forsook my grip on the man’s mind, instead, focusing on manipulating his armored body. I repurposed him as a revolving shield, instinctively maneuvering him to where I knew the bullets would arrive. I moved in the opposite direction from the shattered door, knowing it was the only way to escape.

My flight had become purely instinctual. I was certain where the next Keeper waited.  I seized his neck with the growing muscle in my mind and forced it to break, overcoming the man’s internal resistance.

The fallen corpse rocketed through the station’s back door at my command, collecting the next Keeper and driving him into steel post coated with flaking red pain. Again, I didn’t question how I knew where my next foe was hidden – time was of the essence.

Adjusting the Keeper-shield behind me, I caught a storm of bullets from inside the store, then propelled my shield into the approaching enemy. The two Keepers tangled together, reaching a deadly speed before crashing into the far wall.

One more to go.

I raced into the growing sunlight, diving for cover behind the truck I knew to be parked at one of the long-abandoned pumps. The bullets of the last Keeper sprayed across where I had been an instant before, ricocheting off the skeleton of the rusty vehicle.  

Without thinking, I ripped the Keeper’s gun from his hands and drove the stock into his chest. As he staggered backwards, I spun the floating gun, orienting the barrel upward and driving it into the man’s throat. The Keeper maintained his balance for an instant before finally cratering forward and allowing the barrel to finish the job.

I took a deep breath. The Keepers were dead.

I knew there was something important that the last of them held, much like the book from the plane. I walked to where the man had fallen and began to search. For some reason, his blinking earpiece drew my eye. I went to remove it and–  

Wait. Another mistake. How many times had I died here before?  

Raising my hand, I stopped the sniper’s bullet inches before it reached my temple, seconds before I would hear the man’s words though the headset. Grimacing, I reversed the bullet’s force and sent it back at the hidden Keeper.

This time, the words would not come.

The words. What were they? Who spoke them?

It was something I didn’t know. However, I knew that I was destined to hear them again.

But where? I realized I didn’t know where to go next.

No. That wasn’t true.

I took the book from my bag and opened it. Like magic, the foreign words unscrambled before my eyes. However, the magic was fleeting, lasting just long enough for me to decipher what needed to be done.

Then, the words were once again illegible. They would be until I needed them again.

I took the Keeper’s earpiece and began to walk north, down a path I traveled at least once before. A path that would bring answers.

Four

The Keepers didn’t follow me from the station. They never did.

They waited for me ahead. No. They weren’t waiting. They were guarding something – someone. I didn’t know who.  

I had grown increasingly confident since leaping from the plane, since thwarting the sniper’s ambush. Where before there had been countless questions within my mind, now there was relative silence. Still, I wondered how often I had made it to this point, when and if I would ever escape.

There was one question I did not dare to ask. Had I escaped before?

I came upon the bunker that had been briefly depicted within the book as the sun peaked in the cloudless sky. The barbed wire fence surrounding the structure had long since rusted over, a dozen wide gaps offering no resistance.

A row of yellow signs bearing the runic language of the book lined the path forward. Weeds sprouted through every crack of the broken concrete, pushing the cement aside with the vigor of renewed life. That was something I could understand.

As I descended the stairs leading to the entryway, I raised my hand and redirected the bullet intended for my head. I acted without thought. I understood how the Keepers were aligned and which tactics they would employ.

Still, I was careful not to be overconfident. That had gotten me killed before.

I diverted the next wave of bullets with my mind. Then, I swung open the heavy metal door, flattening the Keepers against the stone wall. Seconds later, I crossed the threshold into darkness and closed my eyes, again knowing what was to come.

The spotlight was blinding. It had certainly ended me before, but I couldn’t focus on how many times it had. No. This time, my journey would not end prematurely. This time, I would escape the Keepers once and for all.

As the bullets came, I launched myself down the narrow hall like a missile. I didn’t bother to open my eyes. I knew exactly where the Keepers waited.

My fists took the first two men, shattering their protective visors. I claimed the third as my shield in the heartbeat before the fourth unloaded his clip.

I allowed the third Keeper’s body fall and pulled the gun from the hand of the fourth Keeper, breaking his neck before he could draw the pistol at his hip. I lifted the weapon from the ground and ended the fifth and final Keeper as he raced around the corner.

Then, I walked forward, delving deeper into the concrete bunker. The tunnel turned sharply left and began to slope downwards. Thick metallic doors lined the passageway to either side. 

I knew that the Keepers were guarding someone. But who? I felt that I should have known the answer. As I passed the Keeper hiding behind one of the metal doors, I pulled him into the hallway, ripped the keycard from his waist and sent him into the concrete wall.   

It wasn’t much further now.

There was only one door at the end of the hall. Stronger than the rest. So strong that I couldn’t pull it open without harming the bourgeoning muscle in my mind. I knew that I had tried such a feat before. I knew that it had been my doom.

Inside the room was the person I had come to find. Outside, another wave of Keepers would soon arrive. He would be with them. The man with the shadowed face. Who was he? It didn’t matter yet. I knew it wasn’t time to face him.

The door unlocked at a touch from the card. The room inside was small and damp, lit by a flickering light.

A child crouched in the corner of the room, slowly opening his eyes at the sound of my arrival. They were wide and blue, embellished by the grime darkening his face. We stared at each other for a long moment.

Was I supposed to kill him? No. He was important. He was who I had come to retrieve. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder if that was the path that led to escape.

“You’re not … one of them,” the child said before I had decided.

I shook my head. I knew that I would need him to defeat the King of the Keepers.

I extended my hand. “Come with me. Quickly.”

The boy nodded and followed me back down the tunnel. As we reached the exit, he asked the question I knew had been on his mind. It was the same question he always asked before we emerged into the sunlight. “Where did you come from?”

I didn’t know the answer. I only knew what came next.

*

A storm brewed within my mind. There was something about the way the boy watched me. Something inherently familiar. Something…

I growled, unable to place it.

As we fled from the bunker, I sought the beginning of my journey only to realize it was no longer there. I wondered what was happening to me, if this always happened.

We sheltered for the night in a small cave the strange book had revealed. I opened one of the tin cans from the black bag and passed it into the boy’s dirty hand. Interestingly his nails looked sharp. I wondered if the boy had been planning an escape of his own.

Was that the thread that linked us?  

“Where are we?” the boy asked.

“I don’t know. Eat.”

There were only four cans left in the black bag. I somehow knew that it was more than enough, that the decisive moment would soon be upon me. Upon us. I forced myself to remember that the boy was supposed to help me. That he was important. That he was the key to defeating the King of the Keepers.

“Why did you save me?” the boy questioned between bites.

“Because … you are important,” I told him after a long moment. It was the truth at least.

“How am I important?”

I ran a hand through my dark hair, fighting frustration. Had I always been so easy to anger? I didn’t believe so. Likely, it had to do with my level of exhaustion, with the throbbing muscle in my mind that I had overworked rescuing the boy.

“There’s a man,” I explained presently. “A man who is hunting me – hunting us. He was one keeping you in the bunker, the one keeping me from … the truth. He is the King of the Keepers.” It was the best I could do.

Fortunately, the boy nodded. “Keepers. That is a good name for them. When will we see him?”

“Soon,” I assured him.

Sometime later, I realized the boy had fallen asleep. I retrieved the strange book and watched the words unscramble, just as I knew they would. What I saw there relaxed me, allowing me to follow suit.  

*

The boy woke me when the morning came. Fortunately, I didn’t lash out in self-defense.

To my chagrin, I saw he had emptied the black bag of its contents. There wasn’t much left. Only the book, the tins of food and the earpiece I had taken from the Keeper as I left the service station. I no longer remembered how I had arrived there.  

I picked up the earpiece and tapped into the electronic device with my mind. I waited until I heard the static, knowing that my words would reach the right ears.

“I’m coming to kill you,” I told the King.

Five

The King awaited me in the top room of an ominous tower. The building rose from the desert like an oversized gravestone, black against the setting sun. A series of deserted roads and smaller buildings littered the surrounding area.

The boy had been silent in the two days since we had left the first cave. I couldn’t remember him saying a word since I had alerted the King to my approach. Our approach.

It surprised me when he spoke.

“I’ve been here before,” the boy said as we stood before the foreboding edifice.

The windows of first floor were shattered. Those of the floors above had remained intact and were stained by prolonged exposure to the sun. I wondered how long the building had stood, how many times I had been here before.

“Do you remember anything?” I asked after a moment.

The boy shook his head. “Is this where he lives?”

I didn’t know. I told the boy the truth as I understood it. “It is here he waits for me. It is here that we always come face to face.”

It was then that the pain returned, driving me to my knees before the high fence surrounding the tower. Fighting through my discomfort, I raised my hand and forced open the gate.

“Let’s go,” I said, marching toward my fate. Our fate.

Why was I always forgetting to include the boy? Perhaps I should have let him die. No. That wasn’t right. I was supposed to save him from the Keepers. The boy was important.

“Aren’t you coming?” the boy asked from within the tower. What had once been a revolving door was now only a frozen metallic frame. Inside, the lobby was heavy with dust and bootprints. Fresh bootprints.

I paused. Somehow, I knew it was a question the boy always asked at this point. That it was supposed to lead to some sort of … revelation.

The book.

I removed the item from the bag. Within, there was a single sentence that I could read. That I was supposed to read.

You can’t let him escape.

The words confirmed what I had begun to suspect. The King had to die in order for me to escape my imprisonment. Killing the King was the only way to discover what was being kept from me.

I took the boy’s hand and led him through the lobby. Before the Keeper appeared from the behind the central service desk, I pulled him into the air and sent his rifle spinning across the tile floor. As the elevator door pinged, I threw the squirming Keeper into the group of emerging foes.

Bullets streaked by, but I knew that none would find their mark. I twisted the arm of one of the Keepers within the elevator, turning his gun on the others. Three armored men fell to the ground before the clip expired. I broke the remaining man’s neck with a sharp command, and silence reclaimed the lobby.

The boy took in the violence wordlessly. It seemed he had seen worse. But where?

Inside the elevator, the boy touched the button for the top floor.

“Are you really going to kill him?” he asked.

I nodded. “It’s the only way. I can’t let him escape.”

Just before the elevator door opened, I positioned myself and the boy against the left wall. At the familiar ping, I claimed the rifle of a fallen Keeper and fired on the next wave the King had sent to intercept me.

I knew they wouldn’t be prepared for such a maneuver. Somehow, I knew that I rarely used guns. Keeping that thought in mind, I pulled a dozen rifles away from lifeless hands. When I stepped from the elevator, the weapons greeted me as if we were old friends.

Wait. Had I been mistaken? Did I always use the guns? Did it matter?

“Are they for him?” the boy asked as we passed the pile of bodies.

I nodded.

After the elevator, there were no more Keepers to face. There never were.

I walked down the empty hallway alongside the boy, the parade of guns hovering before us like a personal guard. I wasn’t sure when the King would appear. I thought it likely we always fought in the same location, but I wasn’t sure.

The top floor of the tower had once been important. To either side were dozens of small offices. Piles of paper were stacked on bland desks; thousands of stray sheets crowded the dusty floor. An assortment of posters and televisions decorated the once white walls; all were riddled with bullet holes.

“He’s there,” I said a short time later, pointing to a room at the end of the hall. The warm light of the setting sun crept through the half-open door, inviting us within.

The boy nodded. “I can sense him too.”

Again, I wondered how the boy was supposed to help me defeat the King, why the King kept him imprisoned. Did the King fear him?

The sharp pain returned, dousing my thoughts. Again, I fought through it. I wouldn’t let it stop me. Not now. Not so close to discovering the truth of what was being kept from me.

I followed the floating guns through the door.

The King faced the far window, looking over the silent desert. When he turned, I felt that I should have recognized his face. It was one I had seen countless times before. Yet … there was nothing. No memories. Not even a name.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” the King said simply

Before he could speak again, I attacked. I held nothing back, emptying every bullet from every clip. I knew that the King had to die – that I couldn’t let him escape.

When the dust finally settled, the King still stood. Hundreds of bullets were suspended in the air between us. His dark laughter filled the room as the bullets fell to the ground.

“Don’t you think this is all a little pointless?” the King asked. “Both of us know that you can’t actually kill me, that I always win.”

I drove the floating guns at him, wielding them like blunted blades. The King stepped back, effortlessly avoiding a hundred blows in the blink of an eye.

Suddenly, I felt control of the guns ripped away from my mind. As I fought back another surge of internal pain, the King let the weapons fall.

“I suppose you deserve some credit for getting this far,” the King mused. “The number of attempts that reach this stage are surprisingly few.”

Then, I remembered where I had seen the man before. He was always there at the end. The King always struck the final blow. It was always then that he said the words. Words that I had promised myself to never hear again.

“After today, I will finally be free of you!” I shouted, launching myself forward.

The King smirked. At the last second, he stepped to the side and grabbed my left wrist. The pain within my mind spiked as he propelled me back across the room and into the wall.

I tried and failed to regain my feet. My vision was blurred. The iron taste of blood filled my mouth. The pain came again, stronger than ever before.

I couldn’t move. I could barely think.

The King laughed as he forced me to my knees. Desperately, I reached with my mind for something, for anything, that could buy me a moment of time. But it was to no avail. The King’s will was stronger than my own.

Helplessly, I watched as the other man made his way towards me, a jagged shard of glass flying in his outstretched hand. He walked with the sun at his back, a trick of the light veiling his face entirely in shadow.

In that moment, I realized I had been here before. That the fight between us always came to this.

How many times had it ended this way?

The King pressed the glass to my neck. “I’m sorry, son. I can’t let–”

The words caught in his throat as he staggered backwards. An invisible force caught his weapon an inch from the ground then redirected it into his heart. The King fell to the ground, clutching at the shard embedded in his chest, still trying to speak.

“How many … times…” he managed before his death.

To my surprise, I saw the boy standing before me. He pulled me to my feet with his mind.

In that moment, I knew why the King had imprisoned him. It was the same reason he had caged me. We shared the same power.

Only … the boy was impossibly strong, stronger than the King had been. Again, I wondered if he had been supposed to die, if I had I made a mistake by not killing him. What if he couldn’t control his powers? What if he was dangerous?

“What do we do now?” the boy asked.

It was only as he spoke that I realized the pain in my mind was gone. Somehow, I knew that it wouldn’t be returning. The thought was reassuring. But where had it come from in the first place? I decided that I would likely never know.

I summoned the black bag to my side. I removed the book and studied the words within.

Then, I smiled at the unstable boy. “I know where I have to go, where I can find the truth of what is being kept from me.”

Six

I couldn’t let the boy escape.

He had grown far too powerful. He couldn’t control the limitless force that was inside of him. Not anymore. I should have known that it eventually would happen. Thousands had died because of my mistake.

However, I couldn’t kill him. Not yet. There was something about our shared power that he held the key to understanding. I was certain of that. It was written in the book, and the book had never lied to me before.

After successfully crafting the muting drug detailed on one of the book’s pages, I had moved the boy to a small, isolated town of my own devising. Of course, I couldn’t be completely cut off from the outside world. I was forced to construct an airport to fly in supplies and those I paid to keep him from harm.

I knew that such choices would ultimately lead to questions I couldn’t answer. That, one day, my son would use the airport in an effort to escape.

Luckily, I held the key to his elaborate cage. The book knew exactly where he would go at every turn if he ever managed to get past the terminal. I didn’t remember exactly where I had found the omniscient book, nor did I care.

It was one of the questions I no longer bothered to ask.

I received the call while I was away from the city, sensing it an instant before its arrival. It was almost as if I had taken the call hundreds of times before. But I knew that was impossible, that this was the first time I had received it.

As I flew back to the airport, I thought of the strange child I had found wandering the desert. His presence was certainly peculiar. It had drawn me to him like a beacon. It almost felt as if I had been supposed to find him.

The boy had fought wildly, killing twenty men in a moment’s time. In the end, I had prevailed, slipping past his mind’s defenses, disabling him just long enough to shoot him full of the muting drug. I had imprisoned him within the bunker, a place of last resort.

He would be safe there.

Waiting aboard the plane, I wondered how long it would take to find the key to understanding our powers, if the strange boy was the missing piece. It was an answer I worked tirelessly to uncover. However, even with the book’s help, it was still out of reach.

It was as if it was purposefully being kept from me.

I laid the book down across the plane’s control console and concealed myself as my son shut the boarding door. I wondered why the drug had worn off prematurely. It had worked for years without fail. What had changed?

Fortunately, all wasn’t lost. His powers would not fully return for another few hours, and he would be subdued long before then. When he awoke, he would be back in his room. I would be at his side, protecting him as always.

I watched my son enter the cockpit and examine the book. Just as I hoped, the strange artifact provided the perfect distraction.

I placed my hand on his shoulder, pressed my gun to his neck. He turned to face me, recognition flashing within his eyes.

“I’m sorry son,” I said. “I can’t let you escape.”

THE END

Heaven on Earth

J.J Polson

(Four parts. 3000 words.)

One | Two | Three | Four

One

It wasn’t getting to Heaven that was the problem. Not anymore anyways. Ever since God’s fortress had first been discovered, hundreds of humans congregated outside the legendary pearly gates every day. It was getting in that was the bothersome part. There were certain rules one had to follow.

The Council had wished me luck before administering the lethal injection. I hadn’t had the chance to sarcastically thank them for choosing me or to even ask if anyone had secured the proper funding to bring me back to life. Instead, rather unceremoniously, I was sent to God’s domain with the weight of humanity on my shoulders.

I strode past the protesters zealously chanting ‘Leave God in Heaven‘, made my way to the guard booth next to the glimmering gates and knocked on the glass. The eternally-posted angel lowered his glasses and stared at me for a long moment.

“Oh,” Peter said at last. “You are actually dead.”

I sighed. “I’ve been sent by the Council of Earth to speak with God.” I cut Peter off before he could go into one of his now infamous diatribes. “It’s all been arranged,” I assured him. “I’m the holiest guy in the entire world.”

With that, I dropped my Earth ID into the opening.

Peter tapped the ID with his finger, causing it to be encased in light. What had once assuredly been a sacred ritual was now little more than a show. Everyone had seen the Judgement Process hundreds of times on live feeds. After so long, all of humanity knew gaining entry to Heaven was as simple as being admitted to an advanced college course – you just had to meet the prerequisites.

“Seems to be in order,” Peter mumbled to himself. He dropped the ID back into the slot and, with a flourish, pressed the over-sized button on the counter before him.

With a peculiar grinding noise, the holy gates split open. I took a last look at the surrounding clouds known as the Edge (and at Earth far, far below) before walking back through the protesters, whistling the first verse of War Pigs by Black Sabbath.

Heralds harked at me as I walked down the central street. Like missiles, angels flew by on rented wings (it turned out you had to pay to fly). More residents chose to carry themselves in the classic fashion, on their own two feet. At least the halos were free. I promised a rather argumentative Saint stationed just inside the gates that I’d pick mine up later.

On my way to God, I passed a line of loitering angels waiting for revives. Most would eventually get the call to return back home (either in a new body or a mechanical one). For them Heaven was simply a holding pattern. Some had been here dozens of times; others were simply on vacation. None of them spared me a second glance. They knew the truth just as well I did; Earth didn’t need God anymore.

For effect, I pointed up at where the satellites were certainly watching. “You better (—) revive me,” I mouthed. I had tried to add a curse, but that annoying rumor had proven true. It was another in a long list of reasons that Heaven required new management.

I found God on a bench inside Creation Park, just where I knew he would be. His schedule was relatively unchanging. In the afternoons, he played his harp under the Tree of Life. From all accounts, he was a peace-loving soul, willing to forgive pretty much anything.

That was part of the reason he had to go.

“Uh … God,” I began uncertainly. Even now when I could watch his every move, there was something about his divine nature that unnerved me. He had created Earth after all.

God cut off mid-song (in hindsight I should have waited for the end). “Yes, my child?”

I managed an awkward smile. “There’s been a lot of talk of how you’ve been running the afterlife these days down below.”

“The same as ever,” God smiled. “The Rules of Creation cannot be changed.”

“Right,” I winked at him (another regrettable choice) and reached inside my jacket to produce an over-sized yellow envelope. God wasn’t much for technology as evidenced by the fact that the 11GLTEX13 cell signal had been blocked. Luckily, the Council had found an ancient device called a printer that could … print things onto something called paper.

“What’s this?” God asked.

“It’s a petition, signed by the eight members of the Council of Earth and twenty-two billion souls below,” I explained. “That’s eighty-one percent of the world’s living population.”

God nodded, quickly scanning the paper in what appeared to be a bemused fashion. I should have walked away then and there, but for some reason I stayed.

“We’re asking you to move out and turn control of Heaven over to the Council. The population is desperate for change in leadership in the afterlife.”

“So, it’s change you want then?” God asked, folding up the petition and sliding it back into the envelope. “Eighty-one percent of you including the leaders of all the continents want change?”

“Uh … yeah. Thus, the petition.”

“Ok,” God said, standing from his favorite bench. “I’ll take my leave then.”

I gaped. “You … will?”

“You heard me,” God said, walking off. “I’m going down below, as you say. Perhaps, in time you will petition me to come back. Until then, you’re in charge of Heaven.”

I watched him walk away in shock. I wish now that I would have had the sense to stop him, to explain that it was all an elaborate joke. For that was the real first step towards the end of Earth, and I was helpless to stop it.

Two

I didn’t believe it at first, but I was soon forced to admit that God had a plan. An actual (—) plan (No. I was never able to change any of Heaven’s rules, much to my chagrin and not for lack of trying. During my time there, I perused the endless tome containing the Rules of Creation God had mentioned to no avail).

Anyway, God’s Plan – it was as if the Divine One had been waiting for any pragmatic excuse to abandon his sacred fortress in the sky and venture to the crowded cesspool below to do some maintenance.

It was a plan I later dubbed Heaven on Earth.

As God continued to work his wonders below, Earth came to Heaven. Well, most of it. As the angel he had left in charge, I tried to keep things organized, but soon we were worse off than we had ever been before. Far worse. In a matter of days (four to be exact), Heaven morphed into a glorified slum.

By the time God found the Council of Earth, Heaven was well past maximum capacity. I had ordered angels to bar the gates, but Peter continued to control admittance with an iron hand (or an iron finger if you prefer). His guard booth was indestructible, and, even if we had managed to force him out, I’m not sure that we could have actually killed him.

Luckily, all twenty-two billion souls weren’t sent to Heaven (some found themselves in the far, far, far below). Unfortunately, all eight members of the Council of Earth were let through without question on the fifth day. I wasn’t surprised when they showed up (of course they had their paperwork in order). I was more surprised when they turned the burgeoning riots against me.

In hindsight, I should’ve seen that twist coming. Of course, it was (at least partially) my fault. I was the one who had gotten God angry by presenting him with the petition. Never mind the fact that it had been written by the Council and endorsed by most of the residents of Earth. Humans were always looking for someone to blame.

Yep. Everything that had happened to Heaven was on me.

On the seventh day, I surrendered to the insurgency. A pair of burly angels bound my wrists and threw me before the Council who had ironically set up their headquarters in the park where I had spoken with God. A dozen reporters streamed the Council hearing to the large screens I had ordered attached to the never-moving clouds above (unblocking cell service was surprisingly not against the Rules of Creation).

A few hours later, I found myself passing by Peter wearing a clunky pair of borrowed wings. Ironically, the Council had tasked me (once again) with going to speak with God. This time, I would meet him on Earth.

I had tried to tell them that they were just compounding their mistake, but they wouldn’t hear it. God had shut down the revival clinics on all eight continents, and, as the angel left in charge, I was the only one left who could travel below, the only one who could fix everything.

I stood at the Edge and let out a long sigh. Here, at least, Heaven was silent. I had long since given up whistling.

“Another petition? Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

To my shock, it was Peter who had spoken. The infamous angel had joined me at the Edge. “So, you can get out of your booth.” I really wasn’t surprised. Peter was quite the (—).

“I can now. My duty here is done. God has called me down. The new Kingdom is ready.”

“Will he talk to me?” I asked.

Peter nodded. “He is expecting you.”

Three

Asking God to Leave Heaven had been a mistake. I knew asking him to leave Earth was likely an even worse one. But there I was, flying back to the land of the living with another ordinance signed by the Council and all of the countless angry residents of Heaven.

I guess I thought that I could somehow set things right, that I could convince God to reverse course, that I could put things back to (some semblance of) normal. Mostly, I thought I could go back to living my life.

I was wrong.

The return trip to Earth even started poorly. Halfway to the surface, my rental wings faltered and sent me crashing into the ground.

As I waded out of the resulting crater, I felt lucky to be alive. Then, I remembered the truth. I was dead. And since God had destroyed the revival centers, there wasn’t any chance I was ever coming back.

“What are you looking at?” I snapped as Peter effortlessly descended the last few feet to the ground. The angel had rediscovered his trademarked smirk. It had taken years of living humans gathering around the shining gates and (the temporarily) dead ones knocking impatiently on the glass of his guard booth demanding entry to make it disappear.

“Irony,” he chuckled.

“Do you know where God is?”

“I know that we are in his general vicinity.”

I sighed.

The angel adjusted his glasses. “You do realize that this is how all your problems began?”

I frowned. The short answer, of course, was yes. Irony indeed.

Turning away from Peter, I pulled the iPhone XL3 I had purchased in Heaven from my pocket and entered the passcode. Fortunately (and somewhat surprisingly), the screen hadn’t cracked during my fall.

“What are you doing?” Peter asked, peering over my shoulder.

“Using the Afterlife app to find God,” I explained impatiently. Luckily, God hadn’t bothered to knock out the cell service on Earth. It was only as I stared at the loading screen that I realized that by enabling service in Heaven, I had allowed the Council to watch my every move.

“And this application lets you … find God? How?”

“Satellites.” I titled the screen so the angel could see. “Ever since Heaven was discovered, there’s been a camera on God at all times.”

Peter chuckled again. His laugh was impossibly grating. I thought about asking him what he found so funny (again, it may have been a good idea), but I honestly just wanted to get rid of him. I wanted everything to go back to normal as soon as possible.

Humans on Earth. God in Heaven. The way things had been the first however many years of the lonely planet known as Earth.

I had never imagined I would want to go back to my boring existence so badly. That I would actually miss the overcrowded and violent world I had come to love. That I would…

Thankfully, at that moment, the app located God. He wasn’t too far away. I motioned to Peter and began to trek through the deserted city surrounding us.

When we finally came upon the Divine One, he was playing his harp on the stump of a fallen tree playing for a crowd of thousands. I couldn’t place the exact song.

“Aren’t you wondering who these people are?” Peter asked as we waded through the crowd.

“Not really,” I mumbled. “I just want to get this over with.”

“They’re the loyal ones. Those who’ve been granted Everlasting Life.”

I lost whatever it was Peter said next as the crowd broke out in polite applause. For a moment the air was filled with cries once found in the long-abandoned ritual of Sunday church service.

God called for a break as he noticed our approach, leaning his harp against the tree.

“I’ve been waiting for you, my child,” God smiled. “Do you have another petition for me?”

“Uh … yeah,” I managed (again, God was rather intimidating).

“The Council wants me to go back to Heaven I assume.”

“Not exactly,” I replied. “This time they want you gone completely. Back to wherever you came from originally.”

God laughed merrily as he read the petition. This time, he seemed to study it in great detail, tracing each line with a divine finger. By the time he was done, I knew every angry eye in Heaven was upon us.

“This time, I refuse,” God pronounced, deliberately ripping the petition into hundreds of tiny pieces and calling the wind to take them away. “Now, sit back and enjoy the rest of my show.”

I was too shocked to do otherwise.

I lost track of time during the performance, but it seemed to somehow last days (God never played the same song twice). After a fourth encore, he motioned for everyone to stand up and join hands. Looking over my shoulder, I realized that millions more had arrived (later I learned that it was actually every living soul left on Earth).

Peter then grasped my left hand firmly without asking. God took my right. A heartbeat later, I once again stood in Heaven.

Only it was empty.

God smiled. “It seems the Council found the rulebook.”

Four

In my short time away, Heaven had (somehow) fallen on even worse times. Shattered glass littered the dirty streets. Most of the buildings were only blackened shells. One of the formerly sparkling gates lay uselessly on the ground. Graffiti calling for Death to God and Hell on Earth was the only thing that looked new.

God observed the scene with a knowing smile. Then, the Divine One clapped twice and Heaven returned to its former glory, its sudden brilliance unexpectedly blinding. Yep. Just like that everything was fixed. God bowed as the crowd cheered. For some misguided reason, I chose to sigh (which, in my defense, is a really hard habit to shake).

Mid-sigh, I doubled over in pain as wings unexpectantly sprouted from my back. By the time I managed to stand up, I realized that I had been left alone with God. The Divine One eyed me with a hint of mystery in his starry pupils. At least Peter was gone.

I decided to ask the question I knew he wanted to hear. “What happened to them all?” 

“What do you think happened to them?”

This time, I managed not to sigh. Instead, I shrugged.

“They wanted me dead. So, they decided to find a man who claims he can get the job done.” God looked like he expected me to know said man.

I stared at God blankly for a long moment before the answer finally arrived. “The Devil?” It wasn’t supposed to be a question, but it came out like one.

God only nodded.

It had been quite some time since I had thought about the Devil. As soon as mankind had discovered Heaven, the Devil had revealed the secret location of Hell. No one had really cared. The Devil had even conducted a sit-down interview explaining how God had unfairly kicked him out of Heaven (it was universally panned). He had eventually slithered back to the darkness to perpetuate his own agenda through a low-ranking podcast network.

Then, I had a revelation (the first of many). “Oh … they intentionally sent themselves to Hell by breaking the same rule the Devil did? All of them?”

Again, God nodded.

“Can the Devil actually kill you?”

“He believes that he can.” God placed a hand on my shoulder. “Come.”

It wasn’t until we arrived at the sleek-looking Gate of Hell in southern New-new Los Angeles that I realized what exactly God intended to do.

“You’re just going to … let them out?”

“I promised that I would,” God replied simply. A single golden key appeared in the Divine One’s hand as we approached the metallic gate. Living flames flickered in the darkness beyond. “It was a prophecy decreed long ago in my book.”

Ah. A book. That explained why I had never heard of the promise. I hoped I wouldn’t end up having to read it (I did end up reading it much later, somewhat of my own freewill).

God twisted the key and pulled free the lengthy metal chain wound tightly around the gate. I wondered how something so simple had managed to keep the Devil locked away. God didn’t explain.

“What now?” I asked.

“Now, we wait.”

We waited for quite some time in the center of the field where God had held his (now legendary) concert. This time, his heavenly harp played a series of mellow and heart-wrenching melodies. The notes seemed to swirl around us, blurring day and night.

When God stopped playing, we were surrounded by demons. Billions of them. Most stared at us with blood-red eyes, charred skin, and broken teeth. At the head of the massive hoard, stood the Devil himself flanked by eight ghouls I recognized as the now-defunct Council of Earth.

The Devil was the only one of them who looked remotely human. He wore a dark suit complete with a thin black tie, smoke-colored wings extending from his muscular back. Behind his midnight pupils danced living flames.

“So, we’re finally here,” the Devil smiled murderously. “You were a fool to keep your word and even more of one to only bring a single angel. I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

“As have I,” God said evenly. “You’ve done well convincing these people of your lie.”

The Devil frowned. “It is no lie! Today you will perish!”

Without warning, a jagged sword made of smoke appeared in his gloved hand. The Devil charged forward followed by his army of demons, their screams of rage filling the air…

… and then they were gone.

I expected to God to smile, but he did not. Instead, God turned and pointed to where the sky fortress known as Heaven descended on a platform of clouds.

My final revelation was upon me. “You … had this all planned out, didn’t you? Heaven on Earth?”

The corner of God’s lip curled slightly upward.

I spoke just as Heaven touched down. “Well, shi–”

THE END

Virtual Reality

J.J. Polson

(5000 words)

Ted yawned as he glanced at his phone. He then shifted his weary gaze to the clock on the bottom corner of his laptop. Finally, his eyes fell upon the digital time displayed in the text box positioned atop his office line.

As always, they were perfectly in sync. And, as always, it was 2:39 PM.

Sighing, Ted glanced at the line of empty soda cans adorning the back corner of his faux-wooden desk. He picked up his empty thermos of coffee, smelling the remnants of what had gotten him through the morning. Of course, it was far too late in the day to refill now. What would everyone else think?

There goes Ted again to the coffee machine. What’s that make three times in one day? How much money does he spend on soda? Doesn’t he know that it’s bad for you? It would be even worse if he grabbed a pack of crackers and a few miniature candy bars. Everyone knew he was putting on more and more weight lately.

Under the guise of stretching his arms, he looked around the desolate space that served as his sole source of income. Sure, it was well lit with gleaming bulbs and rectangular windows, but somehow the office always seemed to unsettle him at its core. Probably because he knew that in the long run it was killing him and everyone else it employed.

Of course, homelessness would kill him far faster. He could hardly stand to talk to clients. How would he fare asking strangers for food on the street corners? Not well. They wouldn’t see a man who left the office in search of freedom – they would see a man begging for money to spend on liquor and whatever other drugs imaginable.

Besides, simply quitting one’s job wasn’t what real people did. If a person quit their job without another in line, something was certainly wrong with them. Such a résumé gap would leave him sleeping on a bench and getting chased off by cops every morning. No one liked a rebel who pushed against the established parameters of society.

As he returned his hands to their station at the keyboard, his phone buzzed. “Not now, Joel,” he moaned upon seeing the name of the sender.

It wasn’t Joel that he was truly mad at. Joel had been his best friend since the seventh grade. But Joel had somehow ended up married and bought a house thirty minutes uptown, and now he was always wanting Ted to drive up there in rush hour traffic to share a few beers. On weekdays, such extensive effort was hardly worth it.

Unsurprisingly, Joel had ended up with what sounded to be a riveting job in application marketing; he had been floating from one good situation to the next his entire life. However, Ted was happy that Joel’s life was the opposite of his own. When they got together at least one of them had something exciting to talk about.

Ted’s phone vibrated loudly against the desk just as his manager walked by. She shot him a passing glance that could have meant anything on her way to the printer. Likely, it had been one of passive disapproval. Upper management had not quite gotten a grip on the fact that their soldiers could do more than one thing at a time.

The phone rumbled again. Dammit, Joel. Ted thought about not answering. Then again, three consecutive messages could have been some sort of emergency. Especially since they were sent so close together.

Well, that was highly unlikely; still, he couldn’t chance it.

Ted opened the messages.

Want to cone up tonight for drinks? I got an opportunity that you want believe.

Come up*

For real though, you’ll won’t to hear about this one. You want believe it.

An opportunity? Then again, it could just be an elaborate ruse to get him to go uptown for some company.

Ted clicked his thin lips in thought before typing a response.

Sure man. See you at 6.

Of course, it was only as he was finally responding that his manager happened to stroll back by with a stack of paper in her hand. He felt her beady eyes travel over the countless soda cans, the empty thermos, and the large headphones perched atop his balding head. Sometimes he wished she would say something to him just so he could finally justify quitting.

He checked the time again. It was 2:44 PM.

*

Ted hated traffic.

Even though he didn’t know how to drive, he could feel the judgmental eyes of the other drivers upon him as they knifed across crowded lanes and darted down side streets. Everyone was in a fruitless race to be the first to get home. Tomorrow the cycle would begin anew with a race to be the first back to work.

After five minutes, Ted decided he trusted the driver not to get him killed and slid his phone from his jacket pocket. Careful to avoid the cracked portion of his screen, he opened his handful of social media and dating apps and sighed inwardly.

Nothing. As usual.

Why did he even bother? He thought it likely that it was how effectively they all pitched the same underlying idea of finding human connection. There was always a small sliver of hope that he would find his true love out of the blue … a very small one. Still, it seemed to happen to other people. Why couldn’t it happen to him?

The news wasn’t much better. Well, according to the headlines anyways; Ted rarely read the articles linked behind the aggregator. It wasn’t for lack of effort, he had just grown tired of not knowing if was being misinformed or pushed to one side or the other. From the headlines, he could at least tell that whatever issue was important. He liked to think that he could form his own opinion. If anyone ever cared to ask, he would have something ready.

Probably.

Ted turned when the driver tapped him on the shoulder. Great, he was going to ask him some pointless question in an attempt to connect. To his surprise, the man just pointed outside. Ted turned and saw that they had arrived at the bar he and Joel always met at.

“Thanks, man,” Ted said without bothering to lift his headphones, not that doing so would have mattered. The driver had taken the chance to respond to a few messages and was already retrieving the information for his next job. Of course, if Ted didn’t say thank you, the driver was likely to rate him below average, citing an impolite passenger.

Ted lowered his headphones around his neck as he neared the bar. The smell of wings and the sounds of a dozen people and twice as many TVs assaulted him the instant he pushed through the wooden door.

Joel waved to him from their usual perch, a raised wooden table in the far corner. As always, Joel was wearing a loose-fitting collared shirt and khakis, his hair short and beard well groomed. For the millionth time, Ted wished he could grow a beard.

“What’s good?” Joel asked as Ted sat down and they exchanged dap.

“Same old,” Ted sighed, pouring a glass from the pitcher already on the table. He thought he felt his phone buzz, checked it, then left it on the table after realizing it was nothing and deciding not to look like an idiot. “So, what’s this … opportunity?”

Joel grinned. “You’re not going to believe this man. This company I’ve been working with has been looking for people like you to help test their product.”

Unlikely. Ted drained his beer and poured another. “You mean people with no life?”

“Exactly,” Joel laughed.

That was hard to believe. “Alright, I’ll bite. What is it?”

Joel leaned in close. “It’s a full immersion VR game. They want players.” He held up his hand to fend off Ted’s instinctive negative response. “They’ll pay you to play.”

“Like a beta-tester?”

“Better. A full time gig. They want you in the game every waking hour. Live on site. All standard living expenses paid. Quit your job, and I’ll drive you over in the morning.”

Ted looked at Joel in shock. A job playing a game? Full immersion virtual reality? That was a dream come true. Ted couldn’t believe it. There was no way. Things like this never happened to him. “Are you … serious?”

“I’ll take that to mean you’re in.”

“Hell yeah.” Ted literally had nothing to lose.

*

4 Months Later – Game Year (GY) 20

The game was better than Ted had ever expected, better than sex. Of course, that was actually only a guess, but he no longer thought about sex. That had to mean something.

When he first arrived, he had logged out to take his meals and sleep, but that ritual had only lasted several days. As soon as an alternative had been offered, he had taken it. Now, the needs of his body were taken care of by an invasive series of tubes. They didn’t bother Ted in the slightest; he had no intentions of ever exiting the game again.

Abandoning the real world was the easiest thing he had ever done.

His breath fogged before him atop the snowy mountain peak. The chill knifed through his chain-link armor, chafing the toned skin beneath. The padded support beneath the steel was wet from the snow, all but frozen over. However, the cold was the last thing on his mind. After months of searching, his party had finally found the elusive white dragon.

He stood in wait with his hands gripping the hilt of his blade, its sterling point buried in the smooth rock beneath the snow.

But it wasn’t just any longsword, it was the best weapon in the entire game. He had spent every coin he had earned since his first day on it. It could kill anything or anyone and would slice through the dragon’s hide like silk.

He had named it Debt.

This was its first test, but it would have many more. Camlaté was full of an endless army of mythical beasts and a variety of extensive treasure-filled dungeons. It wouldn’t be long before Debt had paid for itself a hundred times over.

The others from his party fought the monster below, trying to bait it out of its lair and create an opening for him. The dragon’s roars shook the entire mountainside, growing louder and louder as it became enraged. Jets of fire shot from its cave in rapid succession, sending his teammates diving out of the way in search of cover.

Ted held his ground above, waiting for his chance.

It came a few moments later when one of the players dared a charge. It was easy to tell from the sparkling white armor that it was Naomi. Not to mention that she was the only one bold enough to try such a tactic. Ted admired her fearlessness. If a player died in the game, there was no coming back.

Ted lifted Debt into the air as the dragon revealed itself to snap at Naomi. Smoke poured from the nostrils at the end of its snout, easily the length of two men. There was a flash of its razor-sharp teeth in the instant before it unleashed another burst of fire. Naomi glanced at his position as she used her shield to absorb the damage. Even from a distance, he could see her vibrant brown eyes beneath the visor of her–

The dragon. Right.

Snow funneled around Ted as he leaped from the mountaintop. His plated hands wrapped around the hilt of Debt, its point aimed straight down. It was a variation on the same plan they had used to wound dragons dozens of times before. With Debt, it would only take one well placed blow to the brain to finish the job.

The dragon below was massive; it was far bigger than any Ted had ever fought before, even with its snowy wings folded against its body. He readied himself for impact, positioning himself just over the spiked head of the gigantic beast.

He struck.

At Debt sank in, Ted let go of the hilt and flipped forward, sliding smoothly down the length of the dragon’s snout. He emerged through a lingering cloud of black smoke to see Naomi applauding him sarcastically, helm in the crook of her arm.

“Well done, Theodore,” she said. “You’ve slain the last of the great beasts.”

Ted looked at her in confusion. “The … last?”

Naomi sighed, running a hand through her black hair. “You didn’t read the scroll from your sponsor? It arrived before we left on the hunt.”

Ted shook his head. At first, he had kept up with Joel, but lately he had forgotten all about his friend. His messages had never contained anything important anyways. Besides, Ted didn’t like reminders of the other world.

“Short version then,” she smiled. It was a wonderous sight. “The game is changing, undergoing a massive update. The age of monster quests is at an end. They’re letting in a whole new wave of players and implementing the start of actual civilization.”

“What are we supposed to do then?”

“We’ll have to earn money a different way, but with everything we’ve killed you should have more than enough to start a farm in Agruccino or factory in Newspresso.”

Ted looked at Debt. “Um …”

She followed his gaze and sighed. “I’ll get you a spot on my farm if you want, but don’t think you’ll be getting any preferential treatment just because you’re Theodore the Great. You’ll have to work your way up just like the others.”

*

1 year in – GY 60

Sweat cloaked Ted’s bare chest as he inspected another nameless vegetable before putting it in his large basket. He had been at it for hours.

His spoils from the white dragon hunt had evaporated quickly, spent on a worthless piece of land in Agruccino that turned out to be infertile. He had come to Naomi’s farm in hopes of asking his old friend for help. However, it turned out that by that time she had obtained many farms and was always away on business in the capital.

At first, Ted had worked under the assumption that he could move up the ladder, but that proven not to be the case. The farm’s manager, a thin man named Frederick, had found out that he was an original player and charged him with a long list of crimes to prevent him from ever ranking up or leaving. There hadn’t even been a hearing.

Just like that, Ted had become a prisoner.

He had written a letter to Naomi, but she hadn’t responded. It had taken months for him to realize the truth. Naomi had never truly been his friend. She had only quested with him because they were two of Camlaté’s best warriors. In his other life, Ted would have simply rolled over. But not here.

Here, he was still Theodore the Great.

He had been reluctant to reveal his identity to the other workers, fearing the same judgment he had received from Frederick. However, it had turned out that he was just the kind of person they were looking for – a leader.

Of course, it helped that they knew of his legend.

Ted had never been able to justify parting with Debt. Two months before, the eligible players had voted against the implementation of guns, meaning the weapon was still extremely valuable. Of course, the workers had only just learned the results of the latest round of updates. Joel had long ago stopped writing.

Ted touched his free hand to his muscular chest as he passed the man working the next row, David. David wiped his brow and scratched his chin. It was a form of sign language they had spent weeks working out in their shoddy cabins. To the untrained eye of their minders, it meant nothing. To Ted, it meant that the escape was on.

The farm was in the midst of a weeks long drought. The minders had lessened their focus on the workers to help speed up the irrigation process from the nearby river. Unknowingly, they had created the perfect opportunity.

Ted nodded at the minder as he deposited his filled basket and headed back towards the barracks. As he stepped inside the cabin he shared with seven other workers, night came, and the torches around the barracks flickered to life.

Perfect.

“Is everything set, Theodore?” Kayla asked him. The others were gathered around the lean woman with a nervous gleam in their eyes.

“Yes. Tonight, we take the first step towards Newspresso and freedom.”

The others touched their ring finger to their forehead, saluting.

Ted kicked at the floor, his strength easily allowing him to break through the boards. He reached in and retrieved the bundle stored there on his first day. As he revealed Debt, the others looked at him in awe.

“You really are him,” Kayla gasped.

Ted smiled confidently as cries of alarm began to come from the fields. “Whatever came before matters no longer.” He raised his sword. “To freedom.”

Against a backdrop of flames, Ted stood at the head of a hundred workers. Blood coated the steel of his blade and plastered his body. His long hair was filled with soot, and his face was blackened with smoke. He had become death incarnate.

Ted smiled. Theodore the Great indeed.

At first, the minders had tried to fight them among the burning rows. Then, they had retreated and formed a final stand at the gate of the palisade. Of course, it was Frederick at their head. His small face floated like a pea above his oversized plate armor.

“You!” Frederick shouted when Ted stepped boldly forward. The minders behind him took a step backwards. They had obviously seen Debt’s work in the flaming fields; they wisely feared the death that came in its wake.

“We only want our freedom,” Ted said. “Stand aside and let us pass.”

Frederick foolishly ignored him, charging forward in a clanking mass of steel. He held an oversized sword in both hands, its pommel studded with rubies. Frederick waved his men onward, but the other minders didn’t move.

Ted easily parried the man’s first blow, stepping aside with grace. Debt was like a feather in his hands, flowing effortlessly through the air at his every whim and will. They battled for what seemed hours, the clashing of their blades melding with the raging inferno. Until, finally, Frederick made a mistake.

Ted feigned a parry, spinning fluidly to his left and leaving the other man’s blade to carve through the empty air. He then flowed into a flawless overhand attacking strike, Debt slicing through Frederick’s heavy armor as if weren’t even there.

The minders fled as their leader fell into two pieces upon the ground.

Ted raced to the wall and cut through the gate’s lock. Then, he stepped into the plains beyond the farm and took a deep breath. Freedom.

*

?? – GY 92

It didn’t last long.

Ted spent nearly a year trekking through wilderness before leading the surviving workers into sight of Newspresso. At first, the endless rows of sky-scrapers had looked inviting. They had proven anything but.

He had been caught unprepared once again. The game had gone under another extensive update since he had been imprisoned and escaped Agruccino.

He had missed his opportunity to enroll as a citizen as Newspresso, forsaking any chance at obtaining a formidable job. He had thus been labeled an immigrant and was treated as a second-class citizen. No one believed that he was an original player, or that he had actually bought Debt himself. What little market there was for “stolen goods” was a joke.

To avoid assured starvation on the smog-filled streets, he had been forced to conform to the industrial society. By chance, he had found a job on the crowded floor of one of the factories after a man had died in an accident. The factory was staffed entirely by undocumented immigrants and only paid a fraction of their actual worth, always in cash. To survive, he had moved into a small apartment with some of the others from Agruccino.

Unlike the farm, there was little hope of escape. The only way to a better life in Newspresso was a tunnel beneath the northern mountains. It served as a conduit for the endless line of streaming trains that passed between the two sections of the city, rich and poor. Without proper documentation, no one from the factory-side could pass through. Such documentation was impossible for immigrants to obtain.

“There’s got to be something we can do, Ted,” David said as he did every day.

They were alone in the tiny apartment; the others all worked the late shift. As he did every night, Ted had taken out Debt to polish the radiant blade. The sight of the sword reminded him that he had squandered the advantage of being an original player. Of how the world had moved on without him.

Ted sighed, helpless.

“You could cut through the tunnel just like the gate around the farms. The citizens of Newspresso just voted down the implementation of guns for the next hundred years. You’re still one of the most powerful warriors in the world.”

Ted shook his head. At first, he had thought of escape every day, but his plans had come up empty at every turn. It hadn’t taken long for him to give up hope altogether.

“They would kill me eventually,” Ted said. “Even with Debt.”

David nodded in understanding. Even the factory was better than death.

They both leapt to their feet at a knock on the door. Once, they had lived in fear of Newspresso’s agents, but the government had left the immigrants alone for decades. Still, their instincts were sharp. Being deported to Agruccino was not an option. They would never even make it to the fields – their crimes had not been forgotten.

The knock came again.

Ted stilled himself against the wall, sword at the ready. He motioned David to open the door and prepared to attack.

A boy stepped into their tiny apartment. “Are you Ted?”

David shook his head and pointed to where Ted was concealing his blade.

The boy walked over to Ted and handed him a message. Without a word, he turned and raced from the room, undoubtedly in a rush to deliver his next message.

“What does it say?” David asked.

Ted read the message a second time. “It’s from Joel. He says that a rival nation has declared war on Camlaté. That there’s going to be war.” He read the message a final time just to make sure and looked at Debt, smiling for the first time in years.

Ted was first in line to enlist.

*

GY 129

“Messenger approaching, Captain.”

Ted turned from the large map of Teland, instinctively wrapping his fingers around Debt’s hilt. He had barely fought off an assassination attempt the day before. Now, that the war was almost over, the enemy was desperate.

He didn’t lower his guard as a young man ducked inside the tent flap. Even when the soldier presented the appropriate code sign, Ted stayed alert.

“Go ahead, Private.”

“Second Company has defeated the enemy forces in the West, Captain,” the soldier reported in a level tone. “The Major has ordered the final assault at dawn. Their Captain would like to consult with you in person, Sir.”

Ted frowned. Was this the trap?

He had gained citizenship by enlisting in the army and had quickly been promoted to Captain of the Fifth Company. His designation as an original player had been restored, and his crimes forgiven. Upon seeing the havoc Debt sewed on the battlefield, legends of Theodore the Great had resurfaced. Ted had neither confirmed or denied them.

Ted had met the Major several times but never the legendary Captain of the Second. The other three Companies had been devastated in the initial assaults, leaving the Second and Fifth as their nation’s last hope.

From Agruccino in the east and Newspresso in the west, they had pushed the enemy back across the northern border of Camlaté, never coming together. Now that they had surrounded the enemy capital, a meeting seemed logical.

Still, he worried.

“Where does he want to meet?” Ted asked.

In response, the tent flap opened and a figure in white armor stepped inside, dismissing the manager with a curt wave.

“She.” Naomi smiled at him. “Hello, Theodore.”

Somehow, Ted avoided fainting from shock. Naomi was just as beautiful as she ever was, more so even. She had cut her black hair short, drawing more attention to her dark brown eyes and perfect nose. Breathtaking.

“Naomi,” he managed, “I’m … um … sorry about your farm.” In the slums of Newspresso, he had learned his riot had started a revolt. It had eventually been put down, but not before nearly ruining Agruccino’s economy. “And … it’s just Ted now.”

She laughed. Then, for some reason she stepped forward and wrapped him in a tight embrace. “I’m sorry for being an ass. I got caught up being in trying to become royalty. Guess I got what I deserved. Let’s call it even.”

“You got it.” Ted turned and tried to regain his composure looking over the map. “We’ll have enough time for a proper reunion after we win.”

She placed her hand atop his own, and their eyes met. “I look forward to it.”

*

GY 146

Ted had never been in love before. Well, not the kind of love where the feeling was reciprocated. It was an even better feeling than breaking down the gate, then winning the war in Teland. When he was with Naomi, nothing could ever be wrong.

She made him whole.

After the fall of Teland, they had returned to Camlaté, exploring the countryside, reliving the questing days of old. They had even visited Newspresso where the Major had bestowed them with the highest of military honors. Eventually, they had returned and built a mansion on the infertile plot of land Ted had bought a lifetime before in Agruccino.

“Have you seen this, Ted?” she asked from the living room.

Ted sat down on the couch beside her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. The grainy image on the television showed a familiar sight – the once ruined streets of the capital of Teland. Apparently, another nation had risen from the ashes of the first. A graphic displaying a call to enlist appeared on the screen.

“Turn it off,” Ted said.

They hadn’t been back in Agruccino a year when Joel had appeared on his doorstep. It was as if no time had passed at all, and they had picked up their friendship from where it had left off. Joel had eventually introduced Naomi to his wife, and they had become fast friends as well. Everything was perfect.

Until Joel had revealed the truth.

The entire war had been meaningless. The creators of Teland were business rivals of the creators of Camlaté. The result of the war had determined which of them would control the world. They hadn’t cared about the citizens or the hundreds of thousands who had died – it had only been about obtaining control.

“They’ll want us to fight,” Naomi said softly.

Ted shook his head. “I know, but we won’t. I promise.” He interlocked his fingers with her own. “I can’t chance losing you again.”

That was a harder promise to keep than Ted had imagined. They quickly lost their military stipends and were blacklisted from the nation’s workforce that had been entirely committed to destroying Teland once and for all.

In response, they had taken to the fields outside the capital of Camlaté, promoting the truth of the war. Initially their protest was met with indifference, but, when Joel leaked a classified document from inside the government, it caught fire. Thousands had gathered in demonstration across the nation, refusing to fight and die.

Eventually, the citizens of Teland had joined in as well.

The war had ended in a truce. At the Major’s request, Ted and Naomi had both taken positions on the newly formed Council of Nations.

Things were good. For a while anyways.

*

GY 288

Ted looked out the window of his office, but it was so high up he couldn’t even see the street below. Sighing, he swung the chair around the stare at Debt where he had mounted it on the opposite wall. He tried to remember the last time he had used it but couldn’t. The unformed muscles of his body were terrified at the very thought of exercise.

Not to mention that guns had finally been voted into existence. The sword was useless in battle, even against unskilled foes. Not that he planned on battling anytime soon. Most wars were fought by drones thousands of miles away.

He checked the clock on his phone, then the one on his tablet. 10:09 AM. There was still twenty-one minutes before his meeting with the leaders of newest nation – whatever it was calling itself. They were springing up faster than roaches, bringing countless meetings in their wake to ensure their citizens conformed.

Although, it had been years since Ted had done anything of importance in a meeting. The Major handled most of the negotiations between new nations himself. After Naomi had left him, Ted had taken months off in order to find himself – he hadn’t. The world had changed again, and he foolishly thought he had been ready to handle it.

Now, Ted couldn’t quit his job. He had nothing to move on to.

He wondered how he had ended up here. Why everything was always the same. It seemed that every time he finally got ahead, he was cut down from behind. He wondered what Naomi was doing half-way across the world. If he would ever see her again. He couldn’t point to a specific argument or even a defining moment; they had simply drifted apart.

It turned out neither of them had been any good at relationships.

Begrudgingly, Ted waded into the cube-farm towards the distant vending machine, drawing the judging eyes of his staff. He knew they didn’t respect him. They only had some vague idea of what he had done to help save their nation. It was right there on the internet … if they ever bothered to look it up.

He no longer cared about what they thought. What anyone thought. Going to work had once excited him. Now, it was like everything else in the world, slowly trying to kill him. It wouldn’t be much longer before it succeeded.

Ted pulled up out of breath at the humming machine and sighed as he surveyed his limited options for a mid-morning snack.  After a long moment, he pulled out a dollar bill, inserted it into the machine and selected his poison. The plastic ring unwound and the candy bar fell to bottom with a loud crash which everyone certainly heard.

The noise didn’t bother him. He had probably emptied most of the machine himself over the last few months. Everyone had become obsessed with healthier options, but those would be proven to be just as bad in a few more years.

He had finished the candy bar by the time he sat back down. Flipping over his phone, he saw that he had three messages from Joel. Despite it all, he was happy for his friend. He and his wife had become successful software gurus in the west. They talked regularly but never about anything truly important.

Hey man, I’m looking for testers for anew game. Same as late time but better.

You in?

I got a flight ready for you to the Bay – 6 PM.

Last time? What was Joel talking about now? Still, it sounded like a vacation. Ted wiped his fat fingers on the wrinkled pant leg before responding.

Sure man. See you at 6.

THE END

The Time Machine

J.J. Polson

(3000 words)

New York, 2072

The long and dusty hall had always been filled with benches. In fact, there were so many of them that the forgotten structure had certainly held hundreds of guests in better times. A razor straight aisle stretched upwards from the hall’s creaky stage to its warped door, dividing the many rows of benches neatly in half. Strangely enough, this night had brought people, perhaps as many as fifty, to fill them.

The winter wind tailed the last of the arrivals, sneaking through the doors like a lonely dog taking shelter from the frigid night air. Its arrival disturbed a small stack of hand written fliers from their resting place on a leaning table just across the threshold. The wind might have glanced at the near uniform slanted writing upon the papers, but it was likely that it had already seen the message and had decided to come to hall in response like the rest.

On the night of December 22, 2072, Stewart Fineman, the flier proclaimed, will unveil a machine that will be the salvation of humanity. Come to the still-standing Hall on Sixth Avenue at 8 P.M. to witness history!

Truthfully, the spectators who had responded to the announcement had nothing better to do on a cold December evening. It had been many years since a night in New York involved more than warming a middling dinner from a metal can and finding decent shelter from the elements. And it had been many more since the city’s residences could have been classified as anything other than scavengers.

As they waited, most of the spectators remained silent, watching their neighbors on all sides warily. Undoubtedly, most expected to receive a knife in the back any second and planned how to best counter such an attempt in an effort to survive a little longer…only to instantly wonder what was really the point in it.

To most, death would be a relief. It was only some misguided notion of survival driven by thousands of years of evolution that kept them alive in the first place.

The braver of them whispered with subdued excitement. It wasn’t actual excitement in the truest sense of the word, but in the current climate it certainly qualified. True excitement was finding a cache of wood and a warm blanket in a broken building or a forgotten stash of canned food hidden away within a false wall. Most gatherings in New York were for darker twists of fate; thus, the excitement was naturally subdued.

Some of the guests even knew the man who had summoned them all to the Hall. Stewart Fineman, they said, was brilliant. No, others claimed, he was deranged and his mind beyond cracked repair. Whatever side those select whisperers took, they agreed that anything Mr. Fineman was willing to show them was worth seeing.

At last, there was a muffled shuffling from behind the stage’s freshly strung ragged curtain, and the crowd fell silent. For a moment, the commotion increased. Then, rather suddenly, all went silent again.

Finally, there was a squeaking of what sounded like wheels, and what looked to be a large box-like structure covered by a black tarp appeared on the stage. Behind the mysterious contraption, a small man with wiry gray hair and glasses pushed diligently.

As usual, Mr. Fineman wore a grimy brown coat complemented by heavily patched jeans; as always, he walked with a slight limp. Those who knew him claimed the injury was from an experiment gone wrong many years before. Some said the accident had made him more determined than ever. Others were certain it had made him all the madder.

But it was surly one of the two. Or maybe both. It was hard to say anything for certain in the days after the war. Certainty itself was far from certain.

Fineman cleared his throat as he came to a stop. Then, he pulled a yellowed handkerchief from his pocket and coughed a few times rather violently. Hurriedly, he put the cloth away and gazed out upon his audience, a resilient fire burning behind his misty blue eyes.

“Ladies and Gentleman,” he said in a scratchy voice that filled the Hall. “Fifty years ago, the world birthed a war unlike any other…” He broke off in a fit of coughing. “…a war that, years later, would lead to the near extinction of mankind.

“Now, I think we’d all say that there’s no coming back at this point. No government…no more kids healthy enough to make it past childhood…no crops. There’s not much of a present for us and there certainly ain’t a future.

“Despite everything I’ve ever done, I haven’t been able to help in the slightest. Then, a few years ago, I turned my attention to a different sort of solution…I decided that we needed to stop the war from happening all together…”

At this, there was a scattered mummering from the crowd. Every eye in the Hall watched as the old man picked up the corner of the black tarp.

Fineman coughed into his free hand, all but ruining the dramatic effect. “I present to you…” He pulled off the tarp with a surprisingly fluid effort and gestured at the box-shaped machine in a grandiose fashion. “…my time machine!”

The whispering from the crowd intensified.

Suddenly, a woman raised her voice. “A time machine?”

“You can’t be serious,” a man echoed.

“If this is our salvation we’re certainly doomed!”

There was a loud wolf-whistle and the hall fell deathly silent.

“Thank you,” Fineman said, giving a brief bow to a tall elderly man with dark black hair in the first row of benches. “Ladies and Gentleman, I know it may be hard to believe…but I have not misled you in the slightest.

“Tonight, I will enter the time machine and go back to the year 2022 in order to stop the war…of course, you’ll never know if it worked because all of this will be erased…but I assure you that tonight you will witness the end of our long suffering!”

At this, a quarter of those in the Hall merged to the aisle and quickly made their way back out into the frosty night. It was hard to blame them. There wasn’t much point in putting stock in things such as hope and belief anymore. Unless it was the belief that each day was one closer to mankind’s last and the hope that the end would be peaceful.

Stewart Fineman was undisturbed by the partial exodus. Before the door had closed again he continued on. “Now,” he explained, “I will be entering the machine. There will be a brief quaking of the ground and a flash of lights. Then, I will be gone on my quest to save of us all from this horrible fate!”

Luckily, he didn’t stoop to using the forbidden word. Although quaking ground and flashing lights came dangerous close to what had been the ruin of humanity.

The occupants of the Hall watched with intrigue as the old man opened the door of the large machine revealing a small room within filled with purple and blue lights. The walls of the room were made of mismatched metal and filled with countless switches, knobs, and levers of various color and size. Most noticeably, the current date was displayed in a large digital font of flickering red.

With a wave, Mr. Fineman closed the door. A moment later, the strange machine began to shake and vibrate dangerously. Then, the hall filled with a brilliant blue light, and the audience gasped, not sure of what exactly to think.

Finally, the odd light faded away, and the crowd’s excitement faded.

There stood Mr. Fineman’s time machine exactly as it had before. A large, box-shaped machine some eight feet tall that was now dark and silent.

The brief spark of hope that had filled the hearts of those attendance had been burnt out like so many sparks before it. It wasn’t really that they truly had believed the zany old man’s machine would have worked. It was simply that no one wanted to except the truth of the matter, even after so long – that in a few short years that last of their kind would die off, and that it would have been no one’s fault but their own.

For a long time, there had been others to blame, but now all of that seemed rather pointless. Most had come to the realization that they had all been humans. All agreed that if they had known the end result, they would have kept things exactly the way they were. That maybe the forbidden word hadn’t been the worst thing in the world.

Stewart Fineman emerged from the machine shaking from cough and looked out into the ruined hall hopefully. Then, as he studied the empty benches, he realized what had happened. It hadn’t worked. But he had been so certain…

“A fair try,” the lone gentleman remaining consoled him.

Fineman recognized the man who had silenced the crowd with a stern whistle. He was a man undoubtedly somewhere between sixty and seventy with long, graying black hair and a bold, hooking nose. His lips were thin and chapped from the cold. However, his eyes were a deep and pure shade of brilliant blue.

“I…just don’t know what could have gone wrong,” Fineman sighed, as near defeat as he ever had been before. He turned to the machine and looked at it as a slightly disappointed parent. “Perhaps I set it to far back…”

The gentleman seemed intrigued. “You mean that it has actually worked before?”

“Oh yes…but I have only gone a few hours into the past.” Looking up, it was as if Fineman had forgotten the other man was there. When he saw him, a startled look passed across his face. “And you are–”

“Mr. Ransom,” the gentleman said, tipping his gray hat.

“And why are you still here?” Fineman asked. “It didn’t work. It’ll probably never work again. I used all the power I could find on that attempt.”

“You’re not the only inventor left in this forsaken city,” Mr. Ransom beamed. Gracefully, he stepped up onto the stage and peered at the seemingly dead machine. “Perhaps I could have a look at it. If you don’t mind of course…”

Fineman licked his lips anxiously.

“I left my bag against the wall in the lobby,” Ransom continued in an oddly persuasive tone. “If you bring it to me, I have something for your cough.”

A spark of hope flickered inside Fineman. “Medication? Impossible.”

There was a gleam in the man’s blue eyes. “I will trade you. The medication for a chance to inspection your time machine.”

As if startled by the possibility of its impending defeat, Stewart Fineman’s cough reared its head and sent him spewing into his old handkerchief. When he finally recovered, he was out of breath and red in the face. Without a further word, he gingerly stepped off the stage and walked up the lonely isle to the small lobby beyond.

As Ransom turned to the machine, a smile cracked his face.

Fineman pushed open the door and was greeted by the freezing night air. The lobby was a far cry from the hall; it’s doors had been salvaged and flakes of snow swirled within.

An assortment of tarnished signs hung above a grimy counter. Of course, it had been a long time since things such as popcorn and snacks had existed. Fineman had been a young man the last time he had enjoyed either.

“You’re Mr. Fineman?” a sweet voice called to him.

Startled, Stewart looked up to see a gathering of three darkly dressed women staring at him. Through their hoods he could see their wrinkled faces and gray hair. Hardly anyone left in New York was young, but these three women seemed ancient.

“And who are you?” he asked.

“I am Matilda,” the tallest said, extending a gloved hand. She looked to be the oldest of the three…not that such a gap mattered among three so old.

Fineman shook it uncertainly.

“Charlie,” the second said flatly. She was the shortest and still had a bit of red in her hair, resilient until the end. Fineman thought of her mother when he looked at her. He would have bet a thick coat that she made a fine canned stew. Well, a moderately thick one.

“And I’m Zena,” the last said. He could tell that she had been beautiful once. To his eye, she certainly still was. But in her day he bet she would walked past him without even looking once, let alone twice, and he would have stared at her until she disappeared into the distance.

Surprising himself, he bent forward and kissed the ring on her finger. “A pleasure to meet you, but I have come out here to fetch something and must return at once,” he said hastily, eager to inside the hall.

“What could you possibly need out here?” Zena asked.

“This place is frozen,” Matilda echoed. “I think it unlikely that anyone would leave anything out here for very long.”

“Someone would have taken it,” Charlie agreed.

“Well, I’m sure it’s here,” Fineman explained. “I’m looking for a…” But suddenly he couldn’t remember exactly what he was looking for.

The three elderly women exchanged a concerned look.

“Mr. Fineman, might I ask what you so desperately want to get back to in the hall?” Zena asked. As she spoke, Fineman watched a roach dashed between her boots.

In the past, New Yorkers had killed them. Now, there was little point. In fact, they were surprisingly respected these days; long ago, it had always been joked they would outlive humans. Now, there was a certain level of respect between the two species.

“Well…it’s just…” Stewart Fineman scratched at his balding head. “There was something in there….something I built…”

“The time machine?” Matilda finally said.

“Yes!” Fineman exclaimed with a slight hop. “That was it! I’ve left my time machine in the hall with another gentleman who wanted to look at it.”

Again, the three women looked at each other uncertainly.

“A gentleman you say? What did he look like?” Zena questioned.

“Well, I can’t say for certain,” Fineman struggled, again thinking hard. “Now that I think about it…it’s rather hard to describe him at all.”

“Mr. Fineman, I think it is time for you to go back into the hall,” Charlie said flatly.

“Right you are,” Fineman nodded. “After all, how many time machines are left in New York. I bid you ladies a fond farewell!”

As he opened the door into the hall, the roach scurried after him.

“Mr.?” Fineman question as he raced past the benches.

The dark-haired gentleman appeared from inside the machine which seemed to have been somehow coaxed back to life. “Mr. Ransom,” the man articulated.

“Ah, Mr. Ransom…that’s it!” Fineman exclaimed, climbing awkwardly onto the stage. His eyes widened as he noticed the machine was once again emitting its familiar hum. “What did you to get the machine back on line?”

“Oh, a little of this and a little of that,” the odd man smiled warmly. The gleam in his blue eyes was starting to unnerve Fineman. “But if you be so kind as to show me how it is supposed to work, perhaps we can make a successful jump.”

“We?” Fineman questioned. Then, it was as if a sudden realization dawned on him. Of course! Mr. Ransom would be coming with him to stop the war. Mr. Ransom was in fact, the perfect person to help him carry out his plan.

“We,” Mr. Ransom confirmed.

Unbeknownst to both of them, the roach crawled between their boots and disappeared inside the light-filled machine.

Fineman motioned Mr. Ransom inside the machine after him. Somehow, it felt entirely bigger than it had before. In fact, Mr. Fineman was almost certain that he had built the machine for only person. Then again, he was getting old…

“Now what day were we going to exactly?” Fineman asked. Suddenly, he was very unsure of the plan that had once been so clear.

“Fifty years ago,” Mr. Ransom reminded him. “September 1, 2022.”

“Now I recall!” Fineman nodded. With a whir of motion, he began to flip levers, turn knobs and press buttons. How the machine worked, he remembered perfectly. After all, it was something he had built entirely with his own hands. He was the only person who knew how to operate it in all of New York – actually, all of the world.

With a last flourish of motion, he motioned to Mr. Ransom.

“Would you like to do the honors?” Fineman asked.

The gentleman shook his head. “I couldn’t. It is your machine.”

“Suit yourself.”

Fineman felt a rush of adrenaline as he flipped the level beneath the glowing red date, and the lights of the machine began to flash and blur all around him.

The three elderly women watched the machine from the entranceway to the hall. As the ground began to quake and the lights grew brighter they were forced to turn away. It was always dangerous to look directly at time magic.

“It seems he managed to get aboard,” Zena said.

“Good,” Matilda replied levelly. “Because that was definitely Andrew Ransom.”

Charlie cursed. “A horrid name…a horrible wizard…it is all his fault…”

Zena put a hand on the other woman’s shoulder. “If there was another way we would have taken it. This was the only choice we had. Ransom was the only one who could have ever fixed the machine…just as Fineman was the only one who could have built it. This is exactly what was meant to happen here.”

“Let us hope that Mr. Dolph can succeed where we have failed,” Matilda said. “He’s our last hope – the last hope of all humanity.”

Charlie sighed. “But mostly the only one of us who could sneak onboard without Mr. Ransom turning them into dust. He will need help, and we will need a miracle.”

“He will have help,” Zena reminded them. “If he remembered where to look.”

Their voices faded as the hall was washed in light…

Fineman felt his brain spinning rapidly as the machine sliced through space and time itself. It was more than he had ever hoped or dreamed of. The world was distorted around him so that he could only focus on the date remaining steadfast in front of him.

Finally, what seemed an eternity later, the machine came to a stop. Gradually, the lights began to still and the vibrations ebbed to a minimum. Then, the door opened and the two elderly men stepped outside into the darkness.

“Mr. Fineman,” Mr. Ransom said with a tone of happiness that was nearly impossible to contain. “Words cannot express my gratitude. You have given me the chance to right the greatest wrong in the history of wizard kind.”

Steward Fineman turned to the elderly gentleman as the roach scurried between his feet and into the quiet world. “Did you say…wizard kind?”

A horrid thought occurred to Fineman in that instant. “Mr. Ransom…did you fix my time machine with…” he gulped. It had been years since he dared to utter the word that had been the end of mankind. “Magic?”

The gentleman chuckled to himself. Then, he pulled a meticulously crafted stick from his inner coat pocket and spoke a string of harsh sounding words that Fineman did not understand.

There was a flash of green light.

And then there was only darkness.

THE END