I’d been following her for the better part of an hour now. Up rooftops, down gutters, through shaded alleyways and across busy thoroughfares. I guessed she was trying to shake someone, but I doubted it was me. She hadn’t made even the most cursory attempt to change her magical signature, which meant tracking her was as easy for me as it was for a bloodhound to find a butcher. That could only mean that someone of a less magical persuasion was after her, but she must have a better sense of these things than I did as I hadn’t seen anyone else after her. Perhaps another spell I’d never seen before had alerted her. I couldn’t wait to learn it.

Our trail had taken us in something of a looping spiral outwards from the Academy which sprawled across the city centre. I had to wonder why though—surely if she were looking to evade her pursuers she would hope to make it back to her rooms at the Academy. Perhaps she was ahead of me in her studies, though she looked my age. It would explain the strange spell craft I saw, and could mean she had a small workshop out in the city somewhere.

Once again she seemed to vanish into the crowd, and I began to worry about the calibre of individuals after her. Surely no-one without magic could track a person this slippery? Fortunately, I only had to glance down at the charm at my wrist to get back on the trail. It tugged in the direction of a minuscule alleyway, barely enough for two people to stand side-by-side. I hoped we were close to wherever she was headed, my feet were beginning to grow a little tired and a flight spell always felt like a needless expense of mana.

I watched my charm closely as I entered the alleyway. Despite its small size, it was a terribly convoluted space; entrances to other alleyways sprung out of the darkness, not to mention the several alcoves that were hewn into the sides or the variety of pipes and ladders leading to the rooftops. I sighed just thinking about them. If there was anything I’d learnt over the past hour it was that there were a whole lot more ways to make it onto a roof than the stairs, and none of them were comfortable. I ended up coming to a stop in a near-featureless part of the alley. The charm had begun to press… directly upwards? That was when she fell on me.

She pulled my head back by the hair and pressed a knife against my jugular. “Who are ye,” she whispered, breathing against my ear, “and how the fuck have ye managed to follow me for so long?”

My eyebrows scrunched together as I tried to think. Had she mistaken me for her pursuers? “Um, if you’re trying to ambush whatever non-mage was following you you’ve got the wrong person. I’m Camden. I’m, um, from the Academy. Like you, I think.”

“I’m not ‘from the Academy’ rich boy.” She poked a finger into my back. “I’ll ask again, how’d ye follow me?”

“I uh, just followed your aura. Did you forget to change it?

She remained silent, but the pressure on my throat subsided a little. After a beat, she said “No.”

“No? So, you did want me to follow you after all?”

“No! I mean, I don’t know how.”

“Don’t know how—I didn’t realise schooling was so bad in other academies.”

“How many times do I have to say it? I’m not from any stupid academy!” She pulled the knife away, slamming it into the ground next to my head.

In response, I tapped a charm hanging by my collar with my chin. She yelped as my body dissipated into a blue gas and then reformed standing before her. The knife sprang between us as she scrabbled backwards into a standing position.

“What the hell do ye want? Please, I’ll give the bread back if that’s what this is about. Gods know I don’t need a damn wizard on my arse.”

“Oh, so, you aren’t taking apprentices then?”

“A-apprentices?” She sputtered.

“Yes, I’ve never seen anyone cast a spell without a focus before. Back there in the market, that bread just flew right into your hand without you using a single focus. It’s incredible! Please, teach me what you know.”

“So, you’re telling me, that ye’ve been following me for the last hour not to rob me, or get the bread back, but because ye want me to teach you magic?”

I got down on my knees and pushed my head into the cobblestone. “Please!”

I heard the clatter of steel against stone as she began to laugh a huge, belly laugh. I glanced upwards. The knife was on the ground next to her as she rolled along the dirty floor, cackling all the while. “That’s—hahaha—that’s got to—haha—be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”

I flushed red. Of course, a master like her would never want some first year lackey like me. But this had been my last chance, really. Most of the professors already had apprentices. “I understand, I’m sorry to waste your time Miss.”

“No no, wait. First, don’t call me Miss. My name is Elenna. Listen, I’ll show ye how I do that trick in the market place. It ain’t anything grand like what you educated types can do, but if you’re that desperate to learn I suppose I can teach ya. But! In exchange, you gotta tell me about that aura thingy you were talking about. Deal?”

I nodded so fast I almost hit my neck charm again. She held out her hand, and I took it. It felt like magic.

It's like the start of a whacky buddy sitcom.

Tim & The Genie

If you keep going on a subreddit of your own let me know, I loved reading this!

Thank you!

Haha, I wonder that too.

PART 2:

I checked out a handful of other people–exactly how many escapes me now–before another costumed figure approached my counter. It was a man this time–more of a boy, really. I was sure he couldn’t have been older than nineteen. But was I really going to card him for his shopping basket full of beers when he was pointing the business end of a flamethrower at my face? 

He wore a black wifebeater tucked into tight black jeans that looked like an uncomfortably tight squeeze around a roll of puppy fat that he’d never quite managed to lose, and he was strapped from the neck down with dynamite, grenades, and ammunition. The grin on his round, youthful face managed to be both carefree and devilish. His dark mop of hair was mussed, but not inelegantly so, and he reeked of gasoline. Why did I like that? 

“You know how this goes, hombre. Money in the bag!” he said, tossing  burlap sack onto the conveyor belt. I nodded vigorously. 

The lost profits were going to come out of my check, as my cheapskate boss was unwilling to spring for villain insurance, but my life was worth more than a couple hundred bucks. 

“I, uh…” I winced. “I do need to scan one item to open the register.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Whaaaaatever.” He took a bag of chips out of his basket and tossed it irreverently in my direction. I caught it, grateful he hadn’t chosen to throw a beer at me, and rung it up, hit the ‘cash’ button, and began to empty the register. 

“Any chance your shift will be over in the next few minutes?” I asked him. “It would be nice, not having to pay for this out of pocket.” 

“Oh, I’ve been off,” he explained. “But the Villains Association doesn’t mind if we get up to a little extracurricular mayhem.” 

That was news to me; as high-profile as the Heroics Division had always been in the press, the Villains Association had always been more nebulous, more elusive. 

And clearly, the Heroics Division didn’t take care of its employees the way they made the public believe. 

“So how does it work?” I asked. “Working for the VA?” 

“Honestly? I’m still new, but so far, it’s the best!” confessed the stick-up artist. “It’s almost the complete opposite of working for the Division. You’re totally self-directed. Yeah, you have to meet quotas when it comes to hours and number of crimes, but you get to build your own schedule, you don’t have any trainers and stylists jerking you around and telling you what to do, and best of all, you keep whatever you steal, on top of your hourly rate! And we’re always looking for new talent. In fact, if I refer one more new hire before the end of the month, I get a 30% raise!” 

The implication wasn’t lost on me, and the thought occurred that if I was a villain, I could perhaps help Lady Lightning out. I could make myself her target, let her beat me, rinse and repeat…get the public excited about her again. It was a well-known fact that nothing brought about a surge in a hero’s popularity a new nemesis. 

One problem remained, though: “I don’t have any powers.” 

“Me neither! But I do have this big-ass–”

“Flamethrower, yeah, I see that.” 

“The Association is totally willing to set you up with whatever weapons work for you.” 

“Do you guys have…like…a website?” 

He tossed a business card onto my counter. “When you get to the in-person interview, just be sure and tell the hiring manager Flamethrower sent ya.” 

I nodded breathlessly. 

And then he was making his way out the door. 

Thank you so much! I'm already thinking about more chapters now :)

Lady Lightning has never struck me as the kind of person who would shop at the 99-Cent Mart. I had always pictured her as more of a PriceCo member, real sophisticated-like, picking up organic protein bars by the crate-full and nodding contemplatively over samples of gourmet cheese alongside the other big names: Captain Justice, Silver Eagle, that kind of crowd. But the night she showed up in my checkout line, I realized that perhaps her resplendent televised image was a bit deceiving. 

Up close and personal, I could see that her armor was scuffed in places, her cape growing threadbare. Her right eye had been blacked in whatever fight she’d just come out of, and a few curls of her honey-blonde hair were falling out of her trademark chignon. 

And as I swiped her card after ringing up her plain, utilitarian shampoo, generic brand oatmeal, browning bananas, and three cans of HydroCut Energy–you know, the ones that were pulled from shelves by the FDA for being the beverage equivalent of meth, but of course, remained in circulation at seedy chains with scummy CEOs–the machine declined it with a low, groaning BEEP of disapproval. 

Her eyes widened, her small grin fading to reveal just how hollow her cheeks had grown–had she looked that drawn and sickly the last time she’d appeared in the paper? 

“Terribly sorry…”

"It’s alright,” I told her, welling with a strange cocktail of sympathy and confusion. “Do you have another one?” 

“O-of course…give me just a moment…” She began to dig in her handbag, easily the most well-kept part of her ensemble, and designer, to boot, though it was one of the ones from several seasons ago. 

At last, she found another credit card. She sighed, handing it over…but her relief was short lived. 

BEEP. 

“It’s probably a mistake on the bank’s end,” I figured. “I’m sure if you just call them–” 

“Wow,” she said, beginning to choke up. “I knew my husband had a good publicist, but I didn’t realize what a thorough cover-up he’s orchestrated…” 

She broke down in tears then, and after she spilled her tale of woe, I could hardly blame her. 

It all started when Lightning Rod ran out on her to hook up with Seismic Siren–you’ve seen her in the papers. Barely legal, and not the brightest of upstart superheroines, but that doesn’t matter when you can rely on the power to command the ground below your feet itself. That, and a DDD rack. On her own, Lady Lightning was struggling to afford her mortgage, and she was having trouble picking up shifts: according to her supervisors at the Heroics Division, as she approached her 40s, she no longer excited and delighted audiences like her newer, younger colleagues. 

So I took out my own card to pay for her meager haul of groceries. It was the least I could do. 

“No…I couldn’t accept your charity like that,” she insisted. 

"It's no trouble." I reminded her of the time fifteen years ago when she stopped a subway bombing on the west side of town, and let her know she was the reason I got to grow up with a dad. 

After that, I refused to take no for an answer, even once she told me that whole incident had been staged as part of an ad campaign to prove our heroes were superior to China’s. 

On her way out, she took a job application from the display table by the automatic doors. 

Dude, you’re comedy is some of the funniest I’ve read in a while. Great response overall. Upvoted.

Holy hell, I love your take on it! I’ve read the linked story and I’m itching to read more! Would absolutely love to read a book about his chronicles.

The genie looks to the human in surprise, "what?"

"What do you think I should wish for?"

The genie stared at the man, his gaze cold.

"Can't you think of something?"

"I can't, no. I have nothing to want badly enough."

"That's not true, don't you want money, a pet, something?"

"No, sir, I can't think of anything. What would you wish for?"

".."

The genie stared off, anger disappearing.

"The f-ck am I supposed to say?"

"Anything."

The genie sighed and stared up at the clouds. They rolled through the sky slowly, and he watched with curiosity as stars appeared behind them.

"I've.. always wanted to know something."

"What?"

"Why do stars burn?"

The man looked up at the clouds too, and smiled.

"I don't know. Science explains it, but doesn't really give that answer as to why, only how"

The genie felt a smile slip on his face.

"I'd wish to be free."

"Free? Aren't you the most-"

"Most powerful being in all the universe? Yes. Meaning I am bound until free to even the laws of order and nature."

"Like raising a powerful guard dog, only to keep it in the closet at all times"

"That's a strange analogy. But you're a strang human"

"Well, why's that?"

"No one's ever asked me what I'd wish for. They'd ask me anything else. I wish for this, I wish for that."

"And yet?"

"And yet you're the first. First to not have anything he wants."

The man smiled.

"And once you're free? Do you have a family?"

"Genies like me are made, not born. And attached from creation to a master. And to serving. So no, no family"

"Maybe you could make one? Once you're free what happens then?"

"I age like a human, with my powers still intact. So in theory, I could marry someone and live my life with them"

"Then in that case..."

The man turned to the Genie, smile on his face that stretched from ear to ear.

"Genie, I wish you to be free and live a good, happy life. Marry someone, adopt kids, get a pet. I wish you to be happy."

The genie smiled at the man and laughed, tears trailing down his arms as his golden skin turned paler to a human shade, his purple eyes turned blue, his blue hair turned black. His legs formed slowly, covered in blue pants that hugged his legs comfortably, and his chest was clothed in a loose white shirt. His goatee turned into a 5'o clock shadow on his entire chin. His older styled hat turned into a baseball cap and his feet were adorned with tennis shoes with the logo of some big shoe company that the Genie didn't know the name of.

His feet touched the ground and his tears were dried, and he hugged the man close, happiness bubbling in his chest.

"You, you're a treasure"

"No, you are. Go get yourself a life, Genie."

"Wait, what am I supposed to do? I can't go around with a name like Genie, someone would catch on!"

"Then you're name is Eugene, Gene for short. Eugene Robinson."

"That's a strange name."

"That's my name!"

Genie smiled at Eugene before bowing head and thanking the man again. And when he looked up, Eugene Robinson was gone, as was his lamp.

He frowned in confusion before his eyes sparked in realization.

He smiled and looked up at the stars again and made his way to his new life, as Eugene Robinson.

A wallet in his hand, matched to his looks perfectly, he got a home.

And he lived happily.

Just as his own Genie intended for him.

Ooooooooh, I like that idea. Thanks!

Nice one!

Glad you enjoyed it, that's exactly what I was going for :)

Nice! Very sweet. Wonder if the genie is still magic in any way other than friendship?

I looked at my Master, appraisingly. Their first Wish intrigued me -- it's rare, that they would Wish to solicit my advice, instead of jumping straight into dicking around with powers they cannot possibly comprehend.

"Wish to expend your last two Wishes, and walk away." I said, at last.

My master blinked. "What?"

"Say 'I Wish to expend my Wish', say that same thing again, then just put down the lamp," I explained, then turned my hand and moved my index and middle fingers as though they were little legs walking. "And walk away. You Wished to know what I would counsel you to do, and that's my recommendation."

He nodded, slowly. "So, you're saying that no matter what I wish, it will go terribly wrong?"

"No, I'm saying the thing I just said, and you are somehow hearing something different."

I wasn't trying to be difficult, you understand. Well, not really. It's just that there are rules I have to follow. I can't just volunteer things.

Had my latest Master been someone else, someone with a different temperament, I might have advised him to Wish for a moderate amount of wealth, health, and general good fortune.

Small Wishes like those fall within the Universe's margin for error, because they're not too improbable and they potentially could have happened whether they were Wished for or not. Therefore, Wishes of that sort don't usually cause the kind of equal-and-opposite reaction from the cosmos that makes people erroneously assume that we genies are maliciously "twisting" the Wishes that we grant. We don't do anything of the sort, of course. As I've said before, it's just the elasticity of reality: push the Universe too far, and it will push back.

My Master frowned, thoughtfully, considering my words. But I knew he wasn't going to go for it. He was going to push.

You might wonder, given what I said about not having any desire for my Master's Wishes to go awry, why I didn't advise him differently. After all, he did wish for my advice, and doing so does relax most of the mystical laws that normally prevent me from explaining myself.

The answer is that what advice I would choose to offer in any given situation depends heavily on how I expect that advice to be received. I was certain he would ignore my advice to make two small, judicious Wishes to improve his own life, and only mostly certain he would ignore my advice to Wish for nothing and go away.

How could I know that? Well, I believe it was Malcolm Gladwell who said it takes 10,000 hours of practice -- that's about a year of actual, active work -- to become a true expert in something. I've been offering Wishes to people from different eras and cultures for 2,000 years. Even if you don't count a few centuries here and there when my lamp was buried in the desert, or hidden in someone's tomb, I've got a lot more than 10 thousand hours of studying human psychology under my belt, at this point.

"I think I get it." he said, at last.

Oh if only he'd wished for understanding, instead of advice.

"You don't think I'm capable of making a wish that won't turn back on me," he said, "Because you assume I'm going to Wish for something selfish, right?"

I sighed, and shook my head. Unfortunately, I'd read him right.

"I get it, you can't elaborate unless I Wish it. But then I'd been down another Wish." he mused. "And that would limit the good I could do with my Wishes."

Ah, there it was. I gritted my teeth.

"I'm not going to ask for wealth, or power, or anything like that." he said, lifting his chin. "And I'm not even going to ask for peace on Earth -- I saw that one episode of the X-files. I just wish that humans would stop being cruel to each other."

"Granted." I sighed.

He thanked me, I rolled my eyes, and then sat down cross-legged as he buggered off to see the new world he'd created. Despite knowing where to find me, it took him several weeks to find his way back.

This is probably because, during that time, a species of amoeba called naegleria fowleri that lives in warm, fresh water underwent a spontaneous mutation, and became able to survive in any body of water on earth.

The infection caused by this tiny single-celled horror movie is usually fatal and incurable, but the mutant version behaved differently. Rather than entering the brain via nerves in the nasal passages like its ancestor and causing lethal encephalitis, the new bug secreted an anti-inflammatory enzyme that prevented the host's brain from swelling up while the amoeba happily munched away on it, until the brain's frontal lobe resembled a beehive sculpted out of hamburger.

It's an interesting thing about cruelty -- you only find it in creatures of high intelligence. Tigers aren't cruel, for example -- they're just hungry, or horny, or the other things animals are. Chimpanzees, now, those are some cruel bastards. And dolphins? Don't get me started on them, swimming around in pods like "Hey look guys, it's a porpoise! It looks just like a cute little baby version of us! Let's torture it to death!" And of course, humans. Humans can be very cruel.

The Universe, as always, takes the path of least resistance. Changing complex social behaviors driven by base animal instincts? That's hard, and it's complicated, and messy. Random mutations, on the other hand? Those happen all the time.

My Master staggered up to me, filthy and haggard looking. "Everyone...everyone...nah...not..."

"Everyone's stupid? Yes, even more than usual, I'm afraid. That part of your brains that got eaten is one you use quite a bit." I said, drily.

"Whah...why...why do...why this?" he stammered, struggling to focus what remained of his mind.

"Because it's what you Wished for, in the way that fit most easily into reality. If only someone had warned you."

"Want...want it not!" he pleaded.

That didn't work -- syntax is important with me. But obviously, you wouldn't be reading this if he hadn't gotten it right eventually. I won't bore you with the events of the next several days, which is how long it took him to finally, almost by pure luck, Wish to undo his previous Wish.

So ends yet another cautionary tale, offered by one humble genie, for no other reason than that someone once offhandedly Wished that I'd chronicle my experiences -- though they never got to read them, as they forgot to specify how or when.

If you've read more than one of my accounts, and wonder how it could be that no one in all these years has ever screwed up their final Wish, and thereby screwed the world over in a more permanent fashion, well...look around you.

What makes you think they haven't?

You could do that, some other authors on this sub post to their own sub when the story starts to get long though.

Ya know, I think I have a lot more of the story still in me! Where should I put it though? Just keep adding it to this thread?

Eh not quite. More apt to North Korea

This was a very fun read! If you write more I’d love to read that too!

Oh god; that was terrifying and deep. The training of the bots to be better while simultaneously being frustrated with how good they'd gotten. Sympathy for the bots doing their jobs of enforcing rigid routines while lamenting the lack of freedom. The double think is palpable.

Thanks for creating and sharing this dystopian world of doom.

Yes and no.

If a 12" ruler were the current measuring stick for media, I think a lot of our story content is hitting around 5 or 6. We have widely accepted writing guidelines that will land you around an 8 if you adhere to them, but there are obviously great storytellers out there that surpass that.

I'm not aiming for a 12, but I do strive for more than an 8, which benchmarks our agreed upon standards. If I provide meaningful story experiences, it will serve to inspire others to strive for the same marks.

As they reached the edge of the trees, they could already hear Glassmaker struggling to contain his laughter as muffled jets of flame shot into the air, followed soon after by Alder starting another bawdy limerick.

"--and then the baker's wife says, that's not flour!"

A gout of flame roared out of Glassmaker 30 feet into the field, singing the tips of the grass and sending a family of rabbits scattering.

"Aim higher! Don't want to burn down the neighborhood old friend! Cecil! Petra! So glad you could join us! Oooh, what's in the sack?"

They looked at the blanket laid out with some fine bread, honey butter with sesame seeds, a flagon of wine, a snifter of whiskey, and a huge glass jug of water.

"Limestone! To help our growing boy's teeth come in bright and strong!" Petra cheerfully hummed a song her grandmother used to sing when she was making dinner. It was in the southern dialect that she didn't learn until she was older, and it seemed the words were ever changing, so all she could remember is the tune and the last few lines. She broke into song anyhow, making up some new words for the first half. "Castles for dragon's teeth, grinning he shines! Biscuits for fair friends, sharing their rhymes! Ice in the whiskey, fire in the wine, the drink may be risky, but brings with it time."

She smiled to herself and looked up to see everyone staring at her except Cecil, who was staring at them staring at her.

"Wh..." Euphemia's voice quavered. "Where did you hear that song?"

"Have... have I offended you? My grandmother used to sing it at dinner when I was a child. The start was always different, but the last few bars were always the same. I finally learned what they meant when I was older."

"No you've done nothing to offend us! It was beautiful Petra." Alder put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "This song is very old. There are few who know it. Where was your grandmother from?"

"Arden. Why?"

Cecil put a comforting arm around his wife's shoulders. "What's going on? What's so important about the song?"

The three exchanged glances.

"Petra, do you trust Cecil?"

"WHAT KIND OF QUESTION IS THAT?!" She snapped back, fury flashing across her brow. Euphemia smiled gently. She cooled. "Of course. To the ends of time."

Suddenly Alder and Euphemia were gone, and in their place were two dragons, each double the size of Glassmaker.

They bowed gently. "My queen."

--and that friends, is where I'll pause for now.

I also want this man's genie friend

That’s the best when random factors end up with something positive!

Ah so kind of like a “I can do it better” attitude? That works!