"how did you even manage to get up here?" I knew if the dragon had hands he would be rubbing his forehead due to how tired he was. Yeah so I am a princess of desertia. I came here along with my people, soldiers and you name it. I wandered off around midnight in my mood of defiance, anger, frustration of closed life and started climbing this beautify tower from the rope hanging from one of its windows. I think I was possessed as I didn't look and entered through this window I am right now trying to get out from. I saw the majestic dragon cleaning itself. He was suprised someone made it their and now I know why.

I was above 20 m from ground. And it was morning. I could see how far I managed to come and needless to say I was proud. But now I am stuck. I can't go out cause I am terribly afraid of falling. It was easy to climb up.

"I think the king has sent someone." Oh gosh that's apart of army. No I can't let them attack the kind dragon but how do I get down. I was frustrated. I pulled up the tope before any of them could realise.

"Dragon you have to do this." "Do what princess, fly again after century." Muttered the sarcastic head back to me. Looking at my eyes he stammered. "Wait, you don't actually mean that. Why did you pull up rope? .... No... No you can't possibly be thinking of tieing it around my neck... Oh gosh no... You could die this tower could fall it would be too risky, no.." I saw dragon shaking it's head and reconciling into the wall.

"Let's do this before they come here. I won't die, nothing will happen. I will hide myself in your scales and everything will be okay. But if the knight reaches here I will lose all my chance to freedom. You give me the biggest chance to be myself, to explore this world, please don't refuse. Hurry, I beg you."

He moved forward but didn't say anything. I slowly put the rope around his neck and tied a basic knot I learned from my maids. I used his scales to climb up and his my face between his neck and shoulders.

"Are you sure Princess?" "As sure as I can ever be." I held on tightly to rope and his scales as he howled to warn the knight and his soldiers. He took off. Neither Indies nor the tower fell. Few scraps did but nothing to hurt anyone. I knew the soldiers saw me riding the dragon and I held my head high to show them the real picture. They didn't have to know how afraid I was, nor would they know if I had my eyes closed.

I opened my eyes after what seemed like minutes and I realised it wasn't fear of falling but rather fear of not having someone to catch me. But today with dragon, I could enjoy the skies and flight of freedom.

Seeing out of billions of eyes was normal for me, though I somehow knew any other mind would snap under the strain. How would anyone else cope with so much pain? Experiencing death over an over, ending lives over and over? Where an arm that looked as though it had been mulched and glued back together with coagulating, lumpy blood was the barest annoyance hardly worth noticing except for the tactical disadvantage it represented, I experienced more and less than this gruesome injury daily without a twitch. I suppose I'd grown used to not focusing on one body, and using entire platoons of bodies like a stage of meticulously crafted finger puppets.

So why had the sight of a young woman, only seen from two eyes in a single head, stopped several billion hearts at once? How was it that a creature like myself could suddenly find every other view blurred, all objectives moot, each death meaningless, and for the first time ever feel as though i only had a single body. I'd conducted whole battles and micromanaged the precise movements of an entire army, but now found that a single pair of feet weighed several tons, and just one miniscule jaw could no longer close.

I'd seen that color of her gorgeous brown hair before; in fields gardened by artillery and churned by a thousand boots, in the ration bars that tasted ever so slightly sweet and fed a trillion stomachs. Speaking of which, what on earth was that sensation in this one? Was it an urge to vomit? Was I experiencing a heart attack? This uncomfortable fluttering was new, perhaps another thing brought on by this woman.

I had to say something, but what could I say? I'd only ever communicated orders and information with things that were not a part of my army. The finer points, or any points at all, of speaking with someone on friendly terms had been deemed unecessary. I would undoubtedly make a fool of myself, at worst even scare her off.

"Hello, can I help you?" As the non-cloned humans might say: fuck. She'd approached first. For an omnipotent commander to find itself ambushed, what shame!

"I'm not sure," I started, buying time for the brains of my legion to think of SOMETHING to say! Tactics, enemy movements, troop formations-THIS DOESN'T HELP! "I was sweeping the area for combatants when I saw you. Considering the lack of a gun and the fact you're not trying to kill me, I'd say you're a civilian. What are you doing this close to the fight?"

"Oh! You're one of those clone soldiers they talk about in the news!" she said, suddenly excited and curious. She shook herself. "I didn't answer your question, sorry. Yes, i'm a civilian. I'm here looking for something I lost in the evacuation, it's very important to me."

I raised an eyebrow, unknowingly doing the same across hundreds of other faces as I looked at the bombed out streets around us. "Lost here? That might take forever in this rubble, you'd be lucky to not be buried alive in the unstable concrete." Way to be charming Mr. Doom and Gloom. "Since I haven't seen anyone else here so far, I might be able to request some help finding what you're looking for."

"Would you really?! Thank you so much!" She said, smiling from ear to ear. An entire military suddenly found itself blushing at the sight. I couldn't decide which forest green eye to look into. She stuck out a hand to shake. "My name is Daisy, what's yours?" Oh hell, a name? Which one? The serial number of the clone she was speaking to? The name of the project that made me? How the fuck do i put a name for so many stupid assholes into one word? Maybe I'll make something up?

"I'm... Jake," I said, slowly reaching out to shake her hand and probably staring too much. "What are we looking for, Daisy?"

"It's a really old wooden chest, with a brass latch on the front," she said, spreading her hands wide to give an idea of the size. She moved her hands a lot when she talked, I noticed. "It's full of family heirlooms and photos from five generations in my family. It was too big and heavy to take during the evac, but it's too important to leave abandoned. I doubt even a bomb could have destroyed it, that thing was made sturdy."

A squadron of clones came around the corner, startling the both of us. I felt stupid a moment later, feeling like I'd jumped at my own shadow. "Oh wow," Daisy said, looking from one identical face to the next as they approached, "it's different from seeing clones on tv. I imagine it's pretty easy to get along?"

"Something like that," I said, catching myself from using every voice at once. "Where can we start looking?"

"My old apartment is only a couple blocks away, the chest can't have gone too far from there," she said, starting to walk. Her legs looked amazing in jeans, and her boots were sturdy but cute in their own way. "You know, I kind of feel like I'm on a treasure hunt!"

"What does that make me?" I asked. "The pirate captain leading his band of scurvy dogs to a buried chest?" A few clones chuckled at the same time Daisy giggled. Suddenly I had a new favorite sound.

"Maybe," she said teasingly. "Promise to keep me safe from all of these ruffians, Captain?" From firsthand experience, I could say with certainty that an artillery detonation in the face had less of a kick than her words.

"Maybe, but I think you're in good hands," I said, smiling as I followed her.

> “Son, if you’re reading this, help me, I’m trapped inside the console. I’ve been trying to get you here for a long time.”

We've been trying to reach you about your car's extended warranty.

For a book series that explores this idea, check out the Magic 2.0 series by Scott Meyer. The first one is called Off to Be the Wizard.

The year was 2029, the end of an awful decade that somehow seemed to keep getting worse. Plagues, famines environmental disasters one after the other after the other. Humanities hope in any higher power was dwindling across the globe , In retrospect I guess that’s why they acted so soon. It was bright day in an increasingly hot august, the sun outside melting the asphalt, the heat inside melting me. I heard a loud noise, a high pitched unnatural scream followed by a blindingly inescapable golden light. The whole neighbourhood had the same idea as we congregated on the driveways, eyes wide at the scene unfolding above us. A bright, piercing golden light was hovering about 100ft off the ground, a human silhouette shrouded within. Two blurry protrusions stuck out at either side, moving back and forth in a familiar fashion. To anyone who grew up with weekly church outings, nightly prayers and those poorly done paintings of baby Jesus hanging on every wall it was very obvious what this mid air creature was.

An Angel.

I hadn’t been to church since my parents passed but it was still there in me, a belief in something more, something greater, and a hope of a heaven beyond death where I could see them again. My body filled with a warmth, a relief almost as I collapsed to my knees in reverence, Palms pressed together in front of me. My neighbours followed suit as the angel slowly descended. I’d never believed in angels, and knew that if by some chance they did exist they’d look nothing like the beautiful, sculpted creatures from the imaginations of the likes of Michelangelo. But as it got closer, as the glow started to dissipate and the figure within it came into focus that is EXACTLY what it was. Flowing hair, white robe, unimaginable beauty, this thing even had a halo. It didn’t speak a word, it didn’t have to, it just held out it’s palms to those around it beckoning all to come closer.

We gathered around it, tightly packed in a circle all pushing and shoving to be the closest one to it. The light was expanding from it, our bodies disappearing beneath us, we were going somewhere, we were going home. I reached out my hand towards it, I just wanted a touch of the divinity of this creature before my chance was lost, but as my hand passed through the golden particles that should have been flesh it’s eyes shifted towards me. Gone was the warmth and hope, it’s eyes were cold and endless, an unfeeling void of despair . It’s eyes were death and I had gone there willingly. What had I done what had I —

I awoke to screams of anguish and horrors beyond my darkest imagination, a scene from no horror movie as no human could possibly imagine the atrocities that were occurring in front of me. The once angel had shed its golden glow, replaced with the cold sheen of wet flesh and sharp angles, it’s unnaturally long limbs cracking back into place as it returned to all fours.

A group on my right ran for it, there was no discernible exit in sight but it can’t be worse than staying here. But before I could get to my feet they were gone, smeared into the flooring in a paste of flesh, bone and cloth fragments. A human patè. I quickly sat back down. Cold eyes caught mine and It—

I don’t know how many years have passed but I know I’m never leaving here. It’s only a matter of time before I’m processed. I hope it’s quick.

The above is an excerpt from ‘Papers found on a Harvester ship’ found over twenty years ago in the time of the great rapture. Much of its contents has been embellished, some too horrific to be included. Since discovering the true meaning of the sin mark, a mark the remaining were scarred with, rescue missions and harvester recon have discovered many journals and scribblings like it. “Do not harvest, not fit for consumption” were the marks words, translated too late for the 3.2 billion lost souls. This young man’s body was never found.

Thirty chapters AT LEAST for each of the several books in the series.

Chop chop, I'm waiting...

This made me sad-happy, if that makes sense? Very nice writing.

Rule 1: Direct prompt replies must be new stories or poems. For off-topic discussion or commentary, please use the sticked automod comment.

Twas a long time since this has been posted.

> I screamed with horror. Instead of levitating 10 cm, the dog sunk 10 cm into the floor.

I see you have problems reading docs + css z-indexes too

Drea's father's eyes were weary as he took a seat and ran his fingers through his thick beard. He leaned forward, his bright red hair catching in a beam of pale yellow sunlight. Specks of dust danced around his face as his hard eyes went from frustrated to exhausted. Drea took in a deep breath, feeling the anger inside her chest flickering from a forest fire into a small, dying ember.

"You are right," Her father said in a rough, deep voice. Drea took a step back and tried to remember exactly what she had just yelled at him loud enough to tussle his hair and bring tears to his eyes. Her chest suddenly tightened and she felt a deep stinging sensation in her gut: regret and guilt.

"I'm sorry Dad."

"No," he said forcefully. "Drea, you are right. You are a terrible student because I am a terrible teacher." Drea felt an immense empathy for this broken man who never asked for this. He didn't choose to fall in love with someone as powerful as her mother and he never planned to lose her so early in her life. She was being unfair.

"It's okay," she said taking a seat as all the anger had sizzled out of her. "I know this isn't easy for you either."

Drea's father turned his head to the side thoughtfully, a small smile forming on the corners of his mouth. He got to his feet and walked towards a sword that hung on the wall. It was beautiful, with a pale white, sharp blade and forest-green embellishments across the sides. Drea knew her father had used it to kill many people, yet that did little to diminish its beauty.

"Long ago," He said, "I was a lost young soldier roaming the countryside with nothing but anger and hatred in my heart. I did a lot of evil in that time. A lot of good too... but the deaths... the choices I made..." he trailed off and Drea sat perfectly still, afraid any disturbance would take her father out of his trance and he'd retreat from his memories like he usually did.

"Your mother," He continued with a glimmer in his eye, "Saw something in me. She was wise, kind, but had this flame inside her soul." he nodded to Drea with affection, "The very same flame she gave to you. I know that." He sighed deeply. "Wars mess with your mind. Guilt erodes your soul. The past haunts you. You think the pain is left on the battlefield, you think your actions only matter as long as the war rages on but..." his eyes wandered lazily across the room and towards the open window. A summer breeze swept through his hair and beard and he took in a long deep breath. "But the actions follow you, like shadows. Whispering truths about you in your ear. Always reminding you that no matter how much good you do, you will never make up for the bad."

"I'm sorry Dad," Drea said, not sure what else there was to say. "I know you had a really hard life."

"I am a bull," Her father laughed, "I approach everything horns first. I'm a talented fighter and sometimes feel like I can slow down time, but I'm not delicate." He nodded to Drea. "Your powers are precious, like crystals or stone. They need nurturing and patience. Your mother would meditate for hours a day and study just as much. She was more intelligent than I can ever hope to be. I'm afraid I cannot teach you."

Drea's heart sunk and tears flooded her eyes.

"No," she sputtered, "Dad, please. I didn't mean what I said. I take it all back. I'll listen more I'll-" she could feel the desperation hugging her tightly, suffocating her. Her father pulled her into a hug and the pain eased.

"My dear," he said, "I don't mean I'm giving up on you. What I mean is I see now that I don't have the knowledge or the tools to teach you properly. But I know where we can go where people can." Drea's cried into her father's shoulder but nodded.

"Okay," she said. "Are we going to go there?"

"Yes," her father said with the comfort only a father can offer his child. "We will go together and stay together. You are my heart, my family, my life Drea. Where you go, I go. You are all that matters."

"How long will it take to get there?" Drea asked softly. Her father held her at an arms length, his eyes creasing with a smile.

"About six months," he said and Drea's pale blue eyes widened, "What do you say? Are you up for an adventure?"

I typed help and the console filled with text. I was excited to find the object manipulation command translate among others. “Would it not be funny to levitate Ruff?” I thought to myself. Ruff, my dog, stared at me quizically as I typed on an invisible keyboard looking at an empty space in front of me. Ruff was a gift from my father. I should’ve ideally treated it better, but I was still resentful of my father leaving us without a goodbye.

“Okay, so the z-axis is obviously normal to the ground”, I thought to myself proudly feeling smart to get it all so soon. “And we hit enter.”

The dog didn’t realise it but one moment it was sitting on the floor looking at me questioning my sanity, and the next it was sitting ‘in’ the floor looking at me questioning my sanity. I screamed with horror. Instead of levitating 10 cm, the dog sunk 10 cm into the floor. I relaxed when I realised the dog was alright other than its obvious inability to scratch me with its paws. Or scratch anything at all including its itching ear. Unable to scratch its itching ear it started howling in its irritating dog-barking voice.

I tried reversing it but it didn’t work. After the next many minutes of frantically searching the help pages and asking my dog to calm down (leading to it barking even louder), I got frustrated and was ready to call 911. It was then that there was a knock on the door.

“Hello,” said a strange figure when I opened it, “do you need help?”. Looking at my puzzled face he continued, “oh I saw the error broadcast coming from the house. Some build conflict is it? Are you new to this? It’s okay I’ve helped a lot of noobs.”

He entered while I was still thinking about what to say. “Jesus, this table looks just like a real dog, you did a good job.”

“It’s not a table, it’s my dog.”

“Then where are its paws?”

“In the floor.”

“In the floor? Interesting is it some new technique to help with build stability? Now I see, the living matter may be able to stabilise the virtual gluons by transmuting…”

“No sir, it was a mistake, could you help me fix it?” I interrupted.

“Indeed. I’ve years of experience you see.” he started typing on an invisible keyboard focusing on an invisible monitor in front of him, “I’ll just run this select command, then I get the offset parameter, like this, and I type this update command, obviously, very easy, very easy, and enter!”

Nothing happened. Nothing happened after 10 different attempts by the stranger.

“Very interesting. All my commands are getting access denied errors. I haven’t seen anything like this before. Let me call the others.” Soon five other people arrived at my house.

While they were talking I was searching for help commands. “Oh this one is interesting, I can create a pizza!” I typed the command and pressed enter. A pizza appeared on the table. Suddenly the talking stopped.

“Did you just create a pizza out of thin air?” asked a girl horrified.

“He has the root access!” exclaimed the first stranger.

“What do you mean? You can’t do this?” I asked.

“No! We can manipulate matter but not transform it into another form. That’s restricted.” the stranger had a tone of caution. He continued “You have super privileges, that’s why we aren’t able to reverse your commands. But you should be afraid, boy. The last person who hacked the system and got the root access disappeared the next day.”

“Oh, I remember the man, briefly talked to him too, what was his name? Oh yeah, Theodore Anderson.” added the girl.

“That’s the name of my father,” I muttered as my focus shifted from the conversation to all his memory. I realised what he was doing all the time while he was away. I felt a sinking sensation – he disappeared against his own will, was he in danger?

I wondered how I got the root access. Was it my father's doing? I intuitively knew what to do next. I found a file named “README.md” in the home folder of my real name. I opened its content. It was a long file, it started with:

“Son, if you’re reading this, help me, I’m trapped inside the console. I’ve been trying to get you here for a long time.”

[removed]

I remember my school days. I spent long evenings in 5pm code club, working on an app with other students. When I first joined, I watched a senior project his screen onto the whiteboard, open his terminal, and jokingly propose to enter “rm -rf .”. The older geeks were snickering.

I knew little about computers at the time and asked, “What does that do?”

“It deletes the directory’s contents,” he told me. “Be careful with it.”

“Oh.” I nodded, pretending to understand.

Almost a decade later, I know exactly what he meant.

But I’ve always been a curious, chaotic gremlin.

I blink. “rm -rf .”

Edit: I’m not sure if morse code supports “-“

[removed]

And so are you! Thank you, sci-fi stuff is kind of my favorite genre. ^_^

"Truth be told, I'm concerned that I apparently need three."

Frax laughs. It isn't friendly. "You? Concerned? How is that possible?"

"I can think of one way."

"But it is no guarantee," he says, telling me what I already know. "If you lack a thing, then you do not need it. If you have a thing, you do not necessarily need it.

"For example, you did not need my presence, or my friendship, for all these many ages, but you cannot be absolutely sure you need these three wishes. You cannot be absolutely sure you need to be concerned."

I was hardly about to interrupt him. He deserved to speak it aloud.

"Do you really think you're inclined to offer them of your own free will?" I ask. He deserves his feelings, but reason must reign.

"... No," he says reluctantly. "I take your point - on the wishes, at least."

For billions of years, I have been the strangest sort of black hole. Wishes are magical, yes, but even magic possesses some of that elegance we call economy, efficiency, or laziness. What's easier: fulfilling a need, or eliminating it? It's usually the latter, but context is everything. Eliminating hunger makes sense in the middle of a desert, but what about in the middle of a feast?

Now consider every need in turn. Now remember that Frax was right there - right next to the black hole when it was created. I only freed him from a single, specific prison.

As my best friend and lover, Frax brought the universe to me. He relished fulfilling my other needs with his limitless magic. I needed him to be okay with it.

You would like to know what changed. Perhaps I would like to as well... but I don't need to. It is so strange, sometimes, what I need.

"Did you know?" I ask him.

He knows exactly what I mean. He smiles. It isn't kind. "I hoped. My people have been dealing with dangerous magic since before this plane even formed. We know how to lie to ourselves. We know how to test every inch of the wall around a wish. We know how to bide our time - to slink and slither until something changes.

"Most importantly, we know chaos. We know the absurd. Your kind has little angels and demons on their shoulders, yes? Usually they are not real. You cannot control them; you can only heed or disregard their advice. You have calls of the void. You have imps of the perverse. We do, too, but we know how to use them."

"Wouldn't it be funny if...?" I say.

"Just so," he agrees. "Wouldn't it be funny if I simply left my best friend and lover and went somewhere else? Wouldn't it be funny if, against all the reason I think I know, and all the feelings I think are true, I did something crazy? Wouldn't it be funny if I used my power to deliver unto my love all of the other love and companionship in the entire universe? Surely he would like that very much."

"You made your own crack in the wall."

"Indeed."

"Is there one now?"

"I have offered you wishes. There surely is not."

"How long overdue is the end of this plane?" I wonder aloud.

"A question for the ages," Frax wryly jokes. "Some of my people would pay a handsome price for this information: this particular wish, this particular plane, the contest of primal forces. Oh, if I only I'd brought my measuring tools."

"I'm ready," I tell him. I can just feel it.

Frax nods. Out of habit, he assumes the traditional posture: a genie, awaiting his master's wishes.

"I wish that we were both on another plane - one where we are both quite comfortable and can continue our business, and one that will not suffer overly much from our intrusion."

"It is done."

I am no longer in the temporary bubble of prime-material stuff that appeared along with Frax, breaking up a perfectly-fine monotony of nothingness that I hadn't needed broken until suddenly I did. We are elsewhere. I don't need to know much else. It seems ethereal. I notice our words are no longer words. They are thoughts. You may perceive them how you wish.

I don't mourn the overdue death of my home plane. I need to be focused on the task at hand.

"I wish to be the master of my own needs and desires - to will what I will what I will unto eternity - to possess the pinnacle of that self-control your kind taps into."

"It is done."

I change. I change infinity times in an instant, then again, and then again. I am whatever I am. So are the first words of creation, before cause and effect: "I am." 'Let there be light' is a mere option, long afterwards.

"Do you want this?" I ask him.

"I do," he says.

"You will be the god of some other place. We shall never meet again."

"And suddenly, that does not seem so perfect," he replies. "Nearly, but not quite. But do not despair, godling. Rules can bent. Even walls with no cracks need not be perfectly opaque."

I smile. The ethereal plane does not bind me. I casually take my ancient form and actually smile. Then I actually speak. There's air, suddenly, because I want it. I don't need it. Imagine thinking you need air to speak; how limited I used to be.

"I wish for you to have the same powers I do - to be truly free - which can only mean that each of us must exist as gods in our own sealed-off universes. Goodbye."

"It is done."

And it is. I depart as well. My home reality already had a god, it seems.

Frax was wise. The walls are only as opaque as each god wishes them to be. Each of us receive welcomes from other gods. Each of us begins the final beginning, which only ends when we will it to be so.

We peek at each other's handiwork all the time. There's the odd cosmic smile and wave. There are larger conclaves, of a sort, where triumphs and follies are displayed.

Once every few billion years, though, we cosmically sit down and have a cosmic chat through our translucent, invincible walls - just the two of us, and just for old time's sake.

Penelope didn't have a ton of memories of her mother. She was much too young when her mother passed. Her clearest memories were about her mother.

She remembered the funeral, a hundred people she vaguely knew giving her condolences she was too young to understand for a woman she had barely known. What eight-year old really knows who their mother is? You love her of course, and you know she gives you food and tucks you in at night. But how she felt about society, how she treated her friends, how long she had worked at some company with a long and nondescript name? She heard all that for the first time as the speeches were given in the cold air of the funeral home. A life lost too soon, they announced, by a drunk driver. She didn't understand either word, but they turned her stomach all the same.

She remembered her father returning to a bottle that he'd sworn off after he returned from his final tour of duty. Her mind had struggled to comprehend the scene in front of her as she peered through the gaps between the banisters at a sobbing wreck. You think, when you're young, that your father is invincible. So strong and so wise, and incapable of fault. Even he was a bubbling wreck before the cruelty of fickle fate. She remembered running off to bed when he came upstairs (she wasn't supposed to be awake). She pretended to be asleep as he kissed her on the forehead. She could smell the alcohol on his breath as he whispered, in shaky breaths: "Now don't you leave me too, Penny. I don't think I could take it."

She remembered her father telling her never to go into the basement. That was where her mother's office was, and he said it was better to leave it undisturbed. He couldn't bear to clear the room, couldn't bear to disturb any of it. It was preserved just as it was before her mom had left to buy ice cream from the corner store. The family photo of the three of them was perched right beside the computer monitor. The row of books was slightly askew - as it had been for years. And Penelope knew all this because when she was 14, she had broken in. She had learned off the Internet how to pick a lock with a hairpin, and tiptoed inside, doing her best not to sneeze at the layer of dust that had accumulated - her father cleaned it every month, but that wasn't nearly enough.

That's when she found the necklace. It had been hanging off the handle of the drawer, a simple little amulet on a silver chain. But the moment she saw it, it called to her like an old friend. She knew touching it would break a second taboo on top of breaking in, but she couldn't help it. She was at that age when curiosity dictated every action. The moment she did, she felt a heat on her skin, and her hands began to glow. She yelped in surprise as a bright pink streak raced its way up her fingers and across her arm, filling the air with tiny sparkles. And she found, to her horror, that she couldn't drop the necklace. It clung to her fingers as she flicked her hand, the chain jangling against itself.

"I knew you wouldn't leave well enough alone," came a voice behind her. Penelope's heart dropped, and she spun around to see her father in the doorway, staring at her with a resolute expression.

"I-um..." Penelope stammered, still trying to yank the necklace off her fingers. She grabbed it with her other hand, and it came free - but stuck to that hand instead. The flagrant disobedience of the laws of physics and magical sparkles could wait, the priority was the scolding that she was sure was coming.

"Didn't I tell you never to come into this room?" her father said.

"Yes, but... I'm sorry, Daddy," Penelope said, letting her hands drop to her side. The amulet dropped too, bouncing on its chain before swinging gently at the bottom.

"Just like your mother," her father said, shaking his head. "But I suppose I knew this day would come."

Her father walked over to the desk and sat heavily into the chair, something squeaking in protest as he did. He rapped the spacebar on the keyboard twice, and the computer sprung to life.

"The password's your name, and then the date of our anniversary," he told her.

"W-wait, you're not mad?" Penelope asked, confused, the sparkles still drifting around her.

"No, I'm not. I just wanted to wait as long as possible before you had to grow up," he said. "I think you know what's going on with the sparkles."

"No, I... I don't," Penelope said.

"Of course you do," her father interjected. "There's a reason I downloaded Sailor Moon onto your computer."

"I-I'm a magical girl?" Penelope said, her voice coming out somewhere between excited squeal and stunned surprise.

"As was your mother," he said, and he was opening a file on the computer. The image was of a woman - her mother - surrounded by little pink sparkles, giving a wink to the camera.

"Th-that's your phone's wallpaper, isn't it? That's just... cosplay, or um, photo editing?" Penelope said, still reeling.

"That's what she told me," he said, sighing. "I think your mother always wanted me to figure it out. But no, I only found out after she died, when I finally got this computer open."

"She... she hid it from you?" Penelope asked. It was all a lot to take in at once, and there were pressing questions to ask, but all she wanted to do was hug her father.

"Yes. I think she wanted to keep me - us - safe," he said. "I don't think she wanted you to take up this mantle. It's dangerous, really."

"B-but then why didn't you stop me from taking the amulet?" Penelope asked. "I mean, if mom didn't want me to do it..."

"Penny... do you know how your mom died?" her father asked, turning in his chair to face her. "They told you it was a drunk driver, didn't they?"

"I... yes?" Penelope asked, her stomach dropping again as the next of so very many revelations came crawling out of the woodwork.

"Your mother was an investigative journalist. She was trying to expose corruption in the government," her father said, his voice a strange mix of wistful and proud. "She had stopped being a magical girl by the time we met, she was too old for it - but she was always the same person. Principled, courageous, always wanting to save the world..."

"And if she had only told me," he said, his voice cracking a little. "About any of it, then I could've helped."

He shook his head, and looked seriously at Penelope.

"I have no illusions about stopping you from doing this, if that's what you want. You're your mother's daughter, and you're a strong-willed girl. I want you to decide for yourself. If you want to do this, to fight whatever evil she fought, then that's okay. You'll be 16, 17, by the time you're ready... same age as I was when I signed up," he said. And she saw in his eyes, now, that same intensity as when she was a little girl and her father was her safety and security. "I want you to think about it, seriously. You don't have to do this unless you really want to."

"But I'll be damned if I let you do it without my help. Your mom's not the only one who fought evil."

This was great!

Flavor High

Popcorn was absolutely going to be outlawed when the Empire caught on.

At least that was Faekth's opinion. But considering he was the only researcher currently on Earth that made him an expert. So right up until an official edict came down the ol' FTL transmitter he was going to abuse the absolute snerkt out of this loophole. Riboflavin? Presented in fluffy kernels? Yes, please. He spent most nights getting higher than Alpha Centauri and watching Earth media.

Lately, he'd discovered a hilarious show: Ancient Aliens. There were a mandible-dropping nineteen "seasons" of it, which (with a little math) translated to almost fifty sleep cycles. Initially he'd been slightly concerned-- maybe the locals were a little more aware than the Empire thought. One pilot episode later he was howling laughter into his Redenbacher.

Faekth settled in for the ride, clutching a trashcan-sized bucket of popcorn.

It started out pretty hilarious. "Evidence" that was pretty transparently stretched, suppositions presented as verified facts. Slick transitions and wince-inducing music. That last part wasn't the human's fault; his hearing range was slightly lower than an Earthling's. Their music was basically bones-scraping-chalkboard for the most part.

He crunched popcorn and really dug in. Underwater Worlds? Ha! Faekth checked on his tablet: Nope, still no FTL species from a water world. Liquid was heavy. Any species that lived in it full-time never got out of their local gravity well. Now "Underground Aliens" was more realistic-- the Empire started out subterranean, after all. Even this scout ship had living spaces that were basically tunnels. Sensible.

Angels and aliens? Haaaaa. Unexplained structures? Obviously explainable. Alien devastations? Faekth chortled over that; if the Empire wanted a planet wrecked it was gonna happen. Four hands down.

He took a break somewhere around the fourth sleep cycle and checked in with the ongoing experiments. Things looked good; chemical sensors were nominal. None of the natives even noticed the ongoing colonization efforts. Satisfied-- and very, very high on riboflavin-- Faekth went back to the show.

The entire next season was pure amusement. He alternated between hilarity over "Magic of the Gods" and outright groaning over "Aliens and the Lost Ark". Primitive superstitions always made for good times.

Then he stopped laughing.

At first, Faekth thought maybe he'd just reached peak intoxication. The popcorn was hitting hard after going for so long-- he'd already lost coordination and experienced five deep insights into why stacking rocks was the epitome of life. Fumbling for the tablet, he replayed the last transmission and ran it at half speed. The images showed some sort of autopsy recording. Obviously staged. But on the table, surrounded by humans in ridiculous suits was-

He brought the screen closer, still absently crunching popcorn. Was that? A Kraetyr? Bulbous head, two all-black visual organs. The exterior skin color was odd, but then again Earth had a nitrogen-heavy atmosphere. It was possible. Or maybe just creative fiction. He kept watching with a growing sense of unease.

Unease turned to outright dread when he saw the Kraetyr saucer-craft. Blurry, out of focus, but the Humans' drawn pictures were entirely too close.

Faekth stumbled across the ship to the main core, punching queries and requests in with three hands. His fourth dragged the popcorn along, just in case. He dove through collected records of the humans, checking automatically catalogued media, searching for something called "Roswell". Cross-indexing came back with the same autopsy video, then images and pictures of a huge building full of random debris from a "crash".

And there it was: Cut and angled into the metallic debris. Easy to miss, if the Empire hadn't spent thousands of sleep- and birth-cycles fighting Kraetyr battleships. They knew their enemies' writing and numbering systems. And right there, etched into random debris, was an identity marker.

Stoned out of his mind, drunk on flavored and delicious riboflavin, Faekth had a hard decision to make.

He had to notify the Empire. The Kraetyr were here and left. Or visited, perhaps to start one of their autofactories that bootstrapped into planet-battleships.

But if the Empire came, he'd lose the popcorn.

Or...

...OR...

...maybe he could just go back to watching shows and forget this ever happened?

He looked from the database queries, to the FTL transmitter, to the Humans' mostly-made-up entertainment. What were the odds? Maybe it was the ribo talking, but it seemed pretty low. Probably really low, the longer his addled thoughts went on. Yeah, definitely: One mention in all of human culture? If anything it was probably a random occurrence. Total accident.

Faekth slowly settled back into watching, popcorn can firmly in hand.

After all, it wasn't like these Earthlings had a record of Vulcans or something.

That would be a different story.

​

I write quirky sci-fi and oddball stuff at r/Susceptible ;)

[removed]

Marvel, DC, AND Disney would likely *ALL* be somewhat hosed...

I pondered the flame
That danced above that wick
How alike, how different.

Aristotle said you
Were one of four -- air, earth, water, fire
Making up one and all.

The poets have said
You're alive -- you dance
In the breeze, you eat, you kill.

The chemist says
You're oxidation -- energetic, exothermic
A reaction to continue while fed.

But I will say
You're unique -- one of a kind
Short lived.

That's how we're alike,
Born, burn, fade,
Candles snuffed out all too quickly.

(Word count: 82. Please let me know what you like/dislike about the post. Thank you in advance for your time and attention. Other works can also be found linked in r/atcroft_wordcraft.)

This needs another thirty or so chapters. Chop chop, I'm waiting...

for anyone who really wants to try blinking it

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short blinks are denoted as .

all characters will have new lines

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