It was autumn when the monkey arrived at my doorstep. He looked angry, as far as monkeys go. I was not concerned.

The home itself had become a bastion. A haven. A soliloquy. The defenses impeccable. The isolation absolute.

The monkey screamed at the door, at me, perhaps. The monkeys had proved stubborn when I first arrived. They thought themselves nature's finest and I had proven apt at dissuading them otherwise. Animals. Curing them of their beliefs did not help me with my thoughts.

Grief is a wheel turning, the spoke comes around again. I had divested myself of my other and found freedom in power. And now I was here.

The monkey continued to shriek at the front gate, a profound tone that I found myself pitying. I went to the study and opened the window. It would be better, I thought, then what I had become.

As I slept, my mental intuition, honed for oh so many years, yelled in a much less poignant way then the monkey had, for loss of his tribe, for loss of his mother.

From within a great lethargy I roused myself, for I knew then that I still possessed the will and as a sharp edged rock descended upon my brow, I spoke one word of power. And the monkey became ash.

Go for it, throw me a link so I can enjoy? That'll be nifty.

Something even the Raiders steered clear of. Partly for legal reasons, partly for diplomatic issues. But mostly because, deep down, they weren't sure the Boneships didn't "collect" new materials on their own.

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Let me know if I can cross post this into Star Citizen Spectrum, to scare all the new salvagers -with credit due of course.

Oh I am here for that. Hit me with what you're thinking, I'd love to geek out a bit.

Thomas J. Hampson began his annual party upon Oct 3rd. He invited all of his friends, both in town, across the country, ocean, & world. But, he also brings the world famous detective, John Pullman. John enters the party to everyone’s astonishment, never expecting the he of all people to show up.

Thomas: Welcome! Welcome! I didn’t think you would show up with that case you were dealing with! John: Bah! That case took me just an hour to solve! Had enough time to dress & shave before coming here! Thomas: Impressive as always! Wish I had skills such as yours. John: They certainly are some skills, but I also wished I had some actual challenges. Thomas thought to himself: Oh, I’ll give you a challenge.

An hour into the party as John was speaking of his greatest cases, Thomas called for everyone’s attention as he stands atop a special stage.

Thomas: Thank you! Thank you! It’s so great to see everyone here too day! And, to even have the world famous detective, John Pullman today! Everyone cheers as John basks in the glory.

Thomas: At the same time, I not only invited John to this party as a gesture of generosity & bonding, but also for an important task. Thomas pulls back a curtain revealing a priceless painting, causing everyone to stare in awe. Thomas: I was hoping to perform an auction for this beloved painting, but also asked myself “would be a shame if this was stolen.” Which is why I brought John here! I mean, if anyone could find a stolen painting, it’s him!

Suddenly, the lights go out & a gun shot is heard. The lights turn back on & every looks around & sees the painting missing. Thomas: Oh my god! Where did it go?! Who could have done this??? GASP! And my dear friend General Aardvark is dead too! General Aardvark: No, I’m still alive. Thomas: Wha? Wait, then where did? Random person: John Pullman is dead! Everyone gasps. Thomas drops a pistol from his pocket. Everyone gasps again. Thomas: Shit.

Later, the police arrive & arrest Thomas. Thomas: It was supposed to be a grand battle of wits! Me vs John. Who could hide the crime & who could solve it better! Police officer: Anyone could tell it was you since you had a fucking loaded pistol in your pocket, one which was fired, & you wrote a doc saying your entire plan. Thomas: chuckle Damn, your real good detective. Perhaps even better than John himself. To think someone else cou- Police officer: I’m just a police officer. I’m not that smart, your just really dumb. Thomas: Our great wits will clash once again some day! I swear! Thomas is thrown into the cop car.

I fucking hate Mondays.

And I already know what you’re thinking.

“Sure, don’t we all?” but you don’t understand. My job is hell, literally.

I clock in at 8:57 every morning to my job. The place is called Bartholomew & Jones. It sounds like a boring law office or something benign, but it’s so much worse than you could imagine.

If you walked onto the main floor, you might think it was the New York stock exchange in the 80s. Men in stiff suits pace angrily around the edges of the room while charts with a live feed violently rise and fall. But at Bartholomew & Jones, we’re not trading stocks. We’re trading souls.

“Victor!” an ugly woman with a raspy smoker's voice shouts my name as she taps on my desk, “the boss wants to talk to you.”

“Thanks, Linda,” I force a smile as she limps off. Linda was a part of “the family” here at B&J. She has been employed since the late 50s, making her at least 80 years old. I suspect she hasn’t quit because, for some reason or another, she still wants to live.

I get up from my uncomfortable chair and make a bee-line towards the boss’ office. These people were cheap on furniture, and the starting pay was shit, but, I’m about a year, I was able to work myself up to a pretty decent salary, making twice what my friends who worked more “traditional” careers were pulling. Of course, there were certain magical NDAs that I signed which prevented me from telling them what I did, even if I wanted to, I’d immediately burst into flames.

The boss’ office was perched high above everyone on the main floor's head. It was mostly walled off, save for a small window that aligned perfectly with his desk, so while you couldn’t see him, he could most certainly look down and see you.

I picked at a scab on my knuckle anxiously as I made my way up the metal staircase. The sound of my leather shoes clip-clopping on each stair gathered the attention of my coworkers, who, one-by-one began to look up from their desks to watch me. There was Kevin in logistics with a snide grin on his face. Fucking asshole was always trying to sink me by conveniently misplacing the souls I poached on their way to “that place.”

I cast him a glair like daggers. He lost grip of his coffee mug, and it spilled all over the papers on his desk “GoddamnSHIT!” he says, and I enjoy a momentary chuckle before I remember I’m on my way to see the big man: Stephen Jones, the 4th.

The doorknob to his office was a heavy cold steel that looked like it was hammered into a rough shape back in the 1500's. The door was wooden and smelled of cedar & salt. It swung open with a loud creak.

“Stephen, how’s the wife?” I say with a smile as I step into the dark room. The ceiling was impossibly high, with large family portraits on the wall. A single candle lit Stephen’s desk on the opposite end of the room, and between us, there was long fireplace.

“Vvv-ictor, come closer.” came the high hissy voice of Stephen. I gulp and step forward, tripping slightly on a gaudy bear rug.

“Linda said you wanted to see me?” I manage to get out as I step past tall glass containers of petrified tarantulas.

My eyes must have been wide as plates as Stephen began to chuckle his strange whispery snicker.

“S-S-S-SSS, I seeee you’ve noti-s-s-s-ed my collection. What do you think?” came Stephen's voice. Although he was seated, his enormous snake-like head hovered over eight-feet above tbe ground, which forced me to crane my neck in order to meet his slit-shaped glowing yellow eyes.

“Oh, well, it’s a fine collection, Steve. I’m just more of a Dog guy myself.” I laugh it off.

“SSSSSS-S-S-S!” Stephen snickered loudly, his tail rattling somewhere behind his large wooden desk.

“See, that’s what I like about you, Victor! You’re not afraid to sss-speak your mind.”

I let off a sigh of relief as I finally reached the black leather chair for visitors in front of his desk.

“Also, don’t ever call me S-S-Steve, or I'll have you fired before you can sss-say SSS-SAYONARA!”

Stephen raised his three-fingered hand covered in scales and pointed with a large black nail to the seat before his formidable desk.

“Sss-sit” he spoke through his forked tongue.

I sat and found myself in an even more uncomfortable position, forced to look almost straight up to see Stephen’s head bobbing from side to side.

“I’ll get right to the point,” said Stephen, and he reached into the breast pocket of his coat, which was roughly at level with my head.

“Is that what I think it is?” I said in disbelief.

Stephen blinked. There in his hand was a glass vile with a glowing red vapor inside> I immediately recognized, it was a soul. In this modern age of technology, we were trading souls digitally, so it was rare to see a bottled soul in the flesh. Unlike the standard soul case, this one was ornate in every way, with golden designs etched onto the glass and an ornate wooden cap on one end

"Whose is it?"

Stephen pointed back to the large portrait above the fireplace. I turned around to get a better look at it. It was a family of 3 generations of the Jones family, featuring a high school aged of Stephen wearing a tupe, apparently trying to look more human. Behind him stood both his giant snake parents. His father, Stephen Jones the 3rd, with a thin black mustache that must have been drawn on his upper lip, and his mother, whose face was painted with flesh-colored makeup, lipstick and round contact lenses to make her eyes appear more human. However, it had quite the reverse effect making her look like a snake wearing dead skin that hadn’t yet been peeled off.

“Mummy," said Stephen. I gulped as he extended the vile for me to grab.

"I want you to deliver this to deliver this to Morgan & Sss-sons,”

“Our competitors across the road?”

“Preccc-isely, and in return, they’ll have a briefcase for you.”

I wanted to say no. I wanted to run out of the room and not look back, but I couldn't.

“And what should I expect to find in this briefcase."

“You will not need to look in the case, sss-so long as you find this seal on the case unbroken. With his left hand, he sketched what looked like a cross on his notepad, then turned it upside down and pushed it toward me. The hairs on my neck stood straight up, and I stood up from my chair.

“Understood, sir, you can count on me.” I stepped forward to grab the glass-embalmed soul, which pulsed red and pink as I got closer.

“Of course you are.”

I reached for the vile, and just before I could grab it, he pulled it away, forcing my to step forward slightly, almost tripping over his desk. Fast with a whip, Stephen’s head shot down from its high perch until his eyes were just inches away from my own.

“Good luck Victor,” he said with a wink before licking my forhead with his tongue. It was dry and leather, making a rough sound as it passed through my hair.

I gagged but managed to hold it in, slowly turning my back to Stephen and making my way out the door. I stuff the vile into my breast pocket and gasp as I close the office door behind me.

What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

This is giving me ideas for a starfinder campaign I want to run.

[deleted]

Title: Haunting Hotline

Chapter 1: The Ghost and the Smartphone

The first rays of the morning sun filtered through the dusty blinds of my makeshift office. I groggily reached for my cup of coffee and took a sip, trying to prepare myself mentally for another day of otherworldly tech support. My phone buzzed, and the screen displayed a cryptic number I recognized all too well: 666-1313. My heart skipped a beat, and I answered the call.

"Hello, Haunting Hotline, how may I assist you today?" I said, putting on my most professional tone.

The voice on the other end was hushed and ghostly. "Uh, yes, hello. I'm having some trouble with my smartphone. It keeps glitching, and I can't access my social media accounts. How am I supposed to keep up with my followers?"

I suppressed a groan. This was Lady Annabelle, a ghost from the 1800s who had become obsessed with modern technology – particularly Instagram, where she delighted in sharing her haunting escapades with her surprisingly large following.

Chapter 2: The Vampire and the Dating App

As the day wore on, I received a text message from a regular client, Vlad – an ancient vampire who had recently discovered the world of online dating. As the sun dipped below the horizon, he eagerly prowled dating apps in search of his next meal... or, more often than not, someone to keep him company during the lonely nights.

Vlad: "I can't seem to get any matches. Is there something wrong with my profile?"

Me: "Have you tried uploading a more recent photo? Maybe something taken outside of your coffin?"

Vlad: "Ah, perhaps that's it. How do I change the photo again?"

I sighed, rubbing my temples, and proceeded to guide him through the process of updating his profile.

Chapter 3: The Werewolf and the Fitness Tracker

The full moon was approaching, and my phone rang off the hook as lycanthropes from all over sought my help. One particularly anxious werewolf named Luna wanted to use a fitness tracker to monitor her heart rate and exercise levels during her transformations.

"Listen, Luna, I know you're excited about tracking your progress, but remember that fitness trackers aren't designed for werewolves," I warned her. "The band might not fit when you transform, and even if it does, the data might not be accurate."

Luna huffed in frustration, but reluctantly agreed to heed my advice.

Chapter 4: The Mummy and the GPS

My final call of the day came from an ancient Egyptian mummy, Ramose, who had recently been awakened from his tomb. Despite his impressive age, Ramose was eager to explore the modern world – and that included mastering the art of GPS navigation.

"I'm trying to find the nearest museum," he rasped, his voice dry and brittle, "but the GPS keeps leading me in circles."

After several attempts to troubleshoot the issue, I realized the problem: Ramose was still wrapped in his burial shroud, which was blocking the GPS signal. I gently suggested he remove some of the bandages around his head, and soon enough, he was on his way to the museum, leaving me to wrap up another day of paranormal pandemonium.

Despite the frustrations and dangers of my job, there was never a dull moment at the Haunting Hotline. And as I locked up the office for the night, I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction. After all, how many people could say they helped ancient supernatural beings adapt to the modern world?

I guess the adventure is over. After all, The Detective is Already Dead.

Maybe they actually did mean "joules per second per second"? :p

Very nice setup.

Thank you for the story!

Some of the people will be doing things where it would be dangerous to pass out for a minute.

Lmaooo this one's funny

It was certainly hard work building such a massive structure in such an inhospitable environment. The Awakening had reconnected the world to the wells and streams of ancient magic which had been sealed away in the planet’s core eons ago. Now the forces and beings of bygone myths and legends were beginning to reappear.

I was fortunate to come from a long line of dreamers who struggled to draw even a fraction of the old magic back up and out into the world again. When the power returned, my body and mind were prepared to receive it. I gained telekinesis and quickly found that I could exert a hand-shaped force at least one hundred times my strength.

I set out to become the Demon Lord I had always dreamed of. Along the way, I recruited others who had been affected by the surge of magic. Some struggled to accept it and received transformed bodies as a result, capable of wielding their new power. Orcs, elves, cyclops’s, and even lizard-folk. Any being of legend was possible now. Together we would build a home where we could all be safe and happy.

As we approached the mountains, we began to encounter more animals and even plants which had been effected by the surge. Dire wolves, runebears, and even harpies who once were peaceful hawks had begun to prowl and quarrel in this new power structure. With our combined forces, we suffered no casualties beyond minor cuts and bruises.

The construction took a total of four months after we finally reached a suitable clearing. Fortunately the local climate was typically mild. We followed the news only at a distance. Of course there was chaos everywhere, since humans are naturally opposed to such drastic and extreme change, but we had already dedicated ourselves to this task. There was no going back now.

The quarried stone, carefully treated lumber, and even the cement we had to mix largely by hand. I now had an intimate knowledge of every single spec of this glorious keep, like nothing I had ever experienced before. This wasn’t just a home. This was a dream that we all came together and built for ourselves. This was our labor of love.

… So you can imagine my surprise to learn that we are under siege by a group of 6 teenagers calling themselves “heroes”. Apparently one was able to blast a hole through the main gate big enough for their vanguard to jump through and begin assaulting my people. I am told that my response held such force that all who witnessed it swore that gravity had shifted by ninety degrees, as I flew out of my keep and dragged every violent trespasser out with me.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!” I scream as I attempt to keep a clear head. With my powers as they are now: even imagining the act of harming these fools could put their lives at risk “Well, if it isn’t the evil demon lord. We’ve come to defeat you!” The vanguard shouts as if he were a child with a toy.

“Can it, Jason!” Shouts the sorceress who destroyed the gate. The remainder were two sword and shield wielding soldiers, a medic in plate mail, and a rogue with enough concealed knives to break a metal detector “We know you’ve been squatting on this government property for months now, poaching the local wildlife, and building an army of monsters. It all ends today” the sorceress is clearly the leader, while the vanguard is simply delusional.

“Do you truly believe this wildlife is what needs protecting anymore?” I dangle them all over a venus flytrap I’ve been meaning to pull. It strikes and snaps at their legs, but cannot reach. These days they mainly feed on rabbits, deer if they’re lucky. “And as for those ‘monsters’, I’ll have you know they still retain everything that once made them human. Now they simply have more. All we want is to live in peace, free of psycho’s like you trying to say we shouldn’t exist. As for the land ownership: yes, currently we are squatting. It would elate me beyond words to be able to buy this property from the government officially, but they refused my applications. I had no idea they would send hitmen!”

Unfortunately this had given the rogue enough time to plan. They pulled a boot knife and threw it at my arm. In order to stop it telekinetically I had to drop one of them. I chose the medic. I remembered a lake to the west and threw the remainder of the party into it. Enough to scare the pants off them without serious injury. The medic did not understand this.

“You damned monster! I’ll kill you!” The medic grabs a viciously spiked shield as they charge at me. I lift myself over him “You’re friends are safe, I just threw them in the lake. You should run after them and make sure they all know how to swim” he pauses for a moment before realizing the lake I’m referring to. “Well… fine… but you haven’t seen the last of us. We will be back, and we Will defeat you…!” He turns and runs off.

I’m hoping to at least get a day out of this to repair and fortify the stronghold. I had no intention of building armaments on it initially because we had no desire for violence, but clearly that is all that these “heroes” understand. I’m grateful no one died from their attack, but how long before the first casualty falls? If it is one of mine, they will see it as progress toward their victory. If it is theirs, they will refuse to quit until they avenge their fallen comrade.

I’ll think about it over coffee.

oh shit

The amount of worldbuilding and reader investment in the world and character you've done in two replies is goddamned respectable here.

I feel like I could take notes off of this on how to write. Wow.

Andy: Greetings! Supernatural tech support service center. I'm Andy, how may I help you today?

Bastet: Mortal, it has come to my attention that my laptop keyboard is jammed so I am reaching out to you via mobile.

Andy: Would you be able to recount when your keyboard began experiencing issues?

Bastet: My keyboard exhibited dire problems shortly after I started remotely working from home. I can say with much confidence I never had this issue when I had to travel to Bubastis to work.

Andy: I see. Bastet, would you be able to describe the differences between your work environment and your home environment? It could be an environmental issue that has caused your keyboard to jam.

Bastet: I believe the biggest difference is spending time with my numerous children and kittens.

Andy: I think one possible cause is that cat fur and dander have been stuck between your keyboard keys. I propose you pop them off and thoroughly clean them. And try not to let your kittens lounge and roam around your laptop again.

Bastet: Are you blaming my children for what is clearly a technical issue? It is in their nature for cats to lounge on keyboards, once in a while, I do lounge on Sekhmet's console for fun. I think it's the warmth generated, it tickles the belly.

Andy: No, no my lady. It's just probable cause. Please pop off your keyboard keys and clean them. This should resolve your issue. Please set a schedule to clean your keyboard regularly and you shouldn't have any issues moving forward. You may wish to purchase a keyboard dust cleaner or alcohol wipe to do so.

Bastet: Very well. I shall reserve my judgment. I will attempt your proposed solution.

--Issue resolved--

Customer Service Review:

"A little displeased this mortal dared push forth the narrative that cats lounging on keyboards is a terrible thing that can cause technical issues, but his proposed solution is impeccable. Never had any keyboard issues after setting up scheduled cleaning."

Thanks for reading! Please check out more of my writing here!

This is what I was expecting too, right after the genetics lab was mentioned.

"Alright, let's get a look at you," the woman pulled up a chair and stared intensely at Victoria's face. Her eyes glow red before turning black with yellow irises.

"Ugh," said Victoria.

"Yeah, I know, it's weird," said the woman. Inside Victoria's chest where her heart should be, is a dimly lit orb. "We'll you've got something in there, nothing I've ever seen though." The woman blinks and rubs her eyes back to normal.

"Uh, what exactly do I have in me," asked Victoria. The woman looks at Victoria unimpressed as she snaps her finger, making a small flame appear over her thumb. "I'm...magic?"

"You have magical potential, yes," said the woman. "congrats, Vic, you're a witch!" The flame leaped off of the woman's thumb and exploded into small multi-colored fireworks. "You're parents must be so proud."

"Yeeeeeaaaah," Victoria sunk into the sofa.

"Didn't tell 'em," asked the woman. Victoria quietly nodded. "Eh, it's fine someone in your family would have noticed, they'll help you out sooner or later."

"Sure, if I had a family that was mine," said Victoria. "I was adopted, the only family I have left is my great grandma. I'm hoping maybe she would know why I'm like this."

"Usually genetics," The woman got out of her chair and walk into the kitchen. "Usually, someone in your birth family acquired magic and passed some of their power to their children and so on and so forth." The woman pulls out a kettle, milk, and a jar of ground chocolate. "It's the only reason you can see my house."

"What do you mean," Victoria turned around on the couch.

"I used a low-level cloaking spell on my house." The woman empties the two containers into the kettle and puts the kettle on the stove, lighting it with her fire thumb. "It keeps the...magically inclined from bothering me. Anyway, what do you want with Wilda?"

"I'm hoping she could, I dunno, teach me," Victoria got off the couch and walked to the kitchen window. "If this is her magic, maybe she could help me?"

"Sorry, not how magic works," said the woman, "she may have given you magic, but that ball of energy inside of you is all your own. You could be a fire witch like me or a necromancer, or a dream witch, or, gods forbid, a beast witch." The kettle starts whistling. The woman grabs two plastic cups, pours the hot chocolate in, pulls out a bag of caramels, and drops one in each glass. The woman pushes the glass to Victoria over the counter.

"Thanks," Victoria takes the cup, noticing that it's not as hot as it should be. She takes a sip and finds that she can drink the whole cup without even a slight burn. "Woah, that was..."

"Perfect?" the woman, leaned over the counter, proud, "In the three hundred years I've known magic, this is still my favorite potion." Victoria's eyes widen as the looks at the woman, the woman looking back with a sly grin.

"No way," said Victoria.

"What's wrong, Vic," said the woman, "didn't expect your deca-great grandma to still look like she's in her thirties?" Victoria leaps over the counter and hugs Wilda as tight as she could. Wilda returns with an even tighter hug.

Meanwhile, back inside Victoria, the orb cracks, revealing a dark purple light inside.

____________________

Thanks for reading my story, I hope you enjoyed it. If you have any notes or critiques, please don't be afraid to comment below (as long as they're constructive (or funny)).

Be safe, drink lots of water, and be kind to each other!

ToonMan, AWAY!

Andy: Greetings! Supernatural tech support service center. I'm Andy, how may I help you today?

Triton: Aye my tablet has these strange water droplets inside the screen, but I can't wipe them off! Attached screenshot here.

Andy: Hi Triton! Please check the Liquid Detection Indicator, perhaps you may have water inside your tablet. For your tablet model, the LDI is located inside your SIM card slot.

Triton: Pallas! Are you free? Come help your old man locate this S-I-M card thingy.

Andy: Hi Pallas! I'm Andy! Do you require assistance in locating the SIM card slot?

Pallas: I'm good, I'm not my father. The Liquid Detector Indicator you mentioned earlier, is it this red tab here?

Andy: That's a clear sign of water damage! Please turn off the tablet now! It's to save it from electrical damage.

Pallas: Okay I've done that. Any way for me to fix this tablet at home? Or do I have to take it to your service center?

Andy: You could use Silica packets or dehumidifying crystals. Put them in a ziplock bag, place your wet tablet inside, then seal for 24 hours. If the water damage is not too severe, the tablet will be in working order the very next day. If this does not work, please bring your tablet down to your nearest service center. In the future, please be careful to keep your device away from water.

Triton: But I live in the WATER! I AM THE GOD OF THE SEAS.

Andy: You may come down to your nearest retail shop to buy a waterproof tablet pouch to protect your device.

Pallas: You hear this, Father? Just use the tablet pouch I already bought for you!

Triton: But it's fucking Disney Triton!

--Issue resolved.--

Customer Service Review:

"Good service, willing to provide a great solution that does not involve going down to service center or paying dem dwarves."

Andy: Greetings! Supernatural tech support service center. I'm Andy, how may I help you today?

Cyclops: Forgot Password. Try Facial Recognition. No Recognize Face. Cannot Work. Why?

Andy: Facial recognition technology is invented by humans and built to register 2 eyes, 1 nose and 1 mouth. Perhaps you may wish to try another authentication method, such as finger printing.

Cyclops: Make ONE EYE Facial Recognition Work. If Not, File Racial Discrimination Suit.

Andy: I'm sorry Cyclops, this is beyond my capacity. Perhaps I could suggest to one of the dwarf engineers to work on a facial recognition software for one-eyed creatures such as your esteemed self. I cannot promise anything, it depends on the demand and viability. I'll let you know once our engineers get back to me.

Cyclops: Paste Eye Sticker. Facial Recognition Not Work. Why. You Said Two Eye Work.

Andy: Two symmetrical eyes! Not one big eye and one small sticker on the side of your face! Cyclops, please try fingerprinting for now, or stick to passwords that you can remember while I talk to our dwarf engineers on making facial recognition work for one eyed.

Cyclops: OOOKEY. THANKS.

Customer Service Review:

"OOKEY MAN. NICE MAN. BUT WHERE MY ONE EYE FACIAL RECOGNITION. WHY.

--Ticket 10024--

Customer requested alternate facial recognition software or technology to identify Cyclops face. Will perform market viability testing and report back.

--UPDATE--

Market Viability is low. Among our smartphone users, only 2% are Cyclopeans. 12% of Cyclopeans are satisfied with our fingerprinting technology, while 18% are satisfied with using passwords. The rest do not have any form of password protection or biometrics.

--ticket closed--

Andy: Greetings! Supernatural tech support service center. I'm Andy, how may I help you today?

Bigfoot: ARGH. Ask me "Pressh ANY key". Where ish ANI key?

Andy: Just press any key, Bigfoot. There is no particular key called "any".

Bigfoot: Can not pressh key dat Arr can not find.

Andy: Let's try it this way. Do you have a favourite button to press?

Bigfoot: Arr likey dat "B" key. "B" ish fur Bigfoot.

Andy: Press the "B" key anytime you see the step to "Press Any Key". It will work.

Bigfoot: Arr yo da best! Ish works!

--Issue resolved--

Customer Service Review:

“Best service I have found! Today’s technology is unnecessary cumbersome and complex, but these guys know their stuff!”

(Bigfoot asked Sasquatch to write the above for him. Bigfoot thinks Sasquatch comment ish too long but whatever makes good hooman look good to his boss ish good)

Thanks for reading! Please check out more of my writing here!

II:

Martin sat on a bench in the Great Marketplace, like a rock in a stream, as the crowd flowed around him on both side. For all that, he was blind to the multitude of people of milling around him, and to the merchants beneath their bright awnings.

Martin's eyes were fixed upon the Clock.

Like most watchmakers, Martin had made a study of the Terelandrian Clock in its many forms, which was surely the pinnacle of his craft. Though he could not hope to duplicate the magic that made it run eternally -- much less the subtle sorcery of the Spans -- the ordinary motions of the Clock were mechanical in nature, driven by springs or hanging weights and pendulums, and it was eternally precise, never requiring adjustment.

In theory then, Martin thought that it ought to be possible to replicate the inner workings of the clock to produce a mundane clock just as precise, though of course it would need to be wound now and then, and probably reset once or twice a year.

The problem was that it wasn't possible.

Since watchmakers and other masters of clock work had first begun adapting the workings of the Clock in miniature --based on their study of the mechanical parts of the clock, which could be easily viewed from inside a Clock tower -- they had noticed that their own timepieces, no matter how well crafted during the Span of Making, were simply never as accurate.

They always lost time, and lost it quickly enough that if you wanted to keep your clock precisely synchronized with the Terelandrian Clock -- which almost everyone did -- you had to reset it constantly.

Most people had no reason for such great specificity, and were content to reset theirs every few days. But there were some who kept more precise schedules, like those whose business was trade or travel. Such people still marked the arbitrary "hours" and "minutes" that had been used to divide up the day before the Clock was introduced, watching each minute as a miser watches each penny, and so they set their watches anew each morning, by the nearest Terelandrian Clock.

Most watchmakers had accepted this as a natural limitation of their craft, presuming that some spell or enchantment was what kept the Terelandrian Clock from losing time, and that this precision simply could not be replicated with mere springs and counterweights.

But Martin did not accept this. Though the Clock had magical springs that never wore out, and enchanted gears that never seized, it seemed to Martin that these merely prevented it from breaking -- the magic did not appear to change the fundamental nature of the parts, or of the materials they'd been made from. Perhaps you could not make a mundane clock that was correct forever, due to its components eventually wearing out, but he saw no good explanation for why such a clock couldn't keep time for more than a day.

Or at least he hadn't before.

It had happened by accident, on a day when his passion for unravelling the mechanical secrets of the Clock had been running especially high, and he'd decided to remain in his workshop during the Span of Wealth, instead of taking his stock to the Great Marketplace to sell, as usual.

He had two newly made watches, that he'd set by the Terelandrian Clock only an hour before, and both were as precise a work as he'd ever constructed. Both were set on his workbench while he worked on a third of the same type, hoping that by observing the workings of identical pieces, he could deduce something about the problem that made them lose time so readily.

He worked all the way through the Span of Wealth, until, as it always did, that Span ended, and gave way to the momentary Span of Renewal. As the two watches ticked down to the end of the Span, he lifted his tools from the delicate clockwork, so the Span of Renewal would not take him unaware while he was making a fine adjustment. The disorienting fugue rolled over him like a wave, and was just as quickly gone, as the Span of Making began.

He had been just about to go back to work when he noticed it: in the space of a eyeblink, both of the newly set timepieces had advanced by a minute.

By exactly one minute.

Yeah, I realized that.

I'm being totally satirical but I'm basing the joke off of the meaning:

Holy war or spiritual struggle.