Microstory 1844: Extra

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People often ask me what made me want to be an actor, but I can’t point to anything. There wasn’t a moment when I was enthralled with a character on screen. There wasn’t an emotion I had never felt before. I don’t remember the first three years of my life, but it was that version of me who made the decision for the both of us. As far as I know, I have always been an actor, and I never could have been anything else. I begged my parents to move to Los Angeles, but they refused. I honestly believe they would have agreed to it if we had lived in, I dunno, Tennessee, or something. They were so supportive of my dreams, but we were in New York, so I guess they looked at it as a lateral move. “If you want to act, you can do it here,” my mom would tell me. I didn’t want to do stagework, though. I wanted to be on the screen. I wanted to shoot something once, and have anybody in the world be able to see it again forever and ever. As the years went by, I didn’t let my living situation get in my way. I went to auditions for things that were shooting in the area, and while I didn’t get any roles, I think I gained a lot of great experience. That’s how I saw it. Every failure was just a step towards success. Then I got the audition that changed my life. I can’t remember what the role was exactly. I think I was a little too old for it, but the casting director was handing out little flyers calling for extras. There were going to be huge crowds in the movie, so they were trying to fill out the streets. It was an alien invasion, so we had to run from spaceships flying down to kill us. I thought, all right, it’s just more experience, right? It was so great, being on set around all those people. We were all there for the same thing; to support the main cast, and we all understood our jobs.

I had to join a talent agency to get more parts like that, and I found myself preferring it. I suddenly realized that I no longer wanted to be an actor. Yeah, that’s how I got started, but I ended up enjoying staying in the background. I wasn’t getting noticed, but I met a lot of really cool people, including celebrities, and it was always fun. It was pretty steady work too. Film crews always needed people like me to make it look like their story took place in the real world, instead of a snowglobe, like Waiting For Godot. Then my career changed again. I was in a movie about a demon who could possess recently deceased bodies. In one scene, he was having a menacing conversation with the hero on the battlefield, so there were plenty of fresh bodies to possess. Several of the extras were elevated a little bit to actually say a few lines before crumpling to the ground, and making way for the next possession. Luck of the draw, mine was the last body used before the protagonist realized how to kill the demon permanently. So instead of just falling down like the others, I had to pretend to die. I was given no direction for this, I had to figure it out myself. Everyone on set was extremely pleased with my performance. We nailed that thing in one take, and the audience received it well. People were talking about it online, trying to figure out who I was, because I wasn’t credited for it. This was my big break, and I didn’t even see it coming. Talent agencies started reaching out to me, hoping to book me auditions for speaking parts, and I ended up choosing one out of L.A. By then, I had enough money to get out there on my own, and get back to what I originally wanted. I die today with 56 titles on my résumé, the last of which will have to be released posthumously. My agent says she’ll get me a dedication credit.

Microstory 1840: Agreement

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Oh, I’ve known about voldisil for quite awhile now. I mean, I didn’t know they were called that, but I knew there were people out there with inhuman abilities. I mean, I didn’t know that there were multiple people, but I knew that there was at least one. If you had told me back then that there were others, I probably would have believed you without proof, but if you had told me that most—or even some—of them were good, I can’t promise I would have believed that. This is the story of a lawyer who wasn’t a lawyer anymore, a friend of a friend, and a race to save my own life. I practiced law for 20 years. I wasn’t a particularly great one, but my skills were enough to live on, and my clients didn’t complain. They knew that they were getting what they paid for, and I was always upfront about my limitations going into every business relationship. I won’t get into why I was disbarred, but while I definitely deserved punishment in some form or another, it should have been another, like maybe a fine. I didn’t have anything to fall back on, but a friend of mine suggested I become a certified nursing assistant like her. It wasn’t too much education, and when I factored in expenses and all the pro bono work I did, it ended up paying about as much as I was getting before. I met a lot more people in my new line of work, which I loved. I was even sad to see them go, even though it meant that they were better, and that was obviously a good thing. I had this one patient who was in it for the long-haul, though, so I got to know him pretty well. He eventually learned that I was educated in law, and asked if I would do him a favor. It wasn’t the first time I gave out free legal advice, and it wasn’t itself illegal. I just had to be clear about my situation. I couldn’t charge for it, and I couldn’t represent them. He said that it was perfect. All I needed to do was look over this extremely long contract for his brother.

The brother had applied for a new job, and it was evidently very hush-hush. They couldn’t even tell him what he was going to be doing until he signed the non-disclosure agreement. All they said was that his résumé came up, and that he was perfect for a new position. So I took the document home, and read over it very carefully. I didn’t want to miss a single word, because it was fascinating how long it was, and I wanted to figure out what this was all about. These days, the length would be standard, but in those days, it was weird. There wasn’t a lot about the company, or even what the job was like. It talked a lot about compensation, and the consequences of insubordination. There was one line near the end that caught my eye. I still remember the words: anyone who reads this contract is subject to its terms, with or without a final signature. Failure to sign after reading this paragraph will result in death. Well, that was me. I read it, and since it was so big, and my patient and his brother knew they wouldn’t understand it, I was the only one who read it. I brushed it off, even though it was really creepy, because all I had to do was pretend I never saw that paragraph. That was how I found out that the supernatural was real. A demon—as I called him, with no better comprehension of spirit powers—just knew that I had read the line, and he started coming after me. What followed were a series of near death experiences, blood sacrifices, and a ton of running. I hate running, and I think he knew that too. In the end, I signed, but my life did not get easier after that. The job was darker and more twisted than I ever could have imagined, and after 75 years of hell, I’m relieved to have finally reached the sweet release of death.

Microstory 1729: Crater

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I have not been able to get very much sleep for the last few weeks. Really, when I think about it, it’s been a lifelong problem. I have too much stress. At first it was because of my parents’ hostile divorce, then my schoolwork was too hard, then I was trying to get into a good college, then I was looking for a job, then I had to deal with a terrible job. It just never ends with me. I keep thinking that things will get better if I can just solve this one major problem. Then I do, and I find that the grass actually isn’t greener on the other side. It’s mostly more dirt and I have to cross yet another void to get to something better. My therapist says that things actually have gotten better, and that just because some people at my high school reunion are CEOs and city council members, doesn’t mean I’m a failure. She suggests I stay positive. But I was born optimism-blind, and I don’t think there’s a cure. I finally get to sleep when the ground shakes, and the loudest sound that has ever pounded on my eardrums attacks me from all sides. It’s a crash, but there’s also this sizzling electrical sound. I order my smartspeaker to turn on my lights, and watch as my glass figurine collection threatens to topple over, but never does. I swear to God, some of them actually do tip before straightening back up, like some kind of ghost is there to protect them for me. The ground continues to tremble, and a deeper darkness overwhelms my windows. I switch the lights back off as I get out of bed, and move over to look outside. All I see is the black. I stand there for hours, watching it ever so slowly dissipate. It’s dust and debris, and it takes a long time to settle. No one answers the phone, not even the police. The sun comes out, and I can see a crater.

I check every window in my little house. The crater wraps all around me. It doesn’t look like a bunch of different craters, but a single one, of which I rest in the middle. A massive doughnut must have fallen from the sky, and left me unscathed. If there really was a big space doughnut, though, it still shouldn’t have spared me. I mean, the tremors alone should have sent me to hell with everyone else in my neighborhood. The hole is so large than I can’t even make out the houses that weren’t crushed by it. I see the edge in the distance, but everything left above is too far away to discern. I cautiously step outside, and crawl to the edge of my little protected patch of land. I realize, though, that if I were capable of dying, it probably would have happened already. The thing that protected my figures wasn’t likely a ghost, but a guardian angel. I don’t think I have to be careful anymore. I peek over the edge of my patch, and look for the bottom of the crater, but I can’t tell if I see it, for the light does not reach as far down. I check the GPS on my phone. No, I’m not in La Brea, so I doubt there’s a portal below me that will send me to prehistoric times where CGI monsters still roam the lands. I check all around my—I don’t know whether to call this a butte, or a mesa, or a plateau, because it’s as tall as all hell, but narrower than my now-dead neighbor’s political beliefs—patch. I see nothing that would explain what saved me, or whether the theoretical angel is still here. Just then, two helicopters fly over from different directions. One appears to be military, and the other from a news station. As they’re inspecting me, trying to figure out what the hell is going on, their rotors just stop, and they fall out of the sky, into the crater. Others come, hoping to understand, including an AirEvac, but they all suffer the same fate. I was wrong. An angel has not saved me. A demon has doomed me.

Microstory 1719: The Centaurs

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My people have been cursed to wander the continent forever. We may stop to rest for the night, and gather resources, but then we must continue. Legend says that anyone who spends too long in one place will be turned to stone. This is not entirely true, but it is not completely false either. A body cannot transform into stone, but it can become stone-like. Their skin will harden, and their feet will root into the ground. The enemy who cursed us decided that we would have a choice, and treated this choice as a great gift. We can either keep moving, or we can never move again. Of course, that is no choice at all. Some say the stonemen are kept alive where they are forever, but there is no way for us to know that. If we ever see someone become stonelike, the only course of action is to get moving again, and we are always long gone before the stonemen can die... or not, if that is the case. No one here was alive when the curse fell upon us. We were all born into this way of living, and most of us accept that there is nothing we can do about it. I am not so sure. I know that there is a way out of this, and it’s all because of something I once saw when I separated myself from the group for a brief period of time. Going off is a fine thing to do. In fact, our tribe has been split a few times over the decades. Some groups would prefer to go another direction, while a few individuals have determined that they would survive better on their own. Many of us just like to walk alone for a while, but then we rejoin later. One day, when alone, I encountered something I had never seen before. We have come across many other tribes, but we try to steer clear, worried that the curse will befall them as well if they spend too much time with us. We would wish this on no one. The few individuals I saw that day were different. They were sitting upon great beasts, which evidently walked for them. They called these creatures horses, and referred to themselves as The Centaurs. I was in awe, and hopeful that there was some way for my tribe to rest and walk at the same time.

I begged these Centaurs to follow me, so I could show my people what they have discovered, but they were worried. To begin, they did not want to incur the wrath of the demons who cursed us in the first place. I have never seen one of these demons myself, but I have seen stonemen, so I know that someone must have done this to us, and that it is not some kind of elaborate lie to control us. Still, the demons could be watching us in secret, and if so, would be capable of punishing us further for attempting to find a way out of our predicament. The Centaurs were also worried that we would steal their horses for ourselves. We are noble and just, and would never do such a thing, but I understand the concern. All I want to know is where they found their animals, and whether we could find more for ourselves. In the end, they did not agree, and I was forced to return to the group with only my word. Many believed what I told them of the Centaurs, but not everyone, and of those who did, some did not believe it would be a good option. As far as I knew, only eleven horses existed in the entire world. That would not be enough to sustain our entire population. I urged them to reconsider, assuming there to be greater number of the animals somewhere, but also pointed out that eleven would be enough for us to take turns. It did not matter, they believed. We didn’t know where any of these horses were, and there was every chance we would happen upon them as we continued to wander. Looking for them on purpose would not increase the odds. It would, I explained, if we spread out more, but still, they refused to hear me. Frustrated with their skepticism, I have now separated myself once more, and I am not sure if I will ever rejoin. I keep walking in a lateral direction, always hoping to randomly come across more Centaurs, or better yet, unused horses. Instead, I have found something else. It is a massive object that I can barely describe. It’s yellow, but covered in black rectangles. There are four black circles on the bottom near each corner, which rest upon the ground. I step inside to find dozens of seats that would make quite comfortable beds, but one looks special. It’s in the front, and there are tons of objects along with it, like little dots, and another black circle. I see something shiny underneath it, and feel a compulsion not to take it out, but to turn it. The yellow object roars and shakes, and for a moment, I’m worried that it’s going to eat me. I cannot let it, so I sit down in the seat, and start tinkering with everything I find that moves. A couple of things are at my feet. When I step on one, the entire thing lurches just a little bit. I keep moving things around, trying to figure out how this thing works, and eventually realize that the entire yellow object is some kind of motion machine. After some trial and error, I manage to make it go for an extended period of time, all the way back to the group. I am the Centaur now.

Microstory 1706: Upon Altar

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Arms and legs tied down, stretched across the altar, I don’t scream or cry. I get the feeling that these people consider the struggle to be part of the ritual, and I can’t give them the satisfaction. There are dozens of them, chanting and watching me. There is no escape, even if I were to have broken free of the two people who were leading me down the stone path in the first place. I don’t know where I am, so where could I even go? No, this is where I die, and if I can’t go out on my own terms, I at least can’t give my killers the satisfaction of knowing they were responsible for my last words. The last time I spoke was to my daughter as I headed into the fields for the day. They were loving and kind, and that is what the universe will remember of me; not this. The guy who seems to be in charge of the cult, or maybe just in charge of the ceremony, approaches from the steps on the other side. He’s holding a goblet with both hands, a knife placed precariously over the lips, threatening to slip off to the ground. No one would get hurt from this, but it would probably be pretty embarrassing for him. Hoping to make this happen, I jerk what little of my body I’m still able to move towards him, and sort of chirp. He’s startled, and almost loses the knife, but he manages to grab it in time. I return to my stoic nature, unfazed and quiet. The leader clears his throat, and recovers. He speaks in tongues, or perhaps just a language I don’t so much as recognize. He’s praying to his god, or the demonhorn, or some nonsense like that. I just lie there and reflect on my life until he seems ready to finalize the sacrifices. His minions lift up my torso and place the goblet under my back. Okay, I thought it was uncomfortable before, but this is insane. He’s obviously planning to stab me, and let the blood fill the goblet, but he doesn’t get a chance. An arrow suddenly pierces his neck, and he falls over.

I wiggle until the goblet tips over, but I can’t get it out from under my back. Still, it’s enough for me to face the action. Everyone in the death cult is fighting one solitary warrior. They manage to get in a few good hits, but he’s powerful and relentless. I get the sense that he’s not here to save me, but that he has some kind of personal vendetta against these people, and I just happen to be in the right place at the right time. They probably sacrificed his spouse or child exactly one year ago, just like this, and he’s finally getting his revenge. He’s nearly gotten it. Only he is left standing, but then the leader gets back up. He breaks the arrow apart, and then stabs it right into the lone warrior’s eye, twisting it with a fiery anger. Just for good measure, he pulls the arrowhead out—a little bit of the eye comes with it—and stabs it in the other. The lone warrior falls down, and begins to die. The leader takes a moment to catch his breath before returning to me. Even without his followers, the ritual must continue. He retrieves the goblet from under me, and restarts the chanting; or as much as he can without a voice. He’s more just moving his lips around, and wheezing. Blood from his own neck wound leaks out, and drips into the cup. Able to stand the blood loss no longer, he falls on top of his enemy, leaving the goblet at my side. Blood red smoke begins to rise from it, and swirls around above me. The particles coalesce into a form, and then a figure, and then a man. He’s straddling me and grimacing. He looks over at the carnage, pleased to see so much pain and death. He looks back at me. “You have freed me from the void. I am forever in your debt. What would you have me do for you first, master?”

Microstory 1669: Of Kindness and Cruelty

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For every Hypostate in Adverse, there was an opposing force called an Apostate. These postates—to use an unauthorized collective term—could be anyone. It was never really clear whether someone was born this way, or became so over time. Some were humans, others were demons, and a few were original Maramon. There were twenty-three of each, plus the primaries, and they represented the virtues and sins that could be found in anyone and everyone. There are two of these special people that I want to talk to you about today. The virtuous one was named Kindness. Of course, that wasn’t his original name, but once he learned what he was, and what role he played in the fight against evil, he started going by it. It was kind of expected of him, and since he was so kind, he didn’t try to stop it. Kindness was a gentle human being, who genuinely cared about people, both on a personal level, and in a general global sense. You wouldn’t know it just by looking at him, though, and maybe not even after an interaction with him. He was tall, muscular, tan; all the generic traits of a dude-bro. He liked to work out, but he did it for all the right reasons, and he didn’t look down on those who didn’t do it at all. He was tan mostly because it was his natural skin color, but also because he spent a lot of time outside, and sunscreen can only do so much. He didn’t treat people unkindly, and he never felt awkward, but he wasn’t the most outgoing individual, and people wouldn’t have ever called him fun. Remember that kindness was his virtue, not friendliness. Friendliness is someone else. Those are two distinct characteristics, and while there’s often a lot of overlap, it’s not technically necessary, especially not for a hypostate, whose every trait is exaggerated, and whose mind is usually hyperfocused towards a goal.

Kindness grew up with a boy who would come to be known as Cruelty. Cruelty was exactly as you think he would be. He was a man, still—not a demon—but he shared the demons’ compulsion for wickedness. He was clever, always making sure the chaos he caused couldn’t be directly linked to him. People didn’t know that he was essentially a manifestation of evil, but they didn’t think he was a swell guy either. They generally didn’t want to be around him. However smart or careful an apostate is, they have a hard time completely masking their sick and twisted ways. His true nature was no more apparent than when the two of them were together. Everyone believed them to be friends, and most couldn’t understand why, since they were so clearly incompatible. This was a misunderstanding that neither of them refuted. Kindness was too kind to get angry at people about it, and Cruelty enjoyed how much it bothered Kindness. They just kept running into each other throughout their lives, no matter how much Kindness tried to get away. It wasn’t a constant pairing, but the relief was never very long. They were roommates in college, co-workers at their respective second jobs, and ended up moving to the same street several years later. Cruelty claimed it was an honest coincidence, but I think we all know how unlikely that is. Kindness and Cruelty weren’t the only two postates to have known each other before The Rapture, but they were the only opposing forces to know each other, and they were the only ones to know each other so well. They obviously didn’t get along, though. Cruelty would get tired of Kindness’ incessant need to make sure everyone around him was safe and cared for. It was sometimes even enough to keep him from torturing his frenemy. They never fought each other when they were alive, but they were directly at odds once both of them died. It was up to a small group of heroes to find all the hypostates, and defeat all the apostates. They were scattered throughout the three realms, including heaven where Kindness was found, and hell, where Cruelty was unsurprisingly sent to.

Microstory 1619: Adversity Overcoming

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If you hear about the Maramon, you may think that they’re all evil. The truth is that they’re just as diverse as any significant population. Some are good, some are bad, and the only reason they appear to be so averse to humans is jealousy. Everyone else was born to a large universe with plenty of breathing room, but Ansutah was made small, limited, and constricting. Still, there were factions and camps, and two of these opposing groups ended up in the same section of The Crossover together when the explosion occurred. I couldn’t tell you why exactly they were there, because the outer bulkverse is hazy for me, but I can tell you the consequences. The original Crossover had different sections that served different purposes, as you might imagine. One of them allowed access to multiple pocket dimensions, which effectively undecupled the amount of space that they had available. But it was actually a different section that generated and maintained the stability of these pockets, and this was where the two opposing sides were at the time of cataclysm. They flew off into the bulk, and only survived because the dimensional generator received an enormous burst of bulk energy. It was enough to create an entirely new universe from scratch, and it was here that these two groups would come to call home. Obviously what I’m setting up here is that they had different ideas of what that home should look like. One sided wanted to form a Maramon empire, where they would rebuild the Crossover, and use it to conquer the humans. The other wanted to construct a new version of Earth, and populate it with humans, who they saw as gods. The second group won at first, but then the first group took over, and warped the world to their needs. Their leader was named Azazil Aj-lishdefil, and he earned his woxa of Adversary when he led a coup against the true leader, Alaha ‘Almighty’ Adonai. Adversary didn’t just start killing all the humans. No, he pretended to be their creator, and let his religions spread around the globe, and throughout time. Millennia later, with the number of believers at its apex, he used his followers to build an army. It was his intention to send the witless slaves out into the bulkverse, so they could do all the heavy lifting, and realize his dreams of total domination on his behalf. Of course, Alaha and her own people couldn’t let that happen without a fight. A resistance grew out of the survivors, and they did everything they could do to stop Adversary and his demons at every turn. They were smart, better organized than Adversary thought they could possibly be, and scrappy. I won’t tell you how it ends, or who wins. I just want you to know the situation, so you don’t rush to judgment if you ever encounter a Maramon.

Microstory 1615: Going the Wrong Way

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Salmonverse is the messiest, most complicated, most dangerous universe that I’ve ever seen. It’s not dangerous because a bunch of demons are trying to kill you, like Adverse, or because of unpredictable base modifications, like you’ll find in Bladopodoverse. It’s dangerous because far too many people are capable of time travel and they travel through time far too often. With almost no regulation, this doesn’t just get complicated, though. It also leads to death. First of all, you have to understand that, since there are very few parallel realities in this brane, every time someone time travels, they’re technically killing billions of people. The act itself will collapse the timeline, and send its inhabitants into oblivion. Travelers justify this in a few ways. Many of the people who collapsed with the timeline they just came from exist in this new timeline as well. They will move on with their lives, and not worry about what might have been, unless there’s some other psychological reason for them to worry about that, in which case, the time travel isn’t relevant or necessary. Some people will never have been born, sure, but again, their once-loved ones will never know what they’re missing. There’s also the fact that reality itself is constantly springing and collapsing timelines. I’ve mentioned microrealities, which exist for fractions of a second, and are destroyed once true reality takes shape. There are people in those microrealities—duplicates of everyone who existed at the moment—and have just as much potential to survive as their counterparts. And this is happening all the time, in every universe, even the ones that don’t allow general time travel. But that’s not the same thing, because no one is doing that on purpose. Time travelers, on the other hand, are deliberate actors. Well, not all of them, I suppose. The universe’s namesake, salmon are controlled by the powers that be, but the accusation still holds. It’s just that blame must be shifted from the traveler themselves, to the people in control. It’s still happening, and timelines are still collapsing.

This is not a criticism of Salmonverse, or its residents, or the time travelers. It’s not even really about the people whose timeline collapses when a new one is created. It’s just not a good place to live if you want to make sure that you have a future. Anytime someone goes back in time, and changes something, everyone’s life is at risk. Their entire existence is in jeopardy. Sometimes it’s a timeloop, and everything they do is inevitable. When it’s not, though, even the slightest alteration—and I mean, on the quantum level—creates a new branching timeline. It may not have been their intention to change something, but it will, and they can’t stop it. Lots of time travel fiction involves doing your best to not make any changes to history, but again, unless it’s a timeloop, their efforts are pointless. History will change, even if they stand in one place until they catch up to their own present, which they won’t. Reality is also a lot less binary than people think. Stopping someone from dying on April 29, only to watch them die on April 30 still means that things changed. Death isn’t stalking you, trying to maintain some cosmic balance. If the person ends up dying anyway, it’s not because it was their destiny, or couldn’t be stopped. It’s just a coincidence. That’s what salmonverse is all about. Travelers are constantly making changes, often unintentionally, but also often in the attempt to improve something about reality. I don’t think anyone is qualified to say whether that’s good or not, but from where I stand, time travel is just not worth the risk.

Microstory 1032: Riley

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Hello. This is your president speaking. I know you weren’t around to vote for me, but I’d like to think you would have had you gone to this school at the time. Today, I’m going to talk about a dear, dear friend of mine named Viola Woods. We didn’t always see eye to eye politically, but we were a lot alike. We both care and cared about this school, and ran for office to see it reach greatness. We both like and liked to help people; even strangers, and we both consider and considered our peers to be our best assets. I’m sure you’ve heard a lot of things about me since you started these interviews, but I think you would have a different perspective right now if you had spoken to me first. We could have combined our minds, and coordinated a strategy to tackle this series. First and foremost, I am absolutely, one hundred percent, behind our police force. I believe that justice has been served, and the right person has been found guilty of this terrible crime. I know that the trial has not yet commenced, but I have complete faith that the truth is exactly what we were shown. I know people are spinning tales about some religious cult, and are filling your head with ideas about what really went down by the river that day. I just want you to be careful about who you listen to, and who you trust. This is a small town, and though I love it terribly, I recognize that it’s fairly pleasant and uneventful. This murder has made the news statewide, and with that comes the crazies. People like conspiracy theories, because they take comfort in the possibility that not everything is as it seems. They don’t actually care who killed Miss Woods, but the idea that there’s something stranger going on than the public is aware of makes them think there could be other things they don’t know about. Why, if a demon possessed an impressionable young girl, and forced her to kill her best friend, or a ghost drowned Viola in revenge for some crime carried out by someone else, what else might there be? The fangirls can hold onto hope that vampires are real, and out there, and just waiting to seduce them. Nerdy young boys might actually get the girl, because hey, crazier things have happened, right? Conspiracies are just believable enough that they could technically be true, but insane enough that they open us up to other—perhaps more fantastical—possibilities. In philosophy class, we learned about something called hokum’s razor [sic]. Basically, if you haven’t heard of it, it means that life is really simple, and if something is too complicated to explain, it’s probably a bad explanation. Viola’s death was a tragedy; one that could have been avoided, but the investigation came to a legitimate conclusion. All the pieces fit, and if anyone tells you they have evidence to the contrary, they’re most likely trying to feed you a bunch of hokum. Thank you, and God bless America, and Blast City. Go Miners!

Microstory 884: Sap-Tinted Glasses

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A few years ago, I was wandering the Maze Market, which is this monthly event some organization puts up in the middle of Freelake Park. It looks just like a marketplace you might find in Egypt, or some other Middle Eastern country. It’s hard to navigate, and it’s always packed for the whole day. I spot this booth where no one else was buying anything. The woman working there is watching people go about their business, not attempting to draw any customers, but also not completely over it, and reading a book. She looked like she was just content with the view, and was good either way. She had very few things to sell; a few hats, some jewelry, and this pair of glasses that really caught my eye. They kind of looked like the kind Ringo was known for wearing, but they were also unique. I just had to have them. As the clerk was completing the transaction, she didn’t even look at me, and I realized that she was waiting for someone else. I almost felt bad about giving her a measly five dollars, like maybe she was so distracted, she didn’t realize what I was buying. But after I started walking away, she said one thing; that the glasses would show me the truth. I turned around to ask for clarification, but she was gone, as was her booth. I was so freaked out that I never put on those glasses; not even once. But then my friend noticed them hanging on my bedroom mirror earlier today, and suggested I bring them with us to a new club called Pandemonium tonight. By now, all of my reservations had been vanquished, so I shrugged, and agreed.

We walk up to the club, and she reminds me that I need to stand out if I want to get past the bouncer, which explains why she has a long scarf tied around both of her thighs. Apparently you don’t get into this place by being pretty or rich, but by being interesting, and memorable. I playfully scoff at how silly this all his, but put the glasses on, just the same. It’s the only noteworthy thing about me, except maybe that my top is a little tight, and it seems to work. The bouncer totally digs it, and opens the door for us. I’m horrified when I walk in. The entire place is covered in, like, this green fungal sap. Some people have maggots crawling all over their faces, but that’s nothing compared to what I see front and center. A monster twice as tall, and three times as wide as any man is standing in the DJ Booth. His eyes are on his neck, and there are several rows of teeth in his mouth, which never seems to close. He doesn’t have horns, per se, but his head turns up on the sides. My God is he ugly. He’s got headphones on, but only one ear is covered, like you would expect from any normal DJ. He’s hyping up the crowd, and promoting his radio station, 66.6 The Pit. How is everyone okay with this, I think, but then I remember the glasses. I tip them down with my finger, and look above the lenses. Everything appears perfectly normal. The monster is gone, replaced by just a regular douche, and the walls look clean. I look through the glasses once more, and then without them, and then with them again. The woman must not have been lying; these things show me the truth. They do something else to me, though. The more I stare at the monster DJ, the more I have the urge to commit great violence against him. My rage doesn’t subside, even when I take the glasses off completely, and I know that the only way to satiate my need is to just get it over with. After an hour, he leaves his booth for a break, and is followed by two bouncers, which look like miniature versions of him when I’m wearing the truth glasses. I realize that the glasses also give me this strength the more I wear them, so I have to keep them on. Killing all three of them is the most effortless thing I’ve done in my whole life. I can’t believe how quickly they go down, and it’s exhilarating. Once it’s over, though, the shame and guilt set in. And the fear. I take the glasses off, and see that the monster disappears, just as before. He still looks entirely human to everyone else. No one would believe me if I claimed that he was the Devil, and these were his two demon assistants. I’ve heard of people like that, and they always end up between four padded walls. I drag the bodies into the janitor’s closet, and try to sneak back out of the bathroom. The club owner suddenly walks up to me and says, “where have you been? You get two minutes for the bathroom, like we agreed. Hey, where’re your goons? Whatever, just get back up there. The people want those beats!” Now I’m the monster.

Microstory 865: Cashier or Credit

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After seven years, the war is finally over, and wouldn’t you know it, it ended in peace. No side truly won over the other, but compromises were made. Hell would continue to house all the dead bad people, but exactly what qualifies as bad would be drastically altered. There would also be limitations on the conditions of the hellscape, rendering the place more depressing and banal than torturous. Heaven would be turned over completely to be run by the hypostates, with very little cross traffic, save for checks and balances. Earth would be left mostly to its own devices, with an interesting twist. Any demon wishing to relinquish their connection to the other realms would be free to start new lives, alongside living humans, with no repercussions. The apostates agreed to this, not thinking it would make any difference. A surprisingly high number of demons wanted to live with mortals, which was actually rather beneficial to the global economy. The world was primed to restabilize after the apocalypse, but that didn’t mean demons were automatically awarded decent jobs, or that they would be happy about it, or that they would not revert to their old ways. Most of them ended up with dead-end, minimum wage, high school jobs. If you were a law-abiding demon who went an entire workday without doing anything with trash, you were lucky, just that good, or had brilliant connections. With this in mind, I get into the line at the grocery store that’s being run by a demon cashier. The woman ahead of me is wearing that infamous tattoo, indicating that she was a warrior for The Lightbringer during the war, which explains why she’s the only other human willing to risk it. I’m here because demons don’t bother me that much, and the other lines are far too long. It doesn’t hurt that the demon cashier is extremely beautiful. I identified as pansexual even before the armies of darkness brought hellfire to the surface, as many people did. I know a lot of others started questioning their sexuality when that happened, never having before been confronted with the puzzle of how to feel about someone who we would best be described as a monster. I had no problem with it, and were we not literal born enemies, I would have considered a relationship with a demon years ago. I treat individuals individually, and try not to judge people until I know more about what they’ve been through. The warrior takes her groceries, along with the fiver that the cashier tried to pocket. She doesn’t even argue about it; she just gets it back, and walks away. I throw my own stuff on the belt, and try to swipe my credit card. The cashier tells me that the reader is broken, and she’ll have to swipe it for me. Extra cautious from what she tried to do to the warrior, I watch her carefully, easily catching her slipping the card into her cleavage while replacing it with another one. She tries to give me the wrong one, likely hoping I’ll put it away without even looking. I politely ask for the right one, and remind her to return this other one to its rightful owner. “And one more thing,” I say. Her eyes dart over to her supervisor. This may be the straw that causes the camel to fire her. “Would you like to get some coffee sometime?”

Microstory 855: Stab At It

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When my family first moved to this town, and I started attending this school, I never thought I would be fighting off a demon within my first week, but that’s exactly what happened. People back home warned us that things were getting as bad ‘round these parts as they were where we had come from, but my parents didn’t want to hear it. Kansas City was overrun with the creatures, and they did not want to believe that a small quiet town like this could be anything like that. I tried to tell them that I had to learn to battle the darkness sooner or later, so they decided on the later option. I’ve been secretly training on my own, and I’ve not been happier I did than I am right now. Despite my parents’ beliefs, fate had other plans for me, and for this town. A mangle of nickels came into the school and started stepping on all the students’ toes. Since things were so bad in the big city, my old school had protocols for this sort of thing. Every student walks around with nickel mace, and every teacher is armed with banishing powder. This one horse town, however, is not so well-equipped. When the mangle came through, the demons spread out, but after I got started defending my classmates, they changed strategies, and ganged up on me. I punched and kicked at the evil little Hell minions, but they just kept coming. Somehow they contacted another mangle nearby, who quickly came in as reinforcements. By then, though, my peers realized that they were strong enough to fend off the beasts, and they came to my aid.

Pretty soon, all the demons were banished or unconscious; except for one. I don’t know what she was, but she was no nickel. She was as tall as a human; taller, even. She walked with a sense of purpose, an air of confidence, and the patience of a monk. The thing about battling demons in a school is that there aren’t very many good weapons around, so when she came after me, all I had to defend myself were a tin of pencils on the teacher’s desk. We wrestled for half a minute before I was in a good position to grab one of the pencils, and it took a little longer before I found a moment to take my opportunity to take her down. I stabbed her right in the heart, at least I thought I had. That was where humans kept their hearts, and so did nickels, but this thing seemed to be different. I pleaded for help from the few people still left in the room, but realized when I looked into their eyes that the only reason they hadn’t escaped with their friends was because they were experiencing the freeze acute stress response. So I was alone in this, and I had find a way to kill her, or she would kill me, and I would soon be fighting this war against the armies of darkness from a completely different front. I just kept stabbing her with pencils, trying to find the right spot. All the while she was cackling like a green-skinned witch, assured that I would never succeed. But then she changed. The more I hurt her, the less she fought me, and the softer she became. She even began to encourage me, and it was like she was doing absolutely everything she could to try to tell me where her heart was, but something was stopping her. Finally she got out two words, “it..moves.” The heart? Her heart moves around her body? If this was true then there would only be one way for me to find it. I would have to slow down, and listen carefully. I closed my eyes, and tuned out all the sounds around me, focusing only on the thump-thump-thump of the heart. I could hear it on the side of her neck, and before the side of her that didn’t want me to kill her stopped me, I took the last pencil from the desk, and jammed it right in the jugular. The demon shrieked in pain, and pushed me to the floor. The neck wound cracked wider, ultimately running all the way down her leg. Her gooey skin fell away from itself, and slinked down to the floor. The human girl now standing in her place took a desperate breath in, like she had just come up from the water. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for freeing me.”

Microstory 852: Evil Noisemaker

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I am the youngest deer in the herd, and the others tend to try to protect me. Today, however, they believe it’s time that I venture out on my own and complete a mission. There is a noise coming from the square trees down the hill, and my herd believes it’s being made by some kind of evil demon. Most of my kind would run away from this, but we’re different, and we’re worried about the creatures living in the square woods. Our ancestors used to run scared whenever they heard something they didn’t recognize, as will other deer today, but we’ve learned better what is dangerous, and what is innocuous. Some of the square-tree dwellers do everything they can to prevent us from seeing them. They build their squares on our trees, and they slither on the ground like snakes. These are the bad ones; the ones that are trying to kill us. If a square-dweller, on the other hand, is trying to get noticed, and walking towards us with wide eyes, and showing its teeth, it is a good one. It wants to meet with us, and be friendly. My mother was once trapped in the teeth of a headless, bodiless demon. One of the square-dwellers came to her rescue, freed her leg from the demon, and took care of her. She started this herd on the idea that deer can live in peace with the square-dwellers. And if there’s a chance the evil demon down the hill is planning on hurting one of them, we have to go down and destroy it. For all we know, this is retribution for the dweller who helped my mother those years ago. I don’t know why the herd decided that I would go off alone, but I am honored by the opportunity, and ready to prove myself a contributing member of our society. I am the only doe with antlers, so if anyone can fight this evil off, it’s me. I run through the woods, but stop when I hit the clearing. This could be a trap, so I have to be cautious. There are no places to hide here, though, so I don’t think any of the bad square-dwellers are waiting for me.

I race down and enter the realm of the square trees. The evil noisemaker I’m looking for has not ceased, and now I see why. It’s coming from one of the smaller squares, spreading its deathly blaze all around. I hear the crackle of the fire, the popping of the wood, and the screams of the dwellers inside. Mustering all my courage, I smash my antlers against the tree, over and over again until it breaks apart. The fire is all around me, but I’m determined to complete my job. I focus my hearing, and home in on the where the noise is coming from. The demon is smaller than I thought it would be, a small disk hanging on the square branch above me. I jump up and break it apart, ending the noise successfully. Unfortunately, the evil noisemaker’s fires remain active, even now that it’s dead. I can still hear the screams of square-dwellers in another part of the square tree. I leap over the fires, and headbutt the tree just once, tearing it apart with ease. The dwellers on the other side are huddled together. They’re the little ones of their species, and are even more afraid than deer are when we hear a frightening noise. I lower my neck to the floor and wiggle my tail. Getting the hint, the young square-dwellers climb onto my back. I leap over the fire again, and race back out of the square tree. I hear more demons running towards us in the distance as I’m letting the dwellers off. I get in a defensive position and snort at the demon cavalry, but the square-dwellers stop me. “No,” one of them says. “They’re here to help.” That’s so strange, I didn’t know I could understand their language. I wonder if they can understand me too, so I wheeze and grunt at her, but she doesn’t seem to know what I’m talking about. She just shows her teeth and giggles. The apparent good noisemaking demons come upon us, and I can see that I’m no longer needed. I say goodbye to the children, knowing they don’t know what I mean, but hoping they get the message anyway. Then I run off and return to my herd to tell them that everything is okay.

Microstory 806: The Future and the Past

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During spring break, I had nothing interesting to do, so I just decided to go back home to visit my parents for the week, which I hadn’t done in a couple years. I was having trouble sleeping, and thought that it was just weird to be back after all this time, but another part of me was urging me to go to their basement. In almost a haze, I stuck two fingers in a hole in the wall paneling, and started ripping it all out. Then I just kept going, tearing out all the insulation. I had this uncontrollable belief that there was a subbasement I never knew about, and that this was the way to get to it. I felt validated to see a light on the other side, but was surprised to discover that it was not another basement, but instead, I was back in my bedroom...the past. It was so far in the past that we hadn’t even moved there yet. I had to sneak out quickly, not wanting to disturb the nice family that lived there. At the risk of screwing something up with the timeline, I contacted an old friend, and asked if he would take me on his relativity ship. The idea was to fly around for ten years, until I was back in my own time period, and then go back home. He agreed, but something must have gone wrong, and we found ourselves decades in the future, on another planet. And instead of coming out the same age I was before, I was ten years older, which was unfortunate, because this planet turned out to hold the secret to immortality. You had to be young enough for the immortality solution to work, though, and I had just barely passed that threshold.

The rest of the crew realized they would have to stay there in order to stay alive, so I took the ship myself, and headed back home, even though I knew it would be the year 2130 by the time I arrived, which meant everyone I knew and loved would be long dead. What I didn’t count on was learning that Earth was secretly being run by angels, nephilim, and demons. And the only reason they even told me about it was because they thought I was an alien, and wanted to include me in their future plans for the humans. Out of fear of what they would do to me when they found out I was one of those humans, I booked passage on a time machine, hoping it would finally take me back home. Once again, I was detoured, this time 300 years even further in the future. I made my way to an information booth, and asked what things were like now. The booth attendant explained to me that the secret of the supernatural creatures had long ago come to light. Humans were now hunting angels, paving the wave for nephilim to take full control, for they lacked the weakness that their angel parents possessed. Things were actually going okay in this state, but demons were slowly gaining power. Seeing me as an valuable outlier, a group of independent supernaturals who wanted to see the world return to what it once was, bequested me special nephilim powers, hoping I would use them to fight the demons.

Still seeing myself as an outsider, I tried to use these powers to return home, which is all I ever wanted, but of course this could not be. I accidentally jumped millions of years into the future. Most everything was the same as it was while I was first growing up, as some sort of cyclical timeline sort of thing. I discovered myself to be a particularly notable historical figure, even though I hadn’t ever actually done anything to impact the world. Hoping to capitalize on this, scientists had been researching for years how to clone me. They ended up creating a genetically engineered daughter from my DNA, whom they considered to be close enough to their goals. She still needed someone to take care of her, though, and now that I was back, I was the obvious choice. I decided to take her out on a stroll so we could get to know each other. Somehow, I walked several miles before I realized she was no longer even with me. I tried to retrace my steps, but I never found her, and no one seemed to be bothered by this. They shrugged and said that if she was to be their savior, she would have to find a way to survive on her own. So that’s why I’m here. I’m hoping to find even a small remnant of the ancient nephilims and angels. They’re the only ones who can recharge my powers, or send me back to the past, where I can work to stop any of this from taking place. Can you help me?

Microstory 796: Bower

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A c-brane, which is a particular class of universe, is only as large as it needs to be in order to accommodate its inhabitants. This is the cause of so much strife in the Maramon’s brane, for they were never meant to travel beyond their solar system, but something went wrong. Capitalizing on this idea, however, of an extremely limited scope universe, a group of some very powerful people decided to build their own universe. Now, normally, natural universes have near unlimited scope. They’re created by some kind of cosmological expansion event, like a big bang, and grow larger from there, as time progresses. C-branes, on the other hand, are created by the force of creativity. They manifest through imagination or dreams, and more often than not collapse upon their own instability. If no one continues believing in them, then they won’t exist. In the history of the bulkverse, which is the collective dimensional substructure all universes, no one has gotten together to make one from scratch, but these people managed to figure it out. Deemed The Bower House, it was designed to confine the most notoriously dangerous people from all over the multiverse. Most universes, including standard natural ones, have incredibly spectacular physical laws, which can be exploited to accomplish fantastical goals. In some, death can be subverted through transference to new substrates. In some, objects can be moved from great distances, through telekinesis. Some have slower aging, or faster-than-light travel, or even demons. The Bower House has none of these things. An individual transferred to this prison universe from their own will find themselves completely without whatever special abilities, or technologies, they were able to use before. There is no electricity, and no superpowers, and death is final. The idea here was to have a place to incarcerate the worst criminals in the bulkverse, who have used some unfair advantage against others. It is the smallest c-brane ever, with its sky being a low-hanging firmament, rather than light waving through empty space. It is impossible to escape from the Bower House, because there is nowhere to go, and no technology capable of creating a way out. Yet somehow, one woman found a way, and then all hell broke loose.

Microstory 775: Fat Lady

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Keres are demons. Keres are, in fact, evil demons, which is an important distinction. They belong to a special class of demons, amongst nearly two dozen others, most of whom are also evil. Demons did not evolve on their world naturally. Instead, they were genetically engineer from something the scientists who discovered it referred to as The Sinister Mass. It was this completely inexplicable collection of presumably ancient evil creatures, who were somehow forced into coalescence, and theoretically jettisoned into interstellar space. The demons they created from this eventually turned on their creators, and started using their resources to travel the galaxy, searching for a home. They ended up finding one on a planet that was colonized by humans, and it was here that they built a stronghold. Each class of demon has their own little niche. Some like to torture, some like to trick or lure people into traps, and others simply use brute force, and attack. The Keres are cleverless warriors, bent on the eventual destruction of mankind. Though they do not need to feed on humans to survive, they prefer it, and enjoy it. While other demons encouraged infighting amongst the humans, for the pleasure of watching the show itself, the Keres used this as an opportunity to choose their victims from the battlefield. The humans quickly caught wind of what they were being tricked into doing to themselves, and created a peace, for the sake of the species’ survival. The Keres were forced to satisfy their hunger through other means. But one of their kind was somehow born completely different. Larger and slower than the other Keres, this Ker, named Nilda, never developed a taste for human flesh, and this led her to feeling sympathy for them. As time went on, and other Keres mocked her for her differences, Nilda became more and more human. During the human internal conflicts, she used her position to make it look like she was following Ker custom, but she was secretly working against them. While they believed her to be choosing her food, and eating it privately, she was actually building a personal army of elite fighters. Upon discovering what she had done, a demon named Nemesis trapped the fighters in the Hemera cage, and prevented them from aging. It was his job to maintain the balance between the demons, and the humans, so he kept them alive, knowing they might be useful one day. It was a good thing he did, because when the humans decided to rise up against their oppressors, after centuries of hell, Nilda’s Valker Warriors would prove to be their second saving grace.

Microstory 773: The Curse of Mexico

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When the creator of the universe, Alaha saw that her most precious creation, Earth was in danger of being destroyed by Adversary, she made a plan. Though she would not be able to protect the entire universe from Adversary’s rule, she could at least protect this one planet. Unfortunately for her, she overestimated the amount of time it would take for Adversary, and his twisted minions, to take control of the realms. She was only able to place the protective enchantment over a small chunk of land. As time went on, and the humans spread across the globe, this piece of land came to be known as Mexico. Its borders were likely drawn by an innate sense of its range. Though the effects of Adversary’s influence on people could remain while within Mexico’s borders, new hexes could not infect them. Everyone inside of Mexico is perpetually shielded against his anger, as long as they remain there. Even demons who crawl onto Earth are unable to pass through, which is what makes the border itself so incredibly dangerous. Anyone attempting to cross over will have to fight against the wrath of the evil ones, even through indirect means. It is for this reason that a young woman formed an organization designed to keep what Adversary refers to as The Curse of Mexico a secret. Should the rest of the world discover the truth, the country would be overrun with people fleeing from the danger. Fortunately, Adversary had no intention of revealing his true nature to the people of Earth. He breaks them down by subtler means, gradually turning them over to his side, while leaving them oblivious to what’s happening to them. Had he not kept himself a secret, the reality behind Mexico’s enchantment would too come to light. That might even be enough to overload the system, and undermine the enchantment entirely. But even in balance, this paradise cannot last forever, and when Adversary’s wicked armies begin to descend upon the Earth in the final battle between good and evil, perhaps not even Mexico will remain a safe haven.

Microstory 765: Nickel

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In the realms beyond this one, there exists a hierarchy of demons. Of course Adversary is the highest of these, and it is he who rules over all others. His top twenty-three advisors are known as the Apostates, and are all but completely autonomous in their dealings against hopeless humans. Most other demons under them must follow the chain of command, and submit to their superiors. The lowest of the lows, however, are the nickels. They’re considered to be so insignificant that the Apostates don’t even bother giving them responsibilities. While mid-level demons are busy concocting new and interesting ways of torturing people in Hell, and beguiling those in heaven, nickels are just sort of always around. Hell is an open place. People aren’t most of the time locked in cages, or chained to great boulders. Instead, they travel freely, hoping to carve out some small shred of safety somewhere. Nickels find joy in being nuisances to the people they come across. They often cause physical harm, but spend most of their time just being incredibly annoying, preventing residents from finding any level of peace. If a nickel finds you, it might sing the same lyric over and over again in your ear, sometimes for days on end, until it gets bored and moves on. It might throw track ballast at you when you’re trying to sleep, or drench you in itching powder. If a group of nickels incidentally comes together, they’ll form something called a licking party, which humans will find difficult to escape. This all may not seem like that big of a deal, but nickels number in the hundreds of millions, and never sleep. When The Words predicted that hell would reign on Earth, they primarily meant that nickels would break free from their realm, and come into ours. And when the armies of evil are finally vanquished, it will be the scattering of nickels that remain, possibly for years to come.

Microstory 757: The Devil’s Bedpost

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When the great machine exploded, it expelled almost everyone inside of it across the cosmic bulk. Many ended up alone in a foreign universe, but a great many of them were sent to the same place. What they came to understand was that they did not actually fall into another universe so much as their arrival had created it. The force of the blast was so powerful that it formed a brand new big bang event, with them at its heart. Their leader was a woman named Alaha. She, with twenty-three of her closest, decided to mould their universe in the best light possible. Using what she recalled from other universes they had visited before, it was she who came up with the idea to create the stars, and the worlds they would shine upon. Her people gave her the nickname Lightbringer, and praised her, but not everyone was happy with what she had done. Instead of seeding the universe with life resembling their own people, she drew upon the genes of humans, whom she had met in other universes, and admired. One had, in fact, accidentally fallen into the universe with them, and operated as her closest advisor. They gave her the nickname of Tolerance, affectionately mindful of her ability to withstand the odd behaviors of aliens. A man named Adversary came to this universe, however, with ambition, thirst, and jealousy. He could not understand why Alaha was insistent that humans dominate the universe, and in a fit of rage, he locked her in an impenetrable cage, so that he could rule in her place. He whispered in humankind’s ear, gradually convincing them to believe in him, and follow him. He had already turned the majority of his people to his side, dispatching these dark demons to carry out dark deeds on Earth. Adversary kept Tolerance alive as his pet. Every night, he would force her into his bed, utterly confident that she wanted to be there, when she did not. After centuries of this torture, Tolerance met another human named Hazel, who had been tortured by demons, both on Earth, and in Hell. Hazel convinced Tolerance to fight back, against her demons. She broke off a piece of Adversary’s bedpost, and stabbed her tormentor fatally. He would not die right away, though, and he used this opportunity to finally spark war against the humans, hoping to accumulate enough strength to remain alive. But the humans would not go down so easily, not once Tolerance helped free Alaha, the Lightbringer, and gathered their own army of righteousness.

Microstory 538: Small Military Contingency Remains to Help Keres

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This is a special report. Please disseminate this information to every human on Keres, and take care to keep it away from the eyes of demons. Recently, a small military contingency arrived with a rescue team on a space-capable vessel from the homeworld. Details are unclear, but what we know is that two of their people were living here, and needed to return home. We do not know how they arrived in the first place, but we of course, allowed them to go back. From what we understand, our homeworld is dealing with massive civil unrest on a global scale. The entire planet is suffering from an uprising, and a war. The rescuers were forced to leave us so that they could end their own problems. Fortunately, the military security team sent to protect them has decided that their charges no longer require their help. They have instead chosen to remain on Keres and help us as they can with our demon problem. Our people now have the best way of fighting against our oppressors than we have in the last several centuries. More bulletins will be spread as news comes in. For now, they are holding strong in the Tirane camp, evidently having chosen this as their new base of operations. Anyone interested in supporting our cause must take caution when crossing the desolands in between camps. Transportation may be provided at a later date if technologically possible.