《Simular Beings》


 (Prologue) The Creator of Desolate Worlds

    It was never the same after that day.


    As he watched the casket sink deeper into the earth, out of his reach, he could almost feel her leaving¡­ as if the wind had finally taken her soul. It was a sensation that felt unreal. Shovels of dirt poured in with each and every wet drop, and yet, no sound accompanied his tears. No cries or sobs, not even a wail.


    I don¡¯t deserve that.


    The thought floated inside, sloshing about his murky mind. He didn¡¯t even know if he was crying because of her or because of what he¡¯d done to her.


    I don¡¯t deserve this life.


    His own mother. After all those years of research, he couldn¡¯t even save her. He couldn¡¯t even understand what he¡¯d done to deserve all this. Those human lives he¡¯d used for experiments, wasting away to nothing¡­


    He visited¡ªrain or shine, busy or not¡ªevery single day for the last, miniscule bit of her life. Her hospital bed beeped rhythmically to the constant ticking of an antique, analog clock. A number of plastic containers half full of instant noodles littered the floor. It was disgusting, abhorrent. But none of that mattered. He wanted that acknowledgement. No, he needed it. He needed to make her smile.


    As her health rapidly deteriorated, he tried so hard to prove to her¡ªhe was there for her, he was her son. He could be somebody she could be proud of. But all she did was stare out that wretched window towards a vast concrete canyon of glass towers and garish wallscapes. All she did was watch as her time slowly ticked away.


    Never once did she speak nor look his way. Never once did she change, always mute to his entire existence¡­


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    It made sense. To him, it made complete sense. After all, he had taken lives she¡¯d called innocent. He hadn¡¯t followed her ways. But it was to further humanity, he¡¯d said. For his research, for her. It was to give those who were suffering a taste of freedom. And when he¡¯d told her that his research could save her, could give her another chance to live in a peaceful world far beyond the grasps of their own reality¡­


    She had declined.


    He had created a simulation to simulate all of humanity. He had created worlds upon worlds of fiction and fantasy. A place where impossibilities became reality. It was another chance at life¡ªa life one could live far differently from their first. Nobody had to suffer. Nothing could go wrong. Everyone was truly free to revel in this new realm of existence. It was a modern marvel of programming.


    And she¡¯d still declined his offer.


    He had suggested yet another means to elongate her time on this godforsaken planet. Just until he would, yet again, cause another breakthrough¡ªa way to transfer a human¡¯s entirety into these coded worlds of his. He had told her to believe in him; he would make it happen. He would prove his usefulness to her. All she had to do was accept, and he¡¯d have placed her immediately into one of those exorbitant luxuries only the richest of the rich could afford¡ªa cryostasis pod.


    But again, she had declined without a second thought¡­


    As the last few mounds of dirt were hammered down over her remains, a final, fleeting memory echoed through his mind¡ªa brief moment when she had finally turned and met his eyes for the first time in several months. Her brittle arms rested by her side, almost too frail to even move. Her eyes were pale clouds lacking all life and vibrance, but her voice¡ªhoarse, yet sharp, booming with power. He could never forget her final words¡­


    ¡°Don¡¯t forget who you are.¡±


    He had eyed the white, hospital sheets when he¡¯d heard those words. He could only imagine how disappointed she¡¯d have looked. Of course he wouldn¡¯t forget. He couldn¡¯t. After all those years living high and mighty. After all those years of neuroscientific research, he was and would only be a vile and nasty creature. A despicable human known to many as¡ª


    The Creator.

 A Child Lost in Snow

    It was a cold day like no other where ice had frozen across the asphalt fields and frost had settled down. An infant woke up one day self-conscious and hastily wrapped in used paper towels. He was thrown in some ditch next to a dumpster full of plastic leftovers; the smell of moldy pizza fumed over the secluded scenery.


    The smell killed his appetite¡ªan almost surefire way to forget about his throbbing headache. With the temperature below freezing and a pile of snow blanketing a part of his body, he somehow knew that he wasn¡¯t supposed to be alive. And yet, he was still there, breathing out the cold, wintry air.


    His mind started to race. There were records of knowledge that flooded through¡ªlanguage, algebra, even the intricacies of thermodynamics. But the records went further¡ªimages of nuclear wars that devastated countries in quick succession, biomedical inventions that trivialized deadly diseases, and advanced artificial intelligence that surpassed even the brightest of cognitive minds.


    This was the age of the cybernetic megacorps. Where the ignorant and the intelligent were both forced into a collective race of dominance. It was a bloody battlefield of lost innocence. Bodies were stolen for research, the kidnapped were sold for corporate experimentations. Nobody was safe. Nothing was sacred. Because to those who strived to reach the top, morals were for the weak, and empathy was for the starved.


    Yet the infant simply rationalized all of this as nonsense. Because to him, none of it actually mattered.


    He was cold. He could feel the tingling in his toes, the bitterness numbing his senses away. He should¡¯ve been dying; it was common sense. His heart should¡¯ve stopped beating, his liver and kidneys should¡¯ve already failed¡­


    But he was somehow still alive.


    Why? he thought. How could he still be alive? His young, self-aware mind had already started to experience a sense of confusion. If what he knew as common sense wasn¡¯t actually making any sense, what kind of sense was all this information in his mind?


    Sadly, he didn¡¯t know. He didn¡¯t know if he had just been born. He didn¡¯t know how he¡¯d gotten placed in the snow. He didn¡¯t know how he could even think these thoughts without having grown. How had all of this gotten into his head? Law of conservation? Bernoulli¡¯s principle? How was any of this supposed to make sense?


    He didn¡¯t know.


    And while lost in the snow, wondering if all this common sense was just nonsense that he somehow knew, his eyes eventually started to droop, and inevitably, he had no choice but to close them for the first time in his short life¡­


    ¡­


    The sun burned; its hot tendrils licked at his dry skin.


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    The infant opened his eyes once more, but he wasn¡¯t an infant anymore. He was growing. He knew just from feeling alone. Every day felt like a year had gone by, and in a few days, he was able to wipe away the hardened snow with his own stubby, little arms.


    He stood up. Nearly three feet above the ground. He was shivering, but he still wasn¡¯t any closer to death than he was before. He wiggled his fingers in curiosity. Common sense hadn¡¯t taught him what it really felt like to move. Around him, the ice had started to melt.


    Seasons, he thought. He knew those things existed; it was part of the nonsense that he knew. Was he at the cusp of spring? Or was this just a day of warmth unlike the rest of winter? But his eyes wandered away from his thoughts and once more onto the rural backdrop of his birthplace¡ªa small corner at the side of an old, drive-in motel. It was like the ones from the 20th century.


    The sight of the motel was comforting; his records had not been wrong in delivering its nonsensical details of life. But one thing that did bug him was the fact that, according to his records, this was still supposed to be the beginning of the 22nd century. There should¡¯ve been more technological differences between the two. His mind started roaming to an outlandish possibility¡­


    Am I a time traveler?


    Of course not. That was drifting much too far into fictitious conclusions. There was a heap of knowledge already bestowed to him and deviating too far would simply be uncommon sense. It was more likely that this part of the world was far less developed than the major human cities. But as he was concluding a reasonable hypothesis for his newfound surroundings, a sudden noise startled him from his thoughts¡ª


    People. Real people. Just around the corner. They weren¡¯t just images from his mind; they weren¡¯t just a part of his imaginations.


    He was about to feel relief for the first time in his life until the group of rugged strangers abruptly stopped and stared. Instinct took over, and the hairs on his arms suddenly stood firm. A sense of wariness seeped in, stemming from their gradually changing expressions¡ªblank faces followed by thin curling of the lips¡­


    Danger.


    Pain was the first thing his small body registered. It was unlike any other feeling he¡¯d felt before. It wasn¡¯t like the numbing sensation of snow; the cold wasn¡¯t even a bother. But what hit him now was much worse. He knew that without having to recall from his records.


    They continued to kick and prod, jabbing at his ribs with their thin, needle-like boots. None were willing to stop their blows.


    It was excruciating. The boy didn¡¯t know if this was supposed to be better than being frozen cold, but after a few more minutes, they finally turned and left, laughing obnoxiously in the presence of the bitter, morning wind. The voices echoed across the frigid landscape, slowly shrinking away into the distance.


    The boy abruptly collapsed in a bundle of bruises and blood. His vision blurred and breaths, heavy. He clenched at his chest as if his lungs weren¡¯t already on fire from the cold, and instead of joy, he felt an intense anguish. It wasn¡¯t even directed at the mob of bloody boots. It was more so directed at himself¡ªhis birth.


    Why was he born? Where were his parents? Was it normal to be born alone? His records recalled hints of knowledge when it came to generalized familial relations, but none of what he knew could tell him what he wanted to know. So instead, he simply buried his face deep into the freezing snow. A few sniffles were all that escaped.


    Not even an audible weep.

 Feast Upon Thy Bread

    It wasn¡¯t long before the boy discovered a city. He was a few days older and felt a few inches taller when he had first started experiencing these intense pangs of abdominal pain¡ªnot like getting kicked or being frostbitten. It was more of an aching sensation. And then his stomach growled so loudly he knew¡­


    It was hunger.


    What he¡¯d initially thought of as being his first sunrise turned out to be an incredibly large but brightly lit city just beyond the rooftops of the run-down motel. Seeing that in the distance, common sense told him to go. There was probably food over there¡ªrestaurants, food stands, anything to fill the emptiness inside.


    He picked up a torn bed sheet from the desolate motel curbside and pulled it across his shoulders. It wasn¡¯t warm; it was like wrapping himself in ice cubes. But it was common sense. Or maybe instinct? It didn¡¯t really matter what it was. He made his way towards the towering skyscrapers with only the thoughts of food on his mind¡­


    After having trailed through the outskirts of the city, he finally saw more people. They were shuffling through the bustling city streets in attires he¡¯d never seen before. But this time, his skin remained butter smooth. No hair-raising reactions, no dangers in sight.


    From a distance, the boy could finally make out a source of sustenance¡ªan old, almost decrepit bakery that didn¡¯t seem to match at all with the highly technological appearances of all the other neighboring buildings. As his mouth salivated at the corners, he wondered what kinds of food would be there. A bakery¡­ It could only mean one thing. Bread. And cake! Lots and lots of cake!


    But that hope was short-lived.


    Dressed in flashing, fluorescent lights, a strange woman stood between him and the bakery. She looked like a lamp post. Or a construction worker? A receptionist? A disco ball from the 1970s? He started internally reciting from his records like an alarm clock, constantly beeping with new information. His mind never seemed to slow down with the unrealistic explanations.


    Her clothes flashed on and off, changing obnoxiously unlike herself. She stood there, staring out into the barren horizon as if half asleep. He was sure that¡¯s what it looked like; he¡¯d experienced lack of sleep just a few hours ago. She could¡¯ve passed for a statue if it weren¡¯t for those eyes. They followed his every move; her faint smile elicited a familiar bodily response¡ª


    Goosebumps.


    He could feel the hairs rising all across his arms, and a nightmarish memory flashed by¡ªpain worse than the cold, kicks worse than hunger. And a single thought rang in his mind again¡ª


    Danger.


    He had felt this before. Back near the motel. He recalled from his records of an emotion that incited this sensation. An emotion that caused him to feel weak at his knees, that made his stomach churn like a whirlpool. He could even feel a scream trying to claw its way out¡­


    Fear.


    His legs moved first, taking small steps back. He needed to get away quick! He needed to get out of here! It was taking over his mind; he could only imagine the pain, the stomping of hard boots, the faint smiles, the laughter¡­ But then he stopped. And he stared back at those dull eyes, unblinking, almost glazed over.


    He saw the bakery in the corner of his eyes. He could vaguely make out the shapes of various breads on display¡ªthe cakes, the taste of sweet, creamy confectionaries. His stomach growled; the aching pain returned in full force. He couldn¡¯t take it. It was all too much. It hurt too much! So he made a decision¡ª


    No.


    He stood firm in his resolve, steeled his nerves. He came here for a reason¡ªfood. As much as fear was a vital emotion in avoiding dangers, he had yet to be kicked, stomped or even trampled. There was nothing to be afraid of if he hadn¡¯t yet been hurt.


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    The boy decided then and there that his goals of finding food far outweighed his instincts. Right now, he¡¯d do anything to get rid of this lingering pain, so with a newfound sense of courage, he inched forward. And with each and every step, his determination grew; he confidently confirmed that she wasn¡¯t going to move. He would make it past her; he would fill his stomach! But¡ª


    He smacked face first into something too solid for him to have not noticed before. An unknown feeling shot through his skin¡ªanother sensation he¡¯d never felt before. Was it fear? No, it was different. More of a jolting sensation. Dread? No, it was startling, shocking, but didn¡¯t hurt. It overwhelmed his senses like a thunderstorm.


    And then it was gone.


    Surprise? Was he¡­ surprised? Was this what surprise felt like? It had to be. That was the only explanation. But the feeling was only momentary as confusion swiftly took over. He peered over towards the bakery. It was right there only a few steps away, just shy of his reach. What had he banged his head on?


    Slowly, he reached out. His hands alarmingly grazed something solid but invisible. Nothing was there, but something was there. Something hard and sleek, flat. Smooth as ice but not too cold to the touch.


    A glass wall? But it didn¡¯t feel like glass. It was more¡­ intangible? He pondered for a moment, rummaging through his inner records. Then what? An invisible force field? According to his records, that wasn¡¯t tech that should¡¯ve existed.


    He pushed a little harder on the wall, and it started glowing dull pink around the points of pressure. Then he felt an abrupt chill run down his spine. As if somebody was watching. He glanced over his shoulders and saw the woman had shifted her neck his way. Her wide, unwavering eyes stared back.


    There was a feeling of unease that settled at the bottom of his stomach. Still trembling¡ªwas it from the cold or from fear, he didn¡¯t know¡ªhe managed to say a single word. ¡°H-hello?¡± But it was immediately met with a monotonous string of words that didn¡¯t seem to make any sense.


    ¡°Access denied. Move back,¡± the strange woman spoke for the first time.


    Access? Common sense dictated that there was no door. How could access be denied when there was no entrance? He didn¡¯t understand, but his stomach was still growling. He was running out of options; he was absolutely famished. In a flash of haste, he grabbed the woman¡¯s sleeve and begged.


    ¡°Please, let me in.¡±


    ¡°Access denied,¡± she repeated. ¡°No identification.¡±


    As much as he didn¡¯t understand what it meant to be human, he instantly thought that she didn¡¯t sound human enough. But none of that mattered. He wanted food. Just a small slice of that bread on the other side of the invisible wall. He could even see it¡ªthe rows of pastries and sweet, fruity cakes.


    ¡°Please¡­¡± He pulled harder. Saliva had already dotted the asphalt below. His stomach kept growling louder and louder, ringing in his ears like ancient television static. The sound engulfed his mind. All he saw was that loaf of soft, puffy bread¡­


    ¡°Warning. Force imminent.¡±


    Force?


    And before he could react, she violently shoved the boy to the ground.


    He quickly recoiled, scampering away from her reach. But the woman returned to her original post as if nothing had happened, seemingly more invested in acting like a rock than anything else.


    It was baffling. How could she act so cold? It was common sense to have empathy, was it not? But then the incident at the motel triggered in his mind, and he realized that maybe empathy was not common sense after all.


    It was just a byproduct of the weak.


    Overwhelmed with a sudden surplus of intense emotions, he brushed aside any nonexistent dust from his dirty linen wraps and readied his hands.


    I¡¯m not weak, he told himself. He was going to push through with all his might. He was going to get that bread no matter what. And with bated breath, he waited for the right moment. Just when she turned away¡­


    Now!


    He rushed forward and slammed his tiny torso against the invisible barrier. It lit up. A red outline shined around his fingers in an alarmingly threatening glare. Even the people across the wall started to notice. His arms burned, and his muscles ached. The woman started to move, walking almost robotically towards him with every flicker of her flashing clothes, but he kept up his hands and pushed. He was going to get through. No matter what. Nothing would stop him from getting to that bakery!


    Cracks formed.


    It spread from the edge of his fingers and funneled out into fractal webs. Thin lines stretched across the clear surface, spreading farther and farther until¡­


    It exploded.


    The wall shattered into a million pieces. Shards flew past his eyes, scattering in every which way, but the only thing on his mind was¡­


    Bread!

 Nectar of the Gods

    The corporate heads of Simular Incorporated initially wanted a main hub of sorts within their creation, Simular. It was a simulated sanctuary where everyone who joined would feel welcomed¡ªsafe, and at ease.


    Although freedom was an important selling point, they didn¡¯t want the entire simulation to be like the wild, wild west. They wanted a place that had restrictions. Just this one corner of their world where they could build their entire corporate empire around. And everywhere else? That was all open and up for grabs. They¡¯d let the people decide the laws, the rules of the land; the first settlers would have the upper hand.


    So to appease this plan of theirs, the leaders created a city in the center of all this amalgamation. The simulated city of a trillion suns¡ª


    Virgin Thermopylae.


    And floating over this metropolis was the developers¡¯ headquarters. They peered down at the people like newfound gods of their world. The holographic adverts and electrifying neon lights of the city were a sight to see from above the skyline. And there, the creator of Simular would spend most of his hours ruminating about his worries¡­


    The door to the office swung open.


    ¡°Why do I always seem to find you here?¡± Azan, his partner and friend, sauntered in as he usually did. He peered across the multi-colored horizon in distaste. ¡°There¡¯s this thing, yeah? It¡¯s called outside. You ever heard of it? Real grass? Have you even touched any this month? Spring¡¯s almost over, yeah? No better time than now.¡±


    ¡°Spring¡¯s only over on the outside¡­¡± He only had a moment¡¯s hesitation before returning to his thoughts. ¡°Leave me be. You¡¯re distracting.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re always saying that¡­ Especially after the funeral.¡± Azan whispered the last part as if he didn¡¯t want it to be heard, but then he quickly changed the subject. ¡°See, there¡¯s this problem¡ª¡±


    ¡°Azan.¡± He¡¯d heard enough. ¡°I¡¯m busy.¡±


    Azan let out a deep sigh. ¡°Always in such a brooding mood.¡± He pulled his cybernetically affixed finger out of its socket and twirled it around in an almost playful manner. ¡°You can research outside, yeah? Look at the sun. Get some of that cholecalciferol, eh?¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter where we are, Azan. It¡¯s all genetically modified anyway.¡± The Creator paused, almost deciding whether or not to humor his friend¡¯s shallow taunts. ¡°And I know what Vitamin D is. Those words won¡¯t make you look any smarter.¡±


    ¡°I beg to differ.¡± He shrugged. ¡°It usually works on our shareholders. But my oh my, you¡¯re so gosh darn stodgy today.¡±


    ¡°Archaic words won¡¯t stop me from understanding them either, Azan.¡±


    Azan ignored the remark. ¡°I was just meaning to tell you about our latest shareholder situation. Kingfisher bought¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t want to hear it.¡±


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    ¡°Now, don¡¯t be so¡­ What¡¯s the word? Hostile? Cantankerous?¡± Azan rubbed the bottom of his chin in an almost exaggerated manner. Then his eyes suddenly lit up. ¡°Oh, did I tell you about what happened to that boy?¡±


    ¡°What boy?¡±


    ¡°You know¡­¡± Azan smiled that devilish grin he always made. The Creator knew it was all just a ploy to gaslight him into thinking that he knew. ¡°Wait. Actually, there were a bunch of boys I was meaning to tell you about. There¡¯s that one starving next to our research facility, one we hired yesterday as our attendant, and the one that threw a cup filled with piss at one of my escorts.¡± He paused as if recalling the incident. ¡°Maybe I should report that one to the authorities¡ª¡±


    ¡°Can we not do this right now?¡±


    ¡°What? I¡¯m just trying to lighten the mood.¡± Azan plucked at his shirt to cool off. ¡°It feels so stuffy in here. Did you raise the temperature again?¡±


    ¡°You were talking about a boy.¡± He couldn¡¯t help but ask. Curiosity had gotten the better of him.


    ¡°Oh, right! You got the drug dealers, the rich brats, the hackers¡ªwe better get rid of the hackers though. They¡¯re kind of ruining all the promotional events¡ª¡±


    ¡°Stop! Just tell me about the boy you mentioned earlier.¡±


    ¡°Alright, alright. I¡¯m getting to it.¡± Azan paused to tidy his tie. ¡°The one I hired yesterday.¡±


    ¡°Go on.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s it.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I just wanted to let you know that I hired him.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s it? That¡¯s all you were trying to say?¡± He couldn¡¯t believe it. After all that talk? He could never get used to the man. ¡°I want you to consider your next words wisely. Do you have¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oh, and there were also some problems with the city¡¯s border. Heard something broke through the energy dome. Weird thing is, the server logs say it¡¯s an unnamed NPC. I assume some kind of anomaly, yeah?¡± Azan waved his own comment aside. ¡°Ah, I¡¯m sure it¡¯s no big deal. That border has broken before.¡±


    ¡°Something broke through the wall? The one meant to be impenetrable?¡± That shouldn¡¯t have been possible. It was inherently a manipulation of the code.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure it¡¯s fine. The hole in the barrier¡¯s already been repaired.¡±


    ¡°Not even I can fully control that. Of course it¡¯s a big deal! Why didn¡¯t you start with that?¡±


    ¡°What? I thought you wouldn¡¯t care.¡±


    An unnamed non-player character¡­ All NPCs within the simulated capital were named. He¡¯d hand-picked them specifically for implementation into the system. None of them should¡¯ve been flagged as unnamed by the server¡­ unless¡­ ¡°Azan, what are its origin values?¡±


    ¡°Origin values? Simular obviously.¡±


    ¡°Where in Simular?¡±


    ¡°Near the outskirts. Technically, in the ¡®madic z¡ª¡±


    ¡°Dead Zone? You¡¯re certain of it?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± he emphasized, ¡°of course I am. I can read logs perfectly fine. Thank you very much.¡±


    A myriad of possibilities phased through his mind. It wasn¡¯t a virus, no. Whatever this was, it was the solution¡ªan answer to all of his qualms.


    It was a revelation.


    ¡°This is it.¡±


    ¡°What is?¡±


    ¡°The answer.¡±


    ¡°Answer?¡± Azan narrowed his eyes. ¡°To what? What¡¯s with the sudden cryptic speech?¡±


    ¡°Azan, I¡­¡± He stared intently as a thought formulated in his mind. He wouldn¡¯t understand. Instead, the Creator made an excuse like he¡¯d always done. ¡°I¡¯m busy. Leave me be.¡±


    Then he was off.

 Deceit in Plain Sight

    The boy ran. As fast as his legs could take him. The bakery was in sight. The cake was there, waiting for someone to snatch it away. All he had to do was grab it and bite, savor the taste of grain for the first time in his life.


    He was getting closer. The people around him started backing off, scurrying aside from the tattered bedsheets. He could hear the lady¡¯s footsteps getting louder. But the cake¡­ It was so close. The frosting, the strawberries¡­ He could name all the ingredients because of his inner records. He could only imagine the flavor, the sugary sweetness of the pastries. He could even taste the thought of chomping down already satiating his growling stomach. And when he was finally in range, he swiped¡ª


    His hand went straight through the dessert.


    What? His eyes twitched; a chill ran down his spine. He could almost feel his legs losing strength. No. Please, no! He swiped at the other sweets¡ªthe apple pies, the macarons, the beautifully powdered mille-feuilles. His hands passed straight through all of them as if they didn¡¯t exist, flickering like illusory lights.


    Dread gripped his throat. It was a lie, a hallucination. The cake, the bread¡­ Everything was a lie. They were fake, holograms! They weren¡¯t even real!


    A hand burst through his peripherals and grabbed him by the shoulder. It was iron tight. Unbreakable. The boy jumped. It was her¡ªthe woman from before. He struggled, moving in every which way. He pulled at his arm, and for a second, he thought her grip had weakened, but that was also a lie, imagined up in his mind.


    Her blank eyes stared like the void. A creeping fear crawled up his back¡ªa fear that it wouldn¡¯t end well for him if he didn¡¯t escape now. He needed to break free. No, he had to, so with all his might, he pulled. Then again. And again. Until finally¡­


    He was free.


    The boy ran. Again. Faster this time, with more speed. His legs tangled with every step. He fell, scraped his knees clean, but he kept going. Where was he going? He didn¡¯t know. His only goal was to get as far away from her as possible. He couldn¡¯t let her catch him.


    He ran towards the inner city, pushing past all the people who hadn¡¯t yet noticed him. He was bumped around and jostled, but he kept his balance steady. He kept running.


    There! A dark alleyway! He immediately changed directions and stumbled through the ominous corridor. Common sense had told him to do it. It told him it would be less populated and quieter. He¡¯d be more unseen, out of sight from all the dangers of the world. He could hide here. Somewhere¡­


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    He looked around. A dumpster, a few trash cans, pipes, and an old air conditioning system¡­ A dead end. But he had to hide. Where? There was nowhere else to go!


    Dumpster! It was common sense! Common sense was telling him to do it!


    He jumped into the dumpster and closed the lid. There were bags torn open with smelly, almost unbreathable garbage¡ªfish bones and streaks of dried condiments. Metal rods poked out through plastic and used containers, but he still felt like it wasn¡¯t enough. He dug deeper¡ªas deep as he could go. He swam underneath all the gunk and held his breath. He waited, listening to all the noise outside.


    There were sounds of people shuffling through the sidewalk¡ªthe occasional yelling and shouting of kids, the roaring of construction equipment. It was quiet. Other than all that background noise, it was silent¡­


    Then the ground started to rumble; the dumpster heaved upwards. One by one, the bags of trash disappeared. Popped like soap bubbles, gone without a trace. And in seconds, he was exposed in all his grimy splendor.


    He was sprawled out on the asphalt surface half-naked with only a bed sheet in hand. The dumpster was gone; the bags of trash had all been poofed out of existence.


    Standing in front of him was the woman. Her hand was outstretched and glowing ever so slightly. Then the glow disappeared and she stared. Again, motionless. As if time had simply stopped. An ambitious thought crossed his mind¡ª


    Did I stop time?


    But he already knew the answer to that. There were still people moving in the distance, engines roaring in rough vigor. Of course time hadn¡¯t stopped.


    For what seemed like an hour, both of them stared in silence. Common sense had already given up. He couldn¡¯t run anymore. He was starving, tired, and out of breath. There was nothing more he could do to better the odds of escape.


    But then, without a single word, she turned and left¡ªwalked out the alley as if he wasn¡¯t even there.


    Just like that? He was confused. Why had she gone after having cornered him? And as if to answer his immediate thoughts, a new figure approached him right as she turned the corner. Sharp, narrow eyes almost immediately speared him down.


    A man dressed in all-black stood before him. Unlike the woman¡¯s unusual celebratory attire, he looked more kempt¡ªwell suited, well dressed. Like some sort of businessman. That was what his records stated. But his entire get-up was oddly unfitting for the environment. He stood out a little too much. And his face and eyes¡ªthey were sharper, more alive, dangerous. If he had to pick a creature from his records, the man looked like a desert horned viper.


    Then the man spoke.


    ¡°As I thought,¡± he said, ¡°a natural born.¡± He held out his hand. ¡°Come. Don¡¯t make this any more difficult.¡±


    The boy hesitated. Common sense told him not to trust this man, and it was obvious that he wouldn¡¯t just grab the hand of somebody he had never seen before. Especially not somebody like him. No, it wasn¡¯t just common sense. It was more of an instinct, a gut feeling. This man was dangerous; he was not to be trusted.


    ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s try this again,¡± the man said. ¡°Food. Would you like some food?¡±


    Food?

 Born To Be Bread

    The moment the boy grabbed the man¡¯s hand, the scenery around him changed almost in the blink of an eye¡ªas if he had just been teleported.


    Records told him nothing of teleportation being a viable technology¡ªonly in science fiction. But it was all so odd. First, he¡¯d lived through what seemed like the cold flurries of winter, then he bumped heads with an invisible wall, and now, this¡ªteleportation. All supposedly fictional, non-existent technology. Were his records wrong? Were they missing information? Misleading him? But the sun, the motel and pain, emotions¡­ Those were all real, logical things. His records had told him so.


    Then his stomach grumbled in response.


    Stomach, he called out, please be quiet. He was trying to think, but it was all getting messed up. A solution to this simple issue would be to eat. Like those strawberry cakes. His mind wandered back to the holographic pastries, his lips salivating at the mere thought¡­


    But then the man turned and stared, breaking him out of his daydream. His sharp eyes bored him down; a sense of fear crept up like small spiders crawling across his back. And then the looming figure spoke¡ª


    ¡°Speak.¡±


    That was the first word the viper-eyed man said after they¡¯d arrived in this weird room of white. Like a hospital! his inner records told him. Am I sick?


    ¡°Look at me.¡± the man said.


    Suddenly, the boy didn¡¯t feel all that welcome.


    The man¡¯s face, however, immediately softened. He eyed him more carefully. ¡°Can you speak?¡±


    The boy opened his mouth, but nothing escaped. Those cold, razor-sharp eyes still stared him over like he wasn¡¯t actually there. He could almost feel the air weighing heavily down on him, overbearingly pulling him to the floor¡­


    He froze. It was all too much.


    The man¡¯s voice grew a little louder this time. More emotion, more aggression. The boy could hear the annoyance visibly growing. ¡°Can you¡­ speak?¡±


    Goosebumps. He could feel it¡ªthe hairs on his arms stiffening up from all the attention. His lips were dry, hands clammy. No. Wet, drenched in sweat. The room was cold just like the morning he¡¯d woken up.


    ¡°SPEAK!¡± The man¡¯s face contorted into an emotion well-documented in his inner records¡ª


    Anger.


    The boy immediately shuddered, and he started to breathe more heavily. His hands shivered more than when he was buried deep under layers of snow; his feet slid all the way back to the immovable wall behind him.


    ¡°Stop looking like a lost animal and speak.¡± The man pointed at himself. ¡°To me. Speak.¡± Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. A second later, he met the boy¡¯s eyes once more. This time, the man almost looked sleepy. Or was it¡­ sad? ¡°Can you speak?¡± the man repeated. His somber eyes and brief smile mellowed the boy out just enough for him to say¡ª


    ¡°I-I ca¡ª¡±


    ¡°What am I doing?¡± the man interrupted. He shook his head. ¡°Enough. Wait here.¡± In a sweeping motion, he left through the only door in the room. A soft click sounded right after it had closed.


    After a long while, the boy finally breathed a sigh of relief. With wobbly legs released from all that intensity, he looked around more thoroughly this time. A white, cubical room enveloped his surroundings. There was a small table, toilet, a chair¡ªnothing else. The walls were smooth as marble. There was a window, the only things visible being clouds. And as he ran his hand down the textureless surface, for a second, he thought he couldn¡¯t breathe.


    Was it fear that he¡¯d just felt?


    It was suffocating. Like he couldn¡¯t move. Like he was still sprawled across the snow in his infantile body, arms flailing weakly by his side. He felt helpless. He felt stuck. In this big, empty, white¡­


    He couldn¡¯t stand it.


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    He ran up to the door, grabbed the handle, and turned, but it didn¡¯t budge. And as soon as he¡¯d thought of giving up, the door abruptly swung open. The viper-eyed man walked in with a tray in hand.


    He scrambled away, hiding behind the table.


    The man looked him down with eyes like daggers. He stood looming above, the metal platter shaking violently unlike his still figure. Liquid sloshed back and forth inside what looked to be a glass cup; it balanced itself precariously on top. Something else slid around next to it, but the boy couldn¡¯t exactly make out what it was because of the height.


    Then he saw the open door, and an urge bubbled up inside¡ªhe wanted to get out, squeeze past the man and run. He was fast; he could make it, but¡­ he couldn¡¯t move a muscle. His hands couldn¡¯t stop trembling.


    Was it fear? Had it already taken over?


    No, he needed to escape. Distract him, he told himself. Stop shaking. Distract him. Then he¡¯d make a run for it. ¡°W-who are you?¡± he managed to squeak out.


    ¡°Who am I?¡± the man questioned in a deep but clear voice. He furrowed his brows as if thinking deeply.


    Was that the wrong question to ask? No, it didn¡¯t matter. Move! he told his body, but he couldn¡¯t. Get up! He couldn¡¯t get up. He kept trying, but nothing. He couldn¡¯t break contact with the man¡¯s intense gaze.


    ¡°Why do you ask?¡±


    ¡°I-I¡­¡± His palms were so sweaty; it kept slipping on his knees. ¡°I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Did you hear me?¡±


    ¡°I-I just¡­¡± he barely muttered out. ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­¡± The boy finally broke eye contact, but he instead stared at the floor. He¡¯d given up; it was pointless. He wouldn¡¯t make it anyway¡­


    ¡°Name,¡± the man said. He lowered the tray just enough to show¡­


    Bread.


    The boy reached for a slice; he was salivating all over again. But the man pulled the tray back out of reach. Then he repeated¡ª


    ¡°Name.¡±


    ¡°N-name?¡±


    ¡°What is your name?¡± The man stared again, dead-eyed, expressionless. The boy couldn¡¯t read his emotions.


    ¡°I-I don¡¯t have¡ª¡±


    ¡°Then make one.¡±


    ¡°Make¡­ one?¡±


    The man nodded.


    Name? He never thought about having a name. And the mere thought of trying to name himself made him nervous.


    ¡°What is your name?¡±


    ¡°M-my name¡­¡± The boy looked at the man. Then the tray. Then he looked at the bread in his other hand. ¡°I-I don¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°Make one up.¡± The emphasis around the man¡¯s words got stronger. ¡°Anything. Make. It. Up.¡±


    ¡°W-what¡ª¡± His eyes darted left and right. His mind raced up and down. He didn¡¯t know. He didn¡¯t know what to say. What should he name himself? How did people come up with names anyway? Did they just make random noises and match it with random syllables? Should he do the same? ¡°I¡­ name¡ª¡±


    ¡°Damn it, anything!¡± The tray shook more violently. ¡°Give me a name!¡±


    ¡°W-wait¡ª¡± His records! What did they say? Anything about making names? About what it was? Anything? What even was a name? Was it a title? Identity? ¡°M-my name¡ª¡± Bread¡­ He was so hungry. He didn¡¯t care about names. He just wanted that bread¡­


    ¡°Come on!¡± the man yelled.


    ¡°B-Bread!¡± he blurted out. ¡°Bread. I want¡ªI-I mean, my name¡¯s¡­ Bread¡­¡±


    ¡°Bread¡­?¡± The light in the man¡¯s eyes died. Instead, a deafening silence filled the air. ¡°Bread¡­¡± He dropped the tray; it clattered to the floor sounding like rogue gunshots. Glass shattered across the floor, water spilled everywhere, and the bread¡­


    The boy watched as it fell¡ªtumbling in the air, crumbs spraying across the room. Then it bounced. First off the floor, then into the puddle of water pooling in the center. And there, it stayed, soaking, glittering with the shards of broken glass. And it kept soaking, melting away, disappearing in front of his eyes. His bread¡­


    A sound broke him out of his trance. And he heard something squeaking, crackling quietly above him. Like something was grinding, crunching¡­


    He looked up.


    The man¡¯s teeth were bared, clenched so hard they were grinding against each other. His eyes were red, bloodshot. His nose wrinkled like the ball of fabric rolled up in the boy¡¯s hands.


    There it was again¡ªanger.


    ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry,¡± the boy stuttered. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± He nervously pulled back, positioning the table between them, but his back hit the wall; there was nowhere else to go. ¡°Please don¡¯t hurt¡ª¡±


    ¡°No.¡± The man raised his head. He stared up at the ceiling. ¡°Perhaps this was all a degree too complex.¡± His emotionless gaze returned, and with it, his monotonous voice. ¡°Are you human?¡±


    Human? The boy tensely nodded, not completely understanding the abnormality of the question being asked. All that was on his mind was to minimize the danger in front of him.


    ¡°Good¡ªgood, alright.¡± The man sighed. ¡°That¡¯s enough for today.¡± And without missing a beat, he left. The door slammed shut soon after.


    As numerous more goosebumps dotted his skin, the boy, now known as Bread, was absolutely, without question¡­


    Terrified.

 Tuning Turing Tests

    ¡°The code¡¯s gibberish¡­¡± The Creator impatiently tapped at the glass pane overlooking what was supposed to be the great city of Novus Lokris. Instead, all he saw were clouds. He stood rigid in a small corner of Simular¡¯s real world office corridor. It was rare that he was outside for once. Everything looked so flawed out here¡ªthe clouds were too numerous, the sun, far too bright. But sometimes, a change of pace was what he needed to get his work done. ¡°Hello? Is this thing working? System: start recording.¡±


    ¡°Recording commenced.¡± A voice rang inside his ears. Then a sequence of holographic symbols appeared in front of his eyes, dancing with every nod of his head.


    ¡°Finally. The code¡¯s gibberish,¡± he repeated, ¡°as if it were scrambled by an absurdly complex encryption key.¡± He paused to collect his thoughts. ¡°This is a good thing. It means this is something new, unexplored. But the subject¡¯s intertwined with the system. I don¡¯t know which part is which. His visible manifestation might not even be his entire framework.


    ¡°If I could just isolate him somehow, test his humanity¡­ A cerlogger would work, but that could take more than a year. The quicker option would be a findolancer, but that¡­ that carries too much risk. It would seem the only other option is to simply proceed¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re working hard for a change. What¡¯s the occasion?¡±


    ¡°System: end recording.¡± It was Azan. The Creator couldn¡¯t help but let out an exasperated sigh. ¡°Why are you here again?¡±


    ¡°You weren¡¯t in Simular.¡±


    ¡°And why would that be the reason?¡±


    ¡°But I missed you.¡± Azan smiled that smug grin of his. ¡°Isn¡¯t that reason enough?¡±


    The Creator sighed. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s with you lately? Don¡¯t wanna see the real me?¡± He spread his arms wide, motioning towards his face. It almost looked as if he were waiting for praise. ¡°Just got another one installed. From Nano-Fibro.¡± The coffee in his hand spilled all over the transparent, composite floor. He could see the disproportionately excessive clouds even from here.


    He bought yet another veil. The Creator sighed once more. That man had an obsession with changing faces. It was like he abhorred the one he was born with, and yet, within Simular, he always used his original form. ¡°What do you want? Really.¡±


    ¡°Nothing. I was just bored.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you have things to do? Family to visit?¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± Azan said. He waved it all off. ¡°A few months won¡¯t kill them. I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll understand.¡± He took a swig from his mug. ¡°So! What¡¯s this all about?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s what about?¡±


    ¡°You were recording something.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to know.¡±


    ¡°Well, okay then. Keep your secrets.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Didn¡¯t seem all too important to me though. At least not as important as our dream, yeah?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about.¡±


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    An odd silence followed. Then Azan popped off one of his fingers. ¡°Okay, look.¡± The mood around him shifted. The Creator could tell by the way he twirled his dislodged finger, fidgeting with it almost erratically. ¡°Why the rush?¡± he remarked. ¡°What¡¯s the hurry?¡±


    The Creator remained silent.


    ¡°It¡¯s like you¡¯re a completely different person as of late.¡± Azan eyed him as if he were trying to piece together the puzzles to his thoughts, but then his mischievous grin returned. ¡°Why not relax?¡± He wrapped his arm around the Creator¡¯s shoulders. ¡°Enjoy the ride. We made Simular to¡ª¡±


    ¡°I made Simular.¡± He nudged the arm off his shoulders.


    ¡°You made Simular, I made Simular. Who cares about all that small stuff?¡± Azan pompously waved his hands in the air. ¡°People love this place. It brings them a breath of freshness to their lives. Freedom! A new start! A chance to choose their future for themselves. So what do we do to make it better? We give them what they want. Gambling? It¡¯s already in there. New ¡®netics? Add it in. New Virtual RPG shooter? Make an opening for that¡ªoh, but get the rights for it first. We don¡¯t want some bullshit lawsuit in our hands. But seriously, loosen up a bit!


    ¡°Give the people the life they always dreamed about. Give ¡®em superpowers for all I care. It¡¯s a simulation! There are no consequences. Why waste time on anything else when we can just feast upon this technological marvel we made. And maybe, we¡¯ll get a raise¡­ Think about it. We can make it rain!¡±


    ¡°Is money all you think about?¡±


    ¡°Money, huh?¡± Azan downed the rest of his drink. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re up to. Seriously. But you¡¯ve been up to something. I can tell.¡± He paused. ¡°Just¡­ take it easy, yeah? You¡¯ve always got druggies to fall back on if your experiments fail.¡±


    Azan wasn¡¯t seeing it. Druggies wouldn¡¯t cut it. He needed an anchor to his research¡ªa potential solution that he could reverse engineer.


    Currently, people couldn¡¯t live in Simular. It was a second fresh start to life, but it wasn¡¯t permanent. They had to leave the simulation every once in a while to sustain their physical bodies so they wouldn¡¯t starve to death or deteriorate like living corpses. The simulation hadn¡¯t yet managed to completely replicate the human brain, but with just the right tools¡­


    ¡°Just find a few from the ¡®madic zone. It¡¯s not like anyone will notice¡ª¡±


    ¡°Stop. I can¡¯t do that.¡± He wouldn¡¯t kill. Not anymore. Not after¡­ He thought back to the funeral. Not after that¡­


    ¡°Can¡¯t do it? You¡¯ve been doing it this entire time! It¡¯s your creation. You can do whatever the hell you want with it. Nobody¡¯ll ever know.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re real, Azan.¡±


    ¡°Real?¡± Azan scoffed. ¡°What does that even mean? When did that ever stop you? What happened to you, seriously?¡±


    ¡°Nothing happened to me.¡±


    ¡°Is it because of her death? Did¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not.¡±


    Azan paused. He stared out the window into the expanse of white. ¡°It¡¯s all fine and dandy that you¡¯ve changed¡­ But we made a promise. I hope you haven¡¯t forgotten.¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t.¡±


    Another long silence.


    Azan drew a sharp breath as if readying to say something, but he stopped himself. Then he let out a quiet huff that almost sounded like he was a bit disappointed. ¡°I can never see you smiling anymore.¡± He smirked. ¡°Sometimes, I wonder if I¡¯m the only one still dreaming.¡±


    Emotions¡­ ¡°I don¡¯t have time for that.¡±


    A chuckle escaped Azan¡¯s lips. ¡°You sure as hell haven¡¯t changed in that regard. But seriously, smile more. It¡¯s like I¡¯m the one talking to an AI.¡±


    How did he¡­ It didn¡¯t matter. Azan always figured things out in the end. He grunted in response. ¡°I can smile all I want once I¡¯m dead.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah. Sure you can.¡± Azan¡¯s watch alarm suddenly went off. ¡°Oh, must be time for my meeting. Wish me luck.¡± He gave a quick wave before strolling out, leaving nothing but a trace of shoe prints on the floor.


    ¡°Luck¡­¡± The Creator let out an exasperated sigh. ¡°Luck never gets you what you want. Only hard work.¡± Then he finally smiled¡ªa shallow, dejected imitation of the real thing. ¡°Isn¡¯t that right, Mother?¡±

 Bread & Wine, Blood & Honey

    Bread¡­ That was his name.


    He gazed at the crackless, seamless walls around him. It was never-ending¡ªa vast expanse of white. Reaching out, he pushed, hoping that it might budge, but it never did. He was stuck.


    The sheets of torn linen in his hands were dyed pink with blood. It was only after the fact he¡¯d realized that he had eaten glass. But he was hungry. What was he supposed to have done? It was pasty, tasteless even, and yet, the blood-soaked mush of crumbs was still the most delicious thing he¡¯d ever eaten in his life.


    Still, he knew this wasn¡¯t right.


    Why? With the small bit of life he¡¯d lived, he started to question things¡ªwhy was he brought here? Why did he have to go through this? Why couldn¡¯t he find a way out? He was born under mounds of cold, hard snow ready to die at any moment, but he¡¯d gotten out. He¡¯d survived. He¡¯d made it into a city with only food on his mind. He¡¯d managed to come this far. How did he end up here?


    Because I took his hand.


    Empathy was for the weak. He shouldn¡¯t have expected anyone to help, and yet, he was still here, suffering the consequences of his actions.


    Bread stared out the window, watching the clouds roll by. It was kind of nice. His lips hurt, his stomach growled a little still, but it was kind of calming watching those fluffy clouds roll by without a care in the world. And he saw birds¡ªmigratory frigatebirds¡ªflocking together, gliding through the cotton candy isles. He saw an eagle sail through the skies. They all looked so peaceful; it was so freeing to watch.


    If only I could fly¡­


    Then he¡¯d soar through the sky out of anybody¡¯s reach. He¡¯d finally be free¡­ But of course, that wasn¡¯t possible. Common sense told him so. For just a moment though, he peacefully watched. And for just a moment, he forgot about his predicament. It was never this quiet when he was outside.


    But then the door swung open; the room rattled ever so slightly. The man from earlier sauntered in with enthusiasm he¡¯d never seen before. He moved past the table and clicked a few times on the wall.


    The window disappeared.


    ¡°Wait!¡± Bread rushed over to the side that had once housed the rare glimpses of these wondrous, avian beauties. They were nowhere to be seen, covered now by another white, featureless wall.


    ¡°Enough with the sightseeing.¡± The man walked in with another tray full of food and set it aside on the table. ¡°We need to get started. You can eat once we¡¯re done.¡±


    Bread stared, still confused and a little scared. He cautiously held his breath, watching the man¡¯s every move.


    The man sighed. ¡°I suppose it can¡¯t hurt,¡± he whispered just loud enough for Bread to overhear. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


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    The abrupt apology took Bread by surprise.


    ¡°This was all a rough start, but we need to get many things done. I hope you can comply with this request of mine. The sooner we finish, the better it¡¯ll be for the both of us.¡±


    Get things done? What was he talking about?


    The man pulled out a popsicle stick. No, it was a tongue depressor. He knelt down and gently placed his hand on Bread¡¯s jaw, readying to use the stick. ¡°Say ¡®ah.¡¯¡±


    Bread continued to stare. Was the man preparing to use the depressor on him?


    ¡°Say it.¡±


    ¡°A-ah¡­¡±


    ¡°Now, hold it in that position.¡± The man scrambled around inside his mouth with the wooden spatula. He couldn¡¯t help but squirm a little. ¡°Stop moving.¡±


    He stopped.


    ¡°Good.¡±


    As the man continued to work, poking and prodding inside his mouth, Bread could see him visibly sighing. Constantly. Almost every few seconds. The look on his face¡ªhe looked tired. His eyes were empty, hollow. No, not like the woman from before. He looked¡­ lonely. Bread didn¡¯t need his records to know. And because of this, he suddenly didn¡¯t feel as afraid of the man.


    ¡°Whawaoing?¡± he mumbled.


    ¡°What?¡± The man pulled the spatula out of his mouth.


    ¡°W-what are you doing?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m checking the validity of your cranial nerves.¡±


    Cranial... nerves? Those were all nerves and functions of the brain. ¡°Why?¡± he asked. What did that have to do with any of this?


    ¡°Follow my finger.¡± He slowly moved his finger from left to right, and Bread instinctively followed his movements. ¡°Good.¡± He then tucked the wooden stick away and pulled out a stethoscope from the depths of his suit. ¡°Come closer.¡± He gestured for the boy to move in.


    Bread did as he was told.


    The man placed the metal bell onto his bare chest. The sudden cold jolted the boy upright, but the man felt around as if he hadn¡¯t noticed.


    It was intriguing the way the man worked. Why was he so focused on testing all these neural functions? What was the purpose of these checks?


    ¡°Why?¡± Bread asked again. The man stopped and stared for a while, eyes piercing through his own. He caught his breath.


    ¡°I provide you with sustenance,¡± the man responded. ¡°Is that not enough?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­¡± He then had a change of thought. ¡°Can I go outside?¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯d rather starve?¡±


    ¡°No¡­¡±


    ¡°Then you can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Why can¡¯t I have both?¡±


    ¡°The world is unfair that way.¡± The man put the stethoscope away. An awkward silence fell in the room. He stood up, staring the boy down with intensity.


    Bread nervously swallowed the saliva that was pooling beneath his tongue. Sweat started to form around his nose. He took a deep breath and asked a final time¡ª


    ¡°When can I leave?¡±


    The man motioned with his head. ¡°Get up.¡±


    He stood up.


    ¡°Jump.¡±


    He jumped.


    ¡°Balance on one foot and swing your arms in a circle,¡± the man ordered. ¡°Roll your neck around.¡±


    Not knowing what else to do, he followed the man¡¯s instructions to a tee. He wobbled a little, but easily regained his posture and continued on with the exercise. He didn¡¯t have an inkling of an idea as to what these activities were for, and before he could ask or even question it more¡ª


    ¡°That¡¯s enough. Eat,¡± the man said. And then he left. Again. Just like that. He¡¯d come like the wind and was gone the same.

 Plucked and Deplumed

    ¡°I need you to think carefully, Bread.¡± It was another day of questions. The man tapped a few times on the window. It changed scenery like some sort of electronic screen. ¡°That is your name now, yes?¡±


    Bread nodded.


    ¡°What comes to mind when you see this?¡± The man tapped a few more times, and the surrounding walls¡ªnot just the window¡ªall suddenly came to life, engulfing the room in a moving image¡ªvast, densely packed tropical trees.


    ¡°A forest¡­¡± He could almost breathe in the dampness, feel the humidity sticking to his skin. The smell of rotting bark and debris clogged his throat, almost intoxicating the way it stuck to the insides of his mouth. He hadn¡¯t experienced it before, yet his senses were heightened by the entrancing atmosphere. It was like he was actually there to witness the vastness of the trees before him.


    ¡°No, I meant in a more abstract manner.¡±


    ¡°Abstract?¡± Did he mean unrealistic? But how could this forest ever be considered unrealistic?


    The man shook his head. He almost looked disappointed. ¡°What does that make you feel?¡± This time, he pointed at the sun.


    ¡°Warm?¡± Bread answered.


    ¡°No, I want more. Give me more.¡±


    He thought for a moment, rummaging through his inner records. What more did he know about the sun? What more was he supposed to say? ¡°It¡¯s a source of vitamin D?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± the man cried. ¡°No, not¡ª¡± He exhaled loudly. ¡°The sun. We all know that it¡¯s a sun, but everyone has a different definition of what the sun makes them feel. For example, to me, this sun is abhorrent. I despise how bright it is. Now, what does this sun make you feel?¡±


    What does it make me feel? How was he supposed to know? Common sense told him nothing about questioning what he feels about an inanimate object such as the sun.


    ¡°Never mind that then.¡± The man pointed at a tree. An ip¨º tree. ¡°Does that incite anything inside you?¡±


    Incite?


    ¡°Emotions!¡± he yelled. ¡°Do you feel?! Anything!¡±


    Bread instinctively retreated a little every time he shouted. But emotions? Was it common sense to feel emotions when you looked at a tree?


    The man shook his head. ¡°You don¡¯t understand anything, do you?¡±


    He didn¡¯t. He didn¡¯t understand a single thing.


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    ¡°Does this image not elicit any emotions?¡±


    Emotions¡­ Like anger? No, he didn¡¯t feel anger, but he did feel¡­ ¡°Thankful?¡± Was that the right thing to feel?


    ¡°Thankful? Of all things¡­¡± The man took another glance at the tree in question. He tapped his foot incessantly while the silence permeated the room. ¡°Thankful¡­¡± he repeated. ¡°Why is that?¡±


    ¡°Because trees produce thirty percent of our planet¡¯s oxygen.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re thankful¡­ for that?¡± His tapping intensified. Then it eventually tapered off. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ something, I suppose. A bit unwieldy of an explanation though.¡± He touched the screen again. This time, it changed to an oasis surrounded by a steaming, hot desert. Palm trees waved faintly in the passing wind; the water rippled in return.


    Bread looked at the barren scape. The oasis in the center was providing the palm trees with much needed nutrients and water. There was no other plant life in sight¡ªmost likely a sandy desert eroded over time by wind.


    ¡°Well?¡± The man waited for a response¡ªan emotional one.


    He didn¡¯t have one. It was just a desert.


    ¡°Okay.¡± With a few more aggressive taps on the wall, the man changed the scenery again¡ªa beach.


    It was sandy like the desert, humid like the forest. The waves crashed onto the lonely shoreline before him. The scent of fish and salt¡ªit was subtle but refreshing. It was new, and yet, it was oddly familiar.


    Birds flew in the distance¡ªseagulls, albatross¡­ They glided through the air, disappearing into the far horizon past the dull, red sun. A lulling sensation washed over him, and that same feeling of familiarity started trickling in. The vast openness of the world he was barred away from, the life he could never live¡­ It all reminded him of a feeling that was all too nostalgic¡ªa feeling that naturally welled up inside, drowning him in a thought he¡¯d once had before¡­


    ¡°I want to fly.¡±


    The man frowned. ¡°That¡¯s not an emotion.¡± Without missing a beat, the man changed it again. With more haste this time. All within a flash.


    And Bread watched as his dreams died along with the view¡ªthe moment his world was drenched in an overwhelming sadness he never knew he could feel. But he didn¡¯t say a word. Instead, he stared at the walls that confined him in this small enclosure of a room and gave up. That feeling of nostalgia and longing, that yearning for release. A new experience. He gave it all up in that instant.


    One by one, bright sparkles eventually replaced the birds. Stars dotted the night sky, laughter filled the air, fireworks boomed¡ªa carnival. Everything around him changed, everything was more cheerful¡­


    But he didn¡¯t feel a thing.


    The man spoke, asked a few more questions¡ª¡°Do you feel anything,¡± ¡°Are you awake?¡± He¡¯d mentioned emotions again, wondered if the carnival setting was too loud or disruptive, but Bread gave no response.


    To him, it was actually kind of nice, immersed in this swamp of tumultuous sounds. He could finally lose himself, separate his dreams from his reality. He could finally escape. And before long, the man too had given up for the day and left.


    But Bread continued to watch the carnival lights blazing past his eyes. He drowned himself in the erratic beating of music, the smell of popcorn and sugar. He closed his eyes, letting the experience wash over himself¡­ and then he dreamed¡­


    He dreamed of a place where it was mountainous. Trees were growing, the air was whistling crisp chirps, and the river was clear as glass. He dreamed of flying through the air, feeling the wind blow through, ruffling his feathers. He dreamed of a life unfettered, unexposed to the corruptions of his mind¡ªthose fleeting thoughts of sadness, anger¡­


    He finally dreamed that he was free.

 Exposure Therapy

    A few days had passed. Bread was the same as always¡ªunresponsive except for a few nods and shakes.


    He¡¯d soon realized that the man was no threat. Except for a few irritated glares, he was never really harmed. The anger that he could almost feel emanating off the man wasn¡¯t ever directed towards him either. In a way, he kind of felt intangible. Like he was still there, but nobody was actually seeing him. And eventually, even basic interactions eased. The man had clearly given up on him.


    After a while, the man left him to his devices, only coming every few hours to drop off paltry plates of breakfast and glasses of water. He never came otherwise. Not even for lunch or dinner.


    But that was fine.


    In Bread¡¯s spare time, which he had plenty of now, he tinkered with the interactive walls and watched TV, cycling through various channels of movies and sports programs. None of it was actually quite as entertaining as watching the birds flying past his window though. But that all changed one day when he came across a certain channel¡ª


    Cybernetic Boxing International.


    He didn¡¯t like it at first. It was bloody, disgusting. People were throwing up so much. Violence. There was so much violence. And yet¡­ he couldn¡¯t move away. Was it his morbid curiosity? Or was it because he had been starved of anything interesting? He didn¡¯t know, but he started to watch it more and more. Like a habit, a daily ritual of sorts.


    Every morning before breakfast, he¡¯d watch it. It was now routine. And every single time, he¡¯d feel that queasiness clogging his throat, his nostrils crinkling with every punch thrown. It was still grotesque even after seeing it for the fifth time. He didn¡¯t know why he kept watching. It was the same thing over and over again¡ªsame hits, same strikes. He didn¡¯t know why¡­ until he found her¡­


    Valkyrie.


    Jab, jab, right hook¡­ His mind started to fill with new information. Slip, roll¡­ The woman who was half the size of her opponent jumped back and forth almost taunting the opponent to throw a shot.


    Her opponent, a hulking, metallic figure with arms as thick as her torso, took the bait. He shot punches with speeds that should¡¯ve been impossible, and yet, Valkyrie dodged them all. Each and every swing missed. Her feet twisted and turned like a snake; she bounced around the ring, dipping in and out, dashing just out of his reach. With each step, a punch followed¡ªa jab to the chest, an uppercut to the chin, a hook to the ribs from all the wrong places.


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    Bread could visibly see the opponent slowing down, faltering with every missed swing. He was wearing out. Bread could tell from the breathing¡ªthe heaving of his chest. He didn¡¯t have much left in his tank.


    ¡°Valkyrie¡­¡± Bread whispered under his breath. Her movements were so elegant, swift and flowy like silk. It was like he was watching someone perform ballet. No, that wasn¡¯t it. What did it resemble? Waves? No. Wind? No, it was more like¡ª


    A bird soaring through the sky¡­


    A final shot echoed through the stadium. The mammoth of a man finally crumbled to his knees as an ear-piercing bell signaled the end of the fight. The wild crowd started chanting a name fiercely across the stadium¡ª


    ¡°VAL-KY-RIE! VAL-KY-RIE! VAL-KY-RIE!¡±


    Bread was caught in the moment. It was as if he were there, cheering her on with the others. He felt relief, joy. He was happy. For the first time, he was actually genuinely happy.


    It¡¯d be amazing, he thought, to fly. Maybe he could do it too? Like her¡ªValkyrie. Maybe he could be out in the open again, prancing through the night. Like her, he¡¯d escape this place¡­


    ¡°What are you watching?¡± A familiar voice¡ªcold but commanding. Shivers ran down Bread¡¯s back. ¡°Boxing¡­?¡± There was a slight tonal change, a momentary pause in his speech. It was a signal for annoyance¡ªa negative emotion.


    Bread looked up. It was the man. ¡°U-um¡ª¡±


    ¡°What are you watching?¡± he repeated. His brows furrowed like deep, jagged cliffs. The tray of food that he¡¯d brought held in place, hovering frozen in the air. ¡°Look me in the eyes and answer the question.¡±


    The boxing post-interview played in the background. Bread could hear Valkyrie¡¯s voice cutting through his nerves. He looked from the screen to the man. The man looked angry. What did he do wrong?


    ¡°Are you just going to stand there?¡±


    Bread averted his gaze.


    The man sighed. ¡°Are you afraid? Of me? When you¡¯re the one watching that?¡±


    ¡°I-I want to leave.¡± He watched the screen¡ªthe interview was finally wrapping up. If he could get out of here¡­ maybe he could watch Valkyrie fight again.


    ¡°I told you before. You can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± He finally faced the man before him who coldly stared him back. He just didn¡¯t get it. He hated every second of this place. He wanted to get out. He wanted to fly, be free¡­


    The man turned to glimpse at the remaining few seconds of the interview. Then he ignored Bread altogether. ¡°I can see you¡¯re ready to talk. We¡¯ll resume testing tomorrow. Eat.¡± He pushed the tray of food towards him. ¡°You¡¯ll need it. And don¡¯t watch that.¡± He nodded towards the screen. ¡°I won¡¯t say it twice.¡±


    ¡°Boxing?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Boxing.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°You and your questions.¡± He shook his head. ¡°Did I tell you to ask why?¡±


    Bread remained silent.


    ¡°Good,¡± the man said. Then he got up. ¡°You¡¯re finally learning.¡± He took one last glance at the screen before heading out.


    The door slammed shut behind him.

 Can I Have a Duodec Shot Espresso?

    Sometimes, for their company meetings, the Creator chose random spots far too extravagant or different from the mundane conference setting up in Simular¡¯s headquarters. At times, he¡¯d pick the simulated zoological exhibition of extinct, artificially bred canine species or even an old fantasy warzone just shy of being a medieval video game backdrop. Through chaos, he always seemed to be able to find peace within himself.


    This time, however, he decided on a quiet caf¨¦ located in downtown Virgin Thermopylae. He couldn¡¯t seem to wave off his worries like before¡­


    ¡°Do you think I¡¯m good with AI?¡± the Creator asked the ever flamboyantly dressed Azan who had decided on a highlighter yellow suit today. He wondered how that man had never once splattered a single droplet of coffee on his suit, swinging that damned mug of his around every time he voiced an opinion.


    ¡°What good do you need to do with AI?¡± Azan asked. He swiveled the mug outward, spilling gallons of the liquid. It was thanks to Simular¡¯s infinite refilling feature that it never actually ran out. ¡°They¡¯re AI. They fix themselves.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not talking about just¡ªNever mind that. Do you think I¡¯m good with people?


    ¡°People? I¡¯d say you¡¯re far below average.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re being serious?¡±


    ¡°Very serious.¡± Azan finally put down the mug; he started motioning with his hands. ¡°You¡¯re blunt, inexpressive¡­ You barely ever start conversations. Almost feels like you¡¯re too good for everyone else.¡± He smirked. ¡°I think that¡¯s pretty far from average, yeah?¡±


    Logically, he could see it. He wasn¡¯t the most sociable. But that boy¡­ He needed to open him up¡ªto talk. All he¡¯d ever felt up until now was frustration. It felt like progress wasn¡¯t being made quickly enough. Was he the problem? Or was the boy just another artificial intellect emulator like the rest? Did he have potential or not?


    He couldn¡¯t tell.


    ¡°If only I could get rid of these emotions¡­¡±


    ¡°Emotions are what make the person, my friend,¡± Azan said. He paused to take a small, grossly elegant sip with his little digit raised in the air. ¡°That¡¯s why we have aspirations and dreams.¡±


    ¡°I know that.¡± But if not for these emotions, he could better sift through all the information¡ªfind the solution to his problems and perhaps figure out why the boy enjoyed watching¡­ The Creator sat up for a moment. ¡°Azan,¡± he called. ¡°What do you think of boxing?¡±


    ¡°Boxing¡­? Ah, boxing. Well, I think it¡¯s rather lovely.¡±


    ¡°Really? That bloody sport?¡± Loud, bloody, perhaps even torturous¡ªit reminded him of his old experiments. His mother had called them inhuman, and that was the last thing he wanted the boy to be. The boy had to be human. Especially if he wanted all this to work.


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    ¡°Haven¡¯t you done worse?¡± Azan remarked. ¡°Not that it particularly matters or anything.¡±


    ¡°Those were done with purpose.¡±


    ¡°Sure they were.¡± He smiled that mischievous smile. ¡°Tell me. What¡¯s all this about?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s what about?¡±


    ¡°I want you turning a new leaf, not your entirety, yeah?¡±


    ¡°What are you getting at?¡±


    ¡°I know what you¡¯re like,¡± he emphasized. ¡°I¡¯ve heard it all, so just say it¡ªwhatever you¡¯re trying to hide. It¡¯s not like you to be so secretive anyway.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not important¡ª¡±


    ¡°But it is. I can tell that much.¡± Azan gestured at the city streets. ¡°I¡¯ve been here since the day you¡¯ve created this masterpiece. I¡¯m not going to bite after all these years, yeah?¡±


    The Creator let out a deep, long sigh. He had been found out; there was no use hiding it now. ¡°I found the anomaly.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, the AI. I know that already.¡±


    He gave Azan a distasteful side-eye. ¡°Then what do you want to know?¡±


    ¡°I just want to know what our great Creator is so worried about. Look,¡± Azan remarked. ¡°You¡¯re not willing to spill the beans. I get it.¡± He nodded as if looking for affirmation. The Creator didn¡¯t react. ¡°Just¡­ go with the flow, yeah?¡± He shrugged. ¡°Then maybe you¡¯ll stop worrying me too.¡±


    ¡°Go with the flow¡­¡± But he still needed information. How could he go with the flow if he didn¡¯t know what he was dealing with? ¡°Azan,¡± he called. ¡°You have a daughter, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah? So what if I do?¡±


    The boy was a child. Perhaps some insight from a parent could help in the experimentation process. ¡°How do you, um, subdue your daughter?¡±


    ¡°Subdue?¡±


    ¡°You know what I mean.¡±


    ¡°I do, but¡­¡± Azan rubbed his chin. He seemed uncertain. ¡°I haven¡¯t really spoken much with her lately.¡± He then narrowed his eyes. ¡°But what¡¯s the occasion? You¡¯re not trying to¡­¡± He gasped, eyes suddenly wide like marbles. ¡°Did you have an affair?! Is that what all this is about?¡±


    The Creator rolled his eyes at the baffling conclusion Azan had come up with. ¡°I can¡¯t have an affair if I wasn¡¯t ever married.¡±


    ¡°Really? I thought it was reasonable.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t bother.¡± Perhaps this was well deserved. How could he have not seen this coming from a man like him? ¡°I¡¯ll just figure it out¡ª¡±


    ¡°Now wait just a minute.¡± Azan raised his finger. ¡°Don¡¯t just brush me off like that.¡± He tapped on the table rhythmically to the musical ambience of the caf¨¦. His gaze swerved side to side as if he were taking a gander at every little thing in the vicinity. ¡°Oh!¡± His eyes lit up. ¡°Listen and validate what they¡¯re saying. Try and understand them, yeah?¡± He smugly smiled back. ¡°See? I can be helpful too.¡±


    ¡°And this is from personal experience?¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s my hypothesis.¡±


    ¡°Great.¡± He could¡¯ve thought of that himself. How had he trusted this man to manage his company? ¡°You¡¯re¡ª¡± But then again, he did suppose it was better than nothing. ¡°Nevermind. Thank you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re very welcome.¡± Azan glanced over at his watch. ¡°But it¡¯s high time I leave. I¡¯ve got a meeting in a few minutes.¡± But before he left, he reminded the Creator, ¡°Oh, the next one¡¯s important¡ªannual board meeting. You need to be there.¡± Then he finally headed out, one hand waving behind him. ¡°Don¡¯t forget it!¡±


    Understand him¡­ The Creator wondered about Azan¡¯s hypothetical solution. It was a foreign thought to him. To understand somebody would mean to think in the perspective of the subject in question.


    But how could he ever understand someone when he couldn¡¯t even understand his own mother?

 I Stan for You

    ¡°You¡¯re finally number two!¡± The screen lit up with voices. ¡°They call you the fastest growing boxer of the century! How do you feel?¡±


    Bread watched them interview his favorite boxer. The way she sat there so lax and unbound, it made him all the more happy that there was somebody out there living a life that he¡¯d always wanted to live.


    ¡°Feels great.¡± Valkyrie leaned against the back of the sofa, hands still in her pockets. It almost felt like she was a completely different person from the Valkyrie he¡¯d seen in the ring. ¡°Feels like forever since I¡¯ve felt this good.¡± She smiled, but Bread thought he could see a slight tinge of sadness in her eyes. Nobody else seemed to notice though.


    ¡°Well,¡± the interviewer continued, ¡°that¡¯s well deserved, isn¡¯t it?¡± He paged through an electronic tablet. ¡°Ah, a question for you¡ªwhat motivated you to come this far?¡±


    ¡°What motivated me¡­¡± There it was again. That smile. But it was gone as fast as it had formed. ¡°Did you know I like dandelions? I look up to them, you know.¡±


    ¡°You look up to¡­ weeds?¡± The interviewer awkwardly laughed. ¡°Why that¡¯s very unconventional!¡±


    ¡°I mean, yeah. Sure, they¡¯re just weeds. And you can find them anywhere¡­ But I still think they¡¯re pretty cool.¡±


    ¡°Really? And why is that, may I ask?¡±


    ¡°Hmm¡­¡± She looked around, rubbing her hands against her thighs as if she didn¡¯t know what to do with them. ¡°See, it¡¯s like this.¡± Her hands flew, gesturing erratically around her. ¡°They¡¯re small and weak, but somehow, they manage to grow out of everything! Like cement, asphalt. I even saw one spring up from the side of my gym! I think that¡¯s something I can kind of respect. When they¡¯re growing so strong in any kind of environment, it just makes me feel¡­ small. Like my problems don¡¯t mean shit compared to theirs.¡±


    ¡°Well, that was quite enlightening.¡± The interviewer nodded, but his eyes were wandering elsewhere. ¡°I enjoy the way you think.¡±


    It didn¡¯t sound like he meant it.


    ¡°Yeah¡­¡± Valkyrie kept going. ¡°If you ever get that second chance, you just gotta go for it.¡± She looked downcast. Her smile, fleeting but faint, faltered beneath her eyes. ¡°Boxing, to me, is like a dandelion. It¡¯s a reminder of my past; it¡¯s my resolve to keep going. So I won¡¯t give up. Not until I show my lil¡¯ bro the world¡ª¡±


    ¡°Ah!¡± The interviewer nodded quickly. He seemed to have caught onto a new, more interesting topic. ¡°I heard Beady was his name. Are you also fighting so hard because he¡¯s watching?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± she chuckled, eyes darting around nervously. ¡°I guess, uh, you can put it that way.¡±


    The interviewer heartily laughed. ¡°I¡¯m sure he¡¯s cheering you on proudly!¡±


    She smirked. ¡°I hope so.¡±


    A new emotion washed over Bread. He could hear his heart pounding from his chest, his breath was calmer than ever.


    Inspiration.


    Or maybe it was admiration. Whatever it was, he could almost dream of getting out of here. He wouldn¡¯t give up either. He could be free like her. He could¡ª


    A slight rustling entered his ears. Someone was there.


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    Goosebumps dotted his skin, rippling across his arms like a disease. He could feel the beating in his heart heightening even further¡ªlouder, faster and faster¡­ He turned around¡ªa figure. Tall, black suit, familiar¡­


    He caught his breath.


    ¡°Go on,¡± the man spoke. He was sitting on the table, still as a lake. ¡°I won¡¯t interrupt. Keep watching.¡±


    Bread glanced back at the screen, but the interview was over. There was nothing more to watch. ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry. I won¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°Take your time.¡±


    ¡°I-I, uh, what?¡± Unfinished thoughts spilled out of his mouth. He¡¯d never expected such words to come out from the man. ¡°Take¡­ my time?¡±


    ¡°Take your time,¡± the man repeated. ¡°Tell me why you like boxing. There must be a reason for it.¡± His intense gaze locked onto him.


    ¡°I¡­¡± Bread nervously squirmed in place. His voice faltered; his mind blanked. All those records in his head, and yet, he couldn¡¯t produce a single, coherent thought.


    ¡°Am I a bother?¡±


    Bother?


    ¡°I am, aren¡¯t I?¡± The man turned himself around. ¡°Take your time. I¡¯m much more patient than you think.¡±


    Bread finally managed to squeak out, ¡°W-why are you doing this?¡± The man felt different from before¡ªlike he¡¯d just changed personalities.


    ¡°I may have judged prematurely,¡± the man called out. ¡°I just want to know so that I can better understand you. What is it about that bloody, disgusting¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not disgusting!¡± he blurted out. ¡°I-it¡¯s not¡­ I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°No. Keep going.¡± The man glanced down at the boy¡¯s trembling hands. Bread quickly covered them up. The man continued, ¡°Stay calm. I want to hear your thoughts. I want to know why.¡±


    ¡°I-it¡¯s¡­¡± Words started pouring out. He couldn¡¯t stop. ¡°Beautiful.¡± Bread could imagine the scenery unfolding in his mind. ¡°The way she moves in the ring, the way she jumps¡­ It reminds me of-of¡­ a bird.¡±


    ¡°A bird? What kind? Chicken?¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°No, it just feels¡­¡± He couldn¡¯t quite understand how it felt. Something about feeling lighter around the chest. ¡°Easier to breathe.¡±


    ¡°Easier to breathe?¡±


    ¡°L-like¡­¡± He started to imagine himself breaking through the window, jumping into the air. ¡°I¡¯m flying¡­¡± Soaring, gliding through the canvas of blue. ¡°Like I¡¯m in the air, like I¡¯m¡­¡± He could feel the cool breeze ruffling his feathers. There was nothing holding him back anymore. Nothing was in his way. ¡°Free¡­¡±


    The man¡¯s eyes widened by just a sliver of hair. ¡°You do have emotion.¡± And then he smiled what felt like a real smile for the first time¡ªso soft and sad, so similar to somebody Bread had just seen¡­ But the expression quickly disappeared. ¡°Well said,¡± the man replied, colder this time. ¡°I think I understand what the problem is.¡±


    Bread watched as the man walked past him, stopping just in front of the window. The tips of numerous massive skyscrapers peaked through the cotton clouds like a stack of needles.


    ¡°You wish for freedom,¡± he said. ¡°Understandable.¡± He then started mumbling something under his breath. ¡°A copy¡­¡± Then he turned back around. His eyes were still intense but tolerable. He really did feel different. ¡°I can promise you your freedom.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± It was yet another thing Bread hadn¡¯t expected. Was he finally going to be free?


    ¡°But only after I¡ª¡± The man paused as if he were considering what to say next. Instead, he stopped mid-sentence and continued on as if nothing had happened. ¡°Until then, I wish for you to listen. Do as you¡¯ve done today and think. Say whatever it is that¡¯s on your mind, and when the time comes, I¡¯ll give you what you wish for.¡±


    ¡°W-will you really let me go?¡±


    ¡°I will.¡±


    The moment Bread had heard those final words, he felt his throat tighten. Free¡­ He could finally fly¡ªget away from this place. A hero! That¡¯s who the man was¡ªa savior just like Valkyrie. He was finally going to be free. And for the first time, hope swelled up beneath all his fears. It was the first time¡­


    He was allowed to dream.

 Metamorphosis

    The Creator could feel it. Finally. The boy was changing. The experiment was progressing smoothly. And all he had to do was give him time. All he had to do was wait. Why hadn¡¯t he thought of that before?


    ¡°I¡¯ll get you back¡­¡± He was a few steps closer to his goal. All the pieces of the puzzle were mapped out, ready to be placed. The photo of his mother on his simulated desk stared back in all her former smile and splendor. ¡°It¡¯s only a matter of time¡ª¡±


    ¡°Gunther!¡± Azan slammed through the doors to his simulated office. ¡°Where have you been?!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that.¡± The Creator looked up, annoyed by the constant, unplanned intrusions. ¡°What now?¡±


    ¡°I was looking everywhere for you! Did you turn off your phone again?¡±


    He despised unforeseen interruptions. That was why any means of communication had always been cut off. If it was important, he knew that somebody would come to notify him again. Whether it was difficult for them to find him or not was none of his concern.


    ¡°Why do you make it so damn hard for me? I¡¯m the CEO of Simular and you¡¯re the key to all of it! I need you to respond on time!¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯m responding now.¡±


    ¡°Now¡¯s too late!¡± Azan wildly swung his arms around. ¡°Jesus Christ!¡± He groaned, teeth clenched hard between all the furrowed brows and wrinkles. ¡°Is this about that project? That-that anomaly? You have to get a hold of yourself!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m completely sane.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not talking about that! Please, can¡¯t you just let me do my job just this once?¡± he pleaded. ¡°It¡¯s really not that hard.¡±


    ¡°What have I done that makes it so hard for you?¡± He didn¡¯t like how Azan wanted so much from him. Why did he have to change for somebody else¡¯s convenience? ¡°I¡¯m not going to change my ways so that you have it easier.¡±


    ¡°So fucking stubborn,¡± Azan cried. ¡°Just trust me, yeah? I got this. The least you could do is answer the damn phone! Please. I¡¯m just trying to make our dream come true.¡±


    ¡°I know that.¡±


    ¡°I told you! I even reminded you that an annual board meeting was coming up. I told you that you needed to be there!¡± He slammed his fist on the desk. The usual nonchalant demeanor was nowhere to be seen. ¡°I managed to push the meeting back, so I¡¯m begging you. Promise me you¡¯ll be there this time.¡±


    The Creator was all the more annoyed. Azan could¡¯ve just let it go. Nothing ever even happened in the meetings. And even if they¡¯d wanted something to happen, without his approval as the majority shareholder, it wouldn¡¯t. He wouldn¡¯t let it.


    ¡°Promise me!¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡± It was better than continuing this conversation. He knew better than to try and argue stupid nothings with Azan. ¡°I promise.¡±


    ¡°You better keep your word.¡± Azan pointed his finger at him, his face still contorted and red. Then he stormed off into wherever he¡¯d come from. Mild scents of coffee and smoke finally faded with his departure. How he could smell like that even within the simulation, he would never figure out.


    The Creator shook his head in disappointment. He¡¯d always done it his way. Nobody would ever change that. Why, then, was Azan now getting in his way?


    ¡­


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    ¡°Bread?¡± the Creator called out. ¡°I need you to do something for me.¡± He pulled out a painting. It was a portrait of his own mother holding a single dandelion in her hand. Her solemn gaze still reminded him of the disappointments he¡¯d given her throughout the years. ¡°Tell me,¡± he said. ¡°What do you feel when you see this?¡±


    The boy intently stared. ¡°A dandelion¡­¡± he murmured.


    ¡°Yes. A dandelion. A boring decoration, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± The boy watched, mouth agape. He almost looked mesmerized by the sight. ¡°Dandelions aren¡¯t boring.¡± He stared back. ¡°They¡¯re important.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± He didn¡¯t understand any of the boy¡¯s weird obsessions with these things. Every day, it was like he¡¯d formed a new, little connection with something he was never once introduced to. ¡°But forget that. What do you feel when you¡¯re looking at the woman?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s¡­¡± the boy started, ¡°pretty.¡±


    Mother was quite beautiful. He could see that. However, that wasn¡¯t what he wanted from the boy. ¡°Continue,¡± he called out. ¡°How do you feel?¡±


    ¡°Sad. She looks sad.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± There was no smile. That description could pass. ¡°What else?¡±


    ¡°She wants something.¡±


    ¡°She does?¡± He¡¯d never once thought that the portrait signified that. What was it that the boy was seeing that he couldn¡¯t? ¡°And what would that be?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± The boy looked to the floor, dejected.


    ¡°You¡¯re doing good.¡± A compliment went a long way when done in the right moments. He knew that from an early 21st century study about verbal encouragement and human psychology. ¡°Keep going.¡±


    The boy smiled, nodded before intensely gazing back at the picture.


    ¡°Anything new you can feel?¡± he asked. ¡°You don¡¯t have to filter out any of your thoughts. Just tell me everything.¡±


    ¡°Everything?¡±


    ¡°Yes, everything.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡± The boy scrutinized the painting for a while longer until all of a sudden, he turned around and stared, eyes wide like bowling balls. The look on his face was of awe¡ªlike he was shocked, surprised.


    ¡°What?¡± the Creator asked. ¡°Why are you staring at me like that?¡±


    ¡°A-are you¡­¡± The boy averted his gaze. It almost looked like he was embarrassed. ¡°No, nevermind.¡±


    He couldn¡¯t have that. Emotions were, yet again, impeding on his progress. The boy needed another compliment¡ª¡°You¡¯re doing great.¡± He needed to get him to talk no matter what. ¡°Tell me what you¡¯re thinking.¡±


    The boy looked up again. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. ¡°Are you¡­¡± He paused, frantically looking around with a frown. But then he shook his head, sat up a little straighter, and finally blurted out¡ª¡°Are you my dad?¡±


    A few seconds passed. The Creator blinked several times, breath still caught in his throat. His brows twitched ever so slightly. And as if the voice had finally caught up to him, he let out one word. One word to sum up the entirety of his thoughts¡ª


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°Because you take care of me! And-and you feed me!¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ yes.¡± He finally snapped out of it. The surprise made him almost fall into a trance. ¡°I do those things.¡± But still, a dad? Why would he even¡­ ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean¡ª¡±


    ¡°Dads do that!¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± The boy wasn¡¯t completely wrong. ¡°I can see the thought process.¡± But it was such a random epiphany. There was no logical basis behind it. At least with Azan, he could try and predict what he¡¯d say next, but with the boy? ¡°But I¡¯m not your¡ª¡±


    ¡°Can I call you Dad?¡±


    ¡°I just said¡ª¡± But then the Creator had a thought¡ªbeing a father to this child-like AI wouldn¡¯t be so bad. It would surely loosen the boy¡¯s lips, make him speak more comfortably¡­ He took a deep breath and hesitantly replied back, ¡°For now.¡± He couldn¡¯t believe he was doing this, but it was too late to take his words back. ¡°You can call me that just for now.¡±


    ¡°Okay, Dad!¡±


    Tingles spread across his arms and back every time he heard the word. It felt so unusual; he wasn¡¯t used to it. Mother¡­ He peered at the painting. He had to act like a parent, like Mother. ¡°So for the painting¡­¡± But he couldn¡¯t get her out of his mind. He¡¯d failed as a son. How would he be qualified to be a father of all things? ¡°I¡¯ll¡ª¡± He grabbed the painting and tucked it under his arm. ¡°That¡¯s it. I think we¡¯re done for the day.¡± It was all too much to bear¡ªhis emotions. They were getting out of hand. ¡°I¡¯ll be back tomorrow.¡±


    He immediately rushed out.


    Why is this happening? Sweat rolled off the side of his chin; he hadn¡¯t felt this nervous before. It¡¯s just an AI. All he had to do was collect data. All he had to do was ask questions. Who cares if I was a bad son? But he could tell¡ªhe cared.


    It wasn¡¯t just the boy who seemed to be changing.

 Cook Me A Soup Medium Rare

    Bread soon realized his dream wasn¡¯t to escape.


    No, it wasn¡¯t something so simple. He just wanted to belong¡ªto be needed, to fit in. His dream was to find a home where he could eat, laugh, and be free. It wasn¡¯t just to fly. It wasn¡¯t just to leave this room.


    But was he free now? Was he finally happy? Satisfied? Surely, he was. He had family now¡ªa dad. He had a place he could belong. Wasn¡¯t that what it meant to fulfill his dream to fly?


    After all, Dad wasn¡¯t scary.


    He was just trying to help¡ªto let him figure out what it meant to feel, to be alive. It was to help him find his purpose. He¡¯s just trying to help me grow. Like a parent. He¡¯s just trying to save me from the outside. From all those menacing goons who found it funny to kick him when he was down. From the snow, the pain, fear, all the confusions of being born with a conscience. Dad was his hero, his soaring bird in the sky, a helping hand floating beyond the clouds. He was his hope. Like Valkyrie¡­


    Bread would do his best to do his part. He would show Dad the fruits of his labor, his immense growth and understanding of emotion. He would show him everything, he would question everything, and he would solve all there was to know about the world and its secrets¡ªnot just from his inner records but everything. He would prove to Dad¡ª


    He would be the best son there ever was.


    And as if on cue, Dad entered. Instead of the usual trays, today, he brought in an entire cart full of them, all covered with round, circular lids. He looked a little tired but otherwise, the same as before.


    ¡°Dad!¡±


    ¡°What¡ªoh, right.¡± Dad let out a sigh. ¡°Yesterday¡­¡± He looked a little pale.


    ¡°Are you okay, Dad?¡±


    ¡°Stop¡ªI mean, yes. I¡¯m fine.¡± He looked away quickly. ¡°Let¡¯s just continue with what needs to be done.¡±


    Bread thought it was kind of weird. It looked as if Dad was intentionally avoiding any eye contact. Maybe he was imagining things? Surely it wouldn¡¯t be too improbable to believe that his inner records may have even jumbled up parts of his occipital lobe. But whatever the case, it wasn¡¯t much of a big deal. He was ready! Whatever he had to do, he would do well. Anything to prove that he was learning!


    ¡°It¡¯s time I test your olfactory and glossa¡ªwhatever.¡± Dad continued, ¡°Let¡¯s just get this over with. I can¡¯t believe I forgot to test these before.¡± He pulled out a tray and placed it in front of Bread. ¡°What do you smell?¡±


    ¡°Smell?¡±


    He nodded. ¡°Smell it.¡±


    Bread leaned in a little closer and took a whiff. It was¡­ aromatic. Herbal? Flowery? No, it smelled sweeter. Common sense told him so. It was sort of a¡­ citrusy smell? ¡°Lemon?¡± he answered.


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    ¡°Close.¡± Dad smirked. He pulled off the lid. ¡°Orange. Good.¡± He placed the tray back on the cart and took out another one. ¡°Try smelling this one.¡±


    Bread leaned in and sniffed the air. This time, it had a slight sharpness to it. He scrunched his nose. Was this something that would be considered stinky? Or was it supposed to smell sour? It smelled like¡­ ¡°Is it eggs?¡±


    ¡°Hydrogen sulfide.¡± He nodded. Then he opened the lid. ¡°A commonly known chemical to produce a scent closely resembling the smell of rotten eggs.¡± His smile grew just a bit more. ¡°Not bad. You¡¯re doing good.¡±


    Dad complimented me. His stomach fluttered, churning like deep, ocean waves; his breathing stopped momentarily. He complimented me¡­ It was unlike any other. Warmth filled his chest like a balloon. It spread throughout his body, up his shoulders, all throughout his jaw and cheeks.


    Then it was gone.


    But the feeling was cemented into memory. It wasn¡¯t fear; it wasn¡¯t any sign of danger. It just felt so¡­ addicting. He wanted more. He wanted that fuzzy feeling, that tickling and fluttering sensation. He wanted it so much. Was this what it felt like to have a dad? To belong? If so, he was going to question everything. He was going to understand everything just to get another taste¡­


    ¡°Right,¡± Dad said with a bit more enthusiasm. ¡°How about we try some food?¡± He reached into the clutter of plates and pulled out a third tray. ¡°Just to make sure everything¡¯s working.¡± He opened the lid. There was a bowl of murky substance placed in the center of the tray, sloshing slight ripples on the surface.


    Soup? It seemed creamy. Bread sifted through his records. From the appearance, it could¡¯ve been gnocchi soup. But there wasn¡¯t any gnocchi in sight. It could¡¯ve been creamy tomato soup. No, that wasn¡¯t it either. It wasn¡¯t red. Could it be clam chowder? Or cream of mushroom?


    ¡°Last one,¡± Dad interrupted. ¡°Tell me what it tastes like. Anything will do.¡± He held out a metal spoon for him to use.


    Bread nodded. It didn¡¯t matter what it was. He was going to describe it with all his might no matter the cost. He was going to prove to him how useful he was. He grabbed the spoon from Dad¡¯s hand, ready for whatever difficulty lay ahead. He was ready¡ª


    Until sparks flew.


    ¡°Static electricity,¡± Dad replied. He shook his hands off as if to get rid of the numbness. ¡°No need to worry. Ignore it.¡±


    But Bread felt a sudden surge of emotions. He couldn¡¯t tell what they were, but one feeling stood out from the rest. He could feel tears welling up, a sudden downpour of something unhappy. Something sad, miserable. He hated it. It hurt so much¡­ But whatever it was, it was fleeting¡ªgone in an instant.


    Like what Dad had said, Bread decided to ignore it. Surely, it wasn¡¯t more important than the soup. He leaned in a little closer and slurped. And with it, a jumbled concoction of flavors¡ªsomething sweet, creamy. Like milk and honey. And onions? Carrots? Or was it something else? But the overpowering taste was¡­


    ¡°Sad?¡±


    ¡°What was that?¡±


    ¡°It tastes¡­ sad.¡± He didn¡¯t understand why. It was like the feelings were coming from the soup? He didn¡¯t get it at all.


    ¡°Really?¡± Dad gazed back at the bowl. His expression was softer than usual. Almost like he knew why the soup tasted so sad. ¡°Perhaps it has something to do with her¡­¡±


    ¡°Her?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it.¡± Dad tried his best to smile but to no avail. Bread could feel the slight trembling building up in his voice. ¡°Creamy cabbage soup¡­¡± he trailed off. ¡°Her favorite.¡± Then he changed the subject. ¡°We¡¯re done here. You¡¯ve done well so far.¡± He started packing everything away.


    ¡°Dad?¡±


    ¡°Not now, Bread.¡± He headed out again. ¡°Perhaps later.¡±


    And as the door closed shut, Bread couldn¡¯t help but wonder whether or not Dad was actually happy with his performance. He¡¯d tried his best; he¡¯d given it his all. But maybe that just wasn¡¯t enough.

 Death and All Its Glory

    What¡¯s wrong with me?


    It wasn¡¯t like him to be like this. No, why would he want to do that? The Creator held something in his arms, pacing around in front of Bread¡¯s room.


    It didn¡¯t make any sense. He wasn¡¯t a parent. He didn¡¯t want to be. A dad? To a boy that wasn¡¯t even real¡­ But perhaps just for the experience? Perhaps once wouldn¡¯t hurt? He was curious about how it¡¯d all felt. His mother had done the same for him before.


    To hell with these thoughts.


    He barged in. Without a wasting moment, he turned on the lights, waking a drowsy Bread from his deep slumber.


    ¡°Right.¡± It was midnight. How could he have forgotten that? ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he whispered. ¡°Were you asleep?¡±


    ¡°Dad?¡± Bread rubbed his eyes. ¡°Is it morning already?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± The Creator shivered at the mention of his new name. It was just a word. He shouldn¡¯t worry so much about it, but¡­ He pulled up what was underneath his arms the entire time and showed it to Bread.


    Bread looked at it in curiosity. ¡°A book?¡± He rubbed his eyes a little.


    ¡°Would it¡­¡± He paused. Was this really the right course of action? ¡°Would it be possible for me to read you something?¡±


    ¡°Read me something?¡± Bread¡¯s eyes lit up. ¡°Like a bedtime story?¡±


    ¡°No! No, I mean¡­¡± The Creator shook his head, thinking of all the things he could¡¯ve been doing right now¡ªsetting up for the next test, brewing some tea, laundry¡­ No, he wouldn¡¯t be doing laundry. Why would he ever do laundry when he had bots to do it for him? ¡°Yes.¡± He shook his head free from all the incessant noise. ¡°Yes, I would like to read you a bedtime story. Is that alright with you?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± He didn¡¯t understand. He didn¡¯t understand anything. Not even himself. But he opened up the book anyway and read. ¡°There once was a young boy,¡± he started, ¡°who was afraid of death¡­¡±


    ¡­


    ¡°¡­ and death came quickly¡ª¡±


    ¡°Dad.¡± Bread yawned. ¡°What does death feel like?¡±


    ¡°Death¡­¡± A flash of memory¡ªa funeral. ¡°It feels¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t forget who you are.¡±


    His mother¡¯s words echoed back. All those memories of his failures, his mistakes¡­ his regrets. He realized he¡¯d never be free from them. They¡¯d always haunt him for the rest of his life.


    ¡°Dad?¡±


    What was he doing? Why was he reading this story to a boy who didn¡¯t even exist? It was all wrong. Would acting like a dad make up for his failures as a son? Would it remedy the fact that he¡¯d wronged her? No, his past wouldn¡¯t change. None of his actions would ever disappear. Yet why was he trying to empathize with his mother? Why was he trying so hard to understand her distaste for his actions?


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    ¡°Dad, are you okay?¡±


    ¡°Death¡­ is inevitable.¡± A natural end to all things. ¡°And it¡¯s none of your concern.¡± A simulation would never understand the gravity of death. He slammed the book shut.


    Bread winced. ¡°Dad?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re done here.¡± He gazed down at the book¡ªhis favorite childhood story. A story about a boy who wished for a life beyond death because he was so deathly afraid of it. He understood that feeling, that inevitability. That was the reason he¡¯d wished to give Mother a second chance, and yet¡­


    He was wasting time.


    Why was he reading this to Bread in the first place? So that the boy could relate? To him? Why? What good would that do? His hands crumbled away from the book. It fell to the floor with a thud. He knew why. Even though he wanted to reject it, he knew deep down he wanted to care about this curious, little creature who kept asking why, this nonexistent nobody who kind of reminded him of himself¡­


    Back when he still had so much to lose.


    ¡­


    ¡°I¡¯ve become too attached haven¡¯t I? I¡¯ve become soft, too weak¡­¡± The Creator paced back and forth within the quiet embrace of his private lab. Wires littered the floor; scraps of metal, bolts and screws rolled around. ¡°Time and time again, all because of him. Why is that?¡±


    A familiar voice echoed from behind. ¡°Maybe you¡¯re fond of him? Why not give him a chance?¡±


    ¡°Mother¡­¡± He was doing all this for her. ¡°Shut up.¡± But she wasn¡¯t the mother he knew. ¡°You¡¯ll never be the real thing.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    She was just an entity engram¡ªa copy of Mother¡¯s memories.


    ¡°But I¡¯m still your mother, Gun¡ª¡±


    ¡°Shut up! You don¡¯t get to call me that.¡± His mind was in shambles. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have read that to him. What am I doing? What¡ª¡± His hands tightened into fists. He didn¡¯t know what to do. What was the right decision? ¡°You never stopped me!¡± He clenched his teeth as they grated across each other. ¡°Mother would¡¯ve stopped me!¡±


    ¡°I would¡¯ve¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not real, Bread¡¯s not real! None of you are real!¡± But why did he care so much? About Mother, about Bread. ¡°Why am I even trying so hard¡­¡±


    ¡°Gunther, I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Stop talking!¡± He sighed. ¡°You¡¯ll degrade yourself.¡± Engrams always diverged from the original. After all, they were essentially just glorified memory catalogues. They weren¡¯t meant to be used for communication. The more he made the engram talk, the more it would desync from the original¡­ But he wanted advice. He needed it. The engram was already a couple years old. It didn¡¯t have the most recent memories from the original, but what choice did he have? Who else was he supposed to go to? ¡°I¡¯ll find a good host body.¡± One that had all its human components. One that could be just like Mother¡­


    Bread was the key¡ªan AI born to mimic human biology. Reverse engineering the brain was going to be possible. He could finally transfer the engram into a living body within Simular, yet his emotions¡­ His godforsaken emotions¡­


    ¡°He¡¯s just a child,¡± the engram said. ¡°He hasn¡¯t done anything wrong.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­ you¡¯re not supposed to be so gentle! Act colder! Tell me that I did something wrong! Tell me that I¡¯m¡ª¡± His eyes watered, and his voice scratched, sounding like television static. ¡°That I¡¯m a monster¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not¡ª¡±


    ¡°System: freeze engram thirty-seven.¡±


    The voice finally disappeared. His mind cleared¡ªhe couldn¡¯t copy Bread. Not until he figured out which part was which. And he needed a body for Mother.


    Desensitize myself¡­ He had to get rid of his emotions again. This is for Mother. It wasn¡¯t for anyone else. He had to finish this project¡ªfeed the engram into Bread¡¯s neural code once he¡¯d confirmed the validity of the boy¡¯s brain.


    He¡¯d just met the child a few weeks ago. Who¡¯d care if he were overwritten? Who¡¯d care if he were lost? Just a means to an end. It was unfortunate that it had to be him, but the pity ended there. The boy was just a tool¡ªan instrument of particular function that happened to have a mouth. Like all the other AI algorithms out there, it was just a system of intelligently programmed code. Bread wasn¡¯t his son; the boy wasn¡¯t even real.


    And he was no dad either.

 If Distractions Could Kill

    The Creator walked along the white, empty corridors of Simular¡¯s HQ with a tray full of freshly toasted bread and some cream cheese. It was time for breakfast.


    But not for him.


    He peered over the full plate of food. Why had he even toasted it? He hadn¡¯t realized until he¡¯d already passed through the majority of the corridor. The boy didn¡¯t need toasted bread. The boy didn¡¯t need anything for that matter. And still, the bread was toasted, lined particularly intricately with cream cheese.


    The cheese wasn¡¯t necessary either. Why had he brought it?


    The door to the boy¡¯s room loomed over him as if telling him to get ready. He was sure trickles of emotion would seep through if taken by surprise. He had to be ready; he couldn¡¯t think of Bread as anything else but utility.


    Like before¡­ He couldn¡¯t let his emotions reign free. After taking a deep breath, all that was left for him to do was push through.


    ¡°Dad!¡± The voice pierced through his skull, ringing far beyond his eardrums. ¡°You¡¯re back!¡±


    The Creator didn¡¯t reply. He didn¡¯t even look at the boy. All he did was face the wall and drop the plate off on the table. He¡¯d leave soon after. There was no need for eye contact.


    ¡°Dad, you¡¯re late!¡±


    ¡°Stop¡­¡± he barely managed to whisper out under his breath. ¡°Bread¡­¡± The word was aggravating. Why didn¡¯t the boy stop? It didn¡¯t make him feel any better.


    ¡°Did you say something? Dad? I can¡¯t hear¡ª¡±


    ¡°STOP!¡± He turned and glared at the boy.


    ¡°D-Dad?¡±


    ¡°Stop calling me that.¡±


    ¡°I¡ª¡±


    The Creator tore open the door, stumbling out into the narrow corridor. The door behind him clicked shut. From behind, he could still hear the boy and his torturous words. He didn¡¯t care. His chest heaved for no reason; his mouth was as dry as a desert. But he felt the relief wash over him as his breathing finally slowed.


    Words couldn¡¯t hurt him. He wouldn¡¯t let it.


    ¡­


    The Creator¡¯s desk looked so empty¡ªjust a blank, wooden platform with simple, holographic displays floating around in orderly fashion. It was so empty unlike his tumultuous mind full of unnecessary questions he could never rid himself of. He scratched his head profusely. Any stronger and his scalp would¡¯ve been bleeding.


    It was an old habit of his¡ªto scratch until he bled. But he hadn¡¯t done that since forever. He only scratched when he was extremely stressed. The pain would build up and inevitably propagate the scratching even further. It was a self-sustaining cycle of self-injury. He¡¯d thought he¡¯d completely eliminated the habit a few decades ago¡­ But why was he reverting back to his former self now of all times?


    Of course, he knew why. He just didn¡¯t want to admit it.


    Bread¡­ A new thought emerged from within his self-interrogating inquiries¡ªwas I too harsh on the boy? The boy had done nothing wrong. Why had he lashed out? Why had it all come down to this?


    The thought kept returning even after he¡¯d told himself to forget. It felt as if he¡¯d done something so severely wrong. But it didn¡¯t make sense. Hadn¡¯t he done worse before? Why now? Why was he feeling it all now?


    He¡¯d killed before. And he¡¯d do it again if it was for the greater good. If it was for Simular, he¡¯d do anything to make it better. And it should¡¯ve been the same with Mother. But why did it feel so wrong?


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    Perhaps he could remedy this.


    If he was feeling regret for his actions, all he had to do was make the boy feel a little better.


    Yes, he¡¯d cook Bread a meal. He¡¯d be his dad for just a while longer. It wasn¡¯t real; none of this was. A few more trials, a few more mornings were all that were left. And that would be all. He didn¡¯t need to feel such negative emotions. In the past, he¡¯d always followed his gut instinct. That had never failed him before. Why change that now?


    The Creator pulled out a cookbook from underneath his desk. It was a copy of his mother¡¯s. From here, he¡¯d make the boy a homemade meal. It wouldn¡¯t mean anything. It was just to ease his heart, his¡ª


    ¡°You imbecile!¡±


    It was Azan.


    ¡°This is the second time!¡± He rushed through the door, collar unbuttoned, tie nowhere to be seen. He threw his suit jacket across the room. ¡°You¡¯ve never missed one before, but now you¡¯ve missed two! What¡¯s the matter with you?!¡±


    It was true. As much as these meetings were a hassle, the Creator hadn¡¯t actually missed any since the beginning of Simular¡¯s creation. But that was only because he didn¡¯t have any other important businesses to attend to. Right now, his mother came first.


    ¡°Kingfisher was there! He¡ª¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need a reminder as to who was there,¡± he remarked. ¡°I know who was there.¡± It was always the same few people who lacked any sort of corporate direction.


    ¡°Well then, why weren¡¯t you there?¡± Azan leaned in on the desk. The holographic displays dispersed along with all the documents about Bread. ¡°If you know so much, shouldn¡¯t you have known about the meeting? Hmm?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t need to be there.¡±


    ¡°You¡ªargh!¡± Azan pushed past the table over to the window overlooking the city of a trillion suns. A long sigh escaped his lips. ¡°Why don¡¯t you trust me?¡± He stared back, frustration written all over him. His hair was disheveled and unkempt; he looked like a wreck. ¡°We both worked hard to get this far, didn¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°We did.¡± It was true. None of this was easy. Sacrifices were made along the way, and the process wasn¡¯t completely free of mistakes either.


    ¡°That¡¯s it? ¡®We did¡¯?¡± Azan crossed his arms and shook his head in disapproval. ¡°Is this a joke to you?¡±


    ¡°What do you want me to say?¡±


    ¡°Tell me. Am I that inferior to you?¡±


    ¡°Azan.¡± He sighed. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°What do you think I¡¯m talking about? This!¡± He pointed at the floor. ¡°I¡¯m talking about all of this.¡± The grandiosity of his gestures increased. ¡°You¡¯ve never done this before. You know that, yeah? You¡¯ve changed.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know me¡ª¡±


    ¡°See?!¡± His arms floundered in the air. ¡°You shut me down like I¡¯m some kind of stranger! Are we not friends anymore? Do you even remember who I am? What I sacrificed for us to get this far?¡±


    ¡°Azan¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re focused on some stupid AI project while I¡¯m here trying my best to maintain amicable relationships with real people with real consequences!¡±


    Real people¡­


    ¡°You¡¯re getting attached to an AI.¡± He pointed fingers with an aggression he¡¯d never seen Azan have. ¡°I see it happening in front of my eyes.¡± He walked closer and placed his hands on the table. His eyes were downcast. ¡°Look, you¡¯ve been through a lot, but you have to keep yourself together. You can¡¯t be replacing your dead mother with an¡ª¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not dead.¡±


    ¡°Wha¡­¡± In the short moment that followed, Azan wet his lips, swallowed air, and looked away for a brief second. His shoulders fell, slumped down into an arch before he exhaled all the air he¡¯d supposedly swallowed. ¡°You need to stop.¡±


    ¡°I know what it sounds like¡ª¡±


    ¡°Get rid of the project.¡±


    ¡°Azan¡ª¡±


    His eyes lit up. ¡°Get rid of it!¡± he yelled. ¡°Now!¡± He started pacing around the room. ¡°You¡¯re going crazy! Can¡¯t you see that?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, you¡¯re not fine! You¡¯ve been inside this simulation for far too long.¡± Azan grabbed his jacket that had been thrown on the floor. Then he made his way towards the doors. ¡°Whatever the cost, I¡¯m getting rid of it. So you better say your goodbyes.¡± He stomped out of the room. Echoes of his footsteps rang through the corridor.


    Real people¡­ the Creator repeated in his mind. Was Mother¡¯s engram considered a real person? Would placing it within a biologically indistinguishable simulated body be enough to consider Mother real? But wouldn¡¯t that mean Bread was also real too?


    If he wanted to continue with his project, Azan wouldn¡¯t be able to stop him. All he had to do was move everything around, circumvent his surveillance. Endless possibilities stood before him. Whatever he wanted, he could easily achieve.


    And yet, he didn¡¯t know what he had to do.

 Abandoned Like Scraps

    Bread didn¡¯t know what to do. Did he do something wrong? Was he not good enough in his interpretations of his feelings? But he thought he did really well. He even got complimented last time.


    As if on que, Dad entered.


    ¡°Dad?¡± he called. His hands intertwined together, thumbs nervously twiddling with each other. Was Dad feeling any better? He wanted to know.


    ¡°Soup.¡± Dad dropped the bowl onto the table. Bits of cabbage spilled all over.


    ¡°Dad¡­?¡± The expression on Dad¡¯s face was of¡­ sadness? Irritation? ¡°Did I do something wrong?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± He tried to leave.


    Bread grabbed onto his shirt. ¡°Wait.¡±


    ¡°Let go.¡±


    ¡°Dad¡ª¡±


    ¡°Bread, let go.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± He held on a little tighter, pulling at the ends. ¡°Why are you sad?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sad.¡±


    ¡°But you look sad.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not.¡±


    Bread continued to hold on. He wouldn¡¯t let go. He wouldn¡¯t let Dad leave like before. Not until he found out why everything went wrong.


    ¡°Let go.¡± Dad¡¯s voice grew just a little stronger.


    ¡°What did I do wrong?¡± He missed the old Dad. This wasn¡¯t what he¡¯d wanted. ¡°Dad¡ª¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡± he yelled. ¡°I¡¯m not your dad!¡±


    ¡°D-Dad¡ª¡±


    ¡°I said SHUT UP!¡± Dad snapped his shirt free from Bread¡¯s grip. Then he reached for the door.


    ¡°I¡¯m not letting go!¡± He grabbed the shirt with both hands, held on for dear life. It felt like if he let go now, there was no coming back. Coming back from what? The boy had no idea whatsoever. It was just a gut feeling.


    Dad sighed. It sounded loud and tired. He turned around, eying him with intensity¡ªanimosity Bread had seen when he¡¯d first met the man. Dad quietly muttered back, ¡°You¡¯re not real.¡± He grabbed the boy¡¯s hand and pulled it up for display. ¡°This? It¡¯s fake. You¡¯re in a simulation. You¡¯re fake. You¡¯re not even human to begin with. I don¡¯t even know what you are.¡±


    ¡°What¡­¡± Fake? Not even real? ¡°What do you mean, Da¡ª¡±


    ¡°I said I¡¯m not your dad. You¡¯re just an experiment¡ªresearch. Nothing more, nothing less.¡± His expression didn¡¯t change¡ªa dull expression. There was no emotion in his voice. ¡°I should¡¯ve done this sooner.¡± He looked up, almost like he was staring up at the ceiling. Then he said something that sounded unnatural¡ª¡°System: set reminder. Add note. Two simulan days from now, revert changes to version 0.1.¡±


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    ¡°Just¡­ research?¡± He didn¡¯t understand. What did Dad mean by reverting changes? What did he mean, set a reminder? ¡°W-what¡¯s happening, Dad?¡±


    ¡°Nothing is happening. I¡¯m just resetting you back to the beginning. You won¡¯t remember a thing.¡±


    Bread¡¯s grip loosened. The dad he¡¯d been looking forward to seeing every day seemed like a stranger today. He desperately wanted it all back¡ªthe dad he knew. He didn¡¯t want this. He didn¡¯t want to feel like this¡­ But the man didn¡¯t seem to care about his feelings.


    The man who had once been his everything left. Without a goodbye or any kind of farewell. And with it, any thoughts of happiness left with him.


    ¡°You won¡¯t remember a thing.¡±


    Memories resurfaced. Like waves of tsunamis. All of Bread¡¯s experiences¡ªthe times he was scared, nostalgic, lonely¡­ It all came flooding back as if to say their final farewells. But he didn¡¯t want that. He didn¡¯t want to forget. Not yet, not even the bad ones¡­ The cabbage soup stared back as if giving him a final reminder of the happy days he¡¯d had before. His dream of being free was gone, and his dream to belong shattered in that instant.


    He didn¡¯t know what to do.


    ¡­


    Was it all a lie? But he¡¯d felt Dad¡¯s emotions. It was all real. This was supposed to be home. This was supposed to be where he belonged, but why did he feel so¡­ trapped again?


    He didn¡¯t understand.


    Tears fell, and along with it, all his trust and happiness. He didn¡¯t do anything to wipe them away. Not even real¡­ Did he not belong here?


    Bread buried his head deep into his knees. He didn¡¯t want to see. He didn¡¯t want to think or even understand. He just wanted to forget. He just wanted to turn back time to when none of this had ever happened¡­ But then he smiled his sad smile when he remembered¡ªI¡¯m going to be reverted. I will forget. And he was suddenly happier. Because he didn¡¯t want these memories anyway. He¡¯d be free, not having to worry about all of these things.


    But at the moment, he just couldn¡¯t.


    Isn¡¯t sadness so pretty? He thought it was. It was prettier than happiness. It was like a premonition¡ªan artistic rendition of the terrible fate that awaited him¡­ He looked away. The beauty wasn¡¯t enough to stop his tears.


    He tapped on the wall, changed the background and focused on that¡ªa waterfall. A cold, frozen waterfall surrounded by iced canopies of pines and evergreens.


    It was as if time itself had stopped, frozen like everything around him. Frozen like the trees, the flowing rivers¡­ Not even a single living creature in sight. And it finally relaxed him just a little. It made him feel as if he was the only one left in the world. As if nothing else mattered.


    He wasn¡¯t lonely or cold. He didn¡¯t even mind his own memories of the wintry chill, of when he was shivering next to a dumpster full of old, spoiled garbage, shoved underneath all that frosty snow, of when he was kicked in the ribs¡­ None of it hurt as much as this. And when he looked out the window towards the open, city skyline, he just had a wish¡ª


    He wanted to leave. He wanted to leave it all behind. This terrible place full of regrets and torturous memories. He¡¯d had enough. He didn¡¯t want to be trapped in this cubical room anymore.


    Please, he wished. I want to leave. He looked over at the walls. Still as clean as they were when he had first entered the place. Still no openings other than the door. Please, get me out of here. I want to leave. I want to leave¡­ His thoughts became an obsession, a craving. No, it was a necessity.


    He had to get out.


    Bread crawled over to the window. There was a colorful metropolis below. He pulled himself up. There was a city right in front of his eyes. He slammed at the window. Shining like a trillion bright suns. He continued to slam. To get to that city down below. He continued to punch and kick the wall, hoping it¡¯d break like that force field from before.


    He could feel his bones aching. His fingers trembled. There was pain shooting through his entire body. Blood started to cover his hands; it dripped down his wrists. But he kept going. Until he couldn¡¯t feel. Until his arms were numb and weak. Until he was out of breath and trembling. He fell to his knees and cried¡­


    No¡­ It couldn¡¯t end like this. He pushed at the glass, closed his eyes and imagined¡ªthe cool, spring air of a forest abundant with large, sheltering trees; the carnival, loud and vibrant. Sounds of laughter filling the air, and he finally imagined the beach. Birds flew across the horizon, clouds shifted through the hot, afternoon sky.


    He imagined his fingers pushing into the glass just like he¡¯d done with the forcefield from before. Just like when he was looking for that bakery. And for a moment, he thought he could sense tingling in his palms. He thought he could feel the glass molding around his fingers, bending to his every whim¡­ But then he heard the door swing open. His heart skipped a beat; hope surged beneath his teary eyes.


    He turned around.


    ¡°D-Dad?¡±

 Humble Beginnings

    Valkyrie.


    She was never a boxer to begin with. Her name was Valerie Briarwood, and she had cast her last name aside when she had left her nest, still barely sixteen. She was a small convenience store cashier who cared for her brother making just enough to make ends meet. And it was all because her life at home had become utter turmoil¡­


    Born into an upper middle class family in the great city of Novus Lokris, she should¡¯ve been well off in one of the numerous private sectors of the area. She should¡¯ve been spoiled to no end like all the others in her economic standing. She should¡¯ve been coddled, born to be heiress to a potential corporate throne¡­ But that never happened. Not to her, not to her baby brother.


    Her parents were to blame.


    They were determined, passionate, fierce individuals. Many saw them as role models, undeterred by the corporate behemoths around them. Valerie had seen them work, growing their business like indomitable dandelions. She had watched with awe how their small, family business started to flourish within years into an entire cosmetic industry based around the use of natural flora.


    But with their sudden, popcorning growth, there was also a series of unfortunate events that followed¡ªthe stock market crashed, the economy tanked, and their sales dropped immensely from rising competitors. Then her mother went the extra mile and naively fell victim to a poorly promised Ponzi scheme. But what put the final nail to the coffin was none other than her father who gambled away their remaining assets through incredibly shady investments, assuring the family that this was all backup to when all else eventually failed.


    They were fired for incompetence and a supposed clashing of ideals by the same company executives that they had hired themselves. In her father¡¯s words, they were ¡°a bunch of greedy assholes who wanted nothing but corporate domination.¡± The difference in ideals was just an excuse. But whatever the case was, all their hard work was gone, lost to their executives¡¯ supposed hunger for money. And slowly, their newly attained mansion became a single family home. Then an apartment. Then shared living. Slowly, dinner outings became home-cooked meals. Then fast food. And finally, canned.


    To Valerie, this was still tolerable. She had a good head on her shoulders and had a fiery personality that would always manage to brighten her own mood. But one night, she overheard her parents outside the door speaking in mouse-like chatter. And they mentioned¡ª


    A suicide pact.


    Life was unforgiving; they had given up. It was all over for them anyways. How could they ever recover from something like this? Their lives¡¯ work¡­ All down the drain. But they weren¡¯t just planning on stopping there. Valerie and her brother were first on the literal chopping block. Apparently, they couldn¡¯t bear the thought of having their children live without parents. ¡°How can they survive?¡± they¡¯d said. ¡°How can they feed themselves without our help?¡±


    Well, it wasn¡¯t up to them. This was her life and hers alone. Nobody would tell her what to do. So the first thing she did was make a vow¡ª¡°I¡¯ll show them. I¡¯ll prove my worth.¡± Then she packed a few things and hurried to a quiet corner of the tiny, shared apartment complex. Her still unnamed baby brother looked up into her eyes. She named him then and there¡ªBeady. Because of his soft, round eyes. Then she made a promise¡ª


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    ¡°I¡¯ll show you the world.¡±


    And with that, she jumped down from the apartment balcony¡ªthankfully, it was only one story high. Then she made her way into the bustling city streets of a world she¡¯d supposedly never truly seen, holding a small baby boy gently within her embrace.


    ¡­


    It wasn¡¯t long before she started settling within the outskirts of the city. Using all the knowledge and experience she¡¯d seen her parents use during their business ventures, she managed to snag a job that gave her just enough to live on¡ªa small, privately owned convenience store clerk as well as cashier. After all, she needed the money. Money was everything. One thing she knew from watching her parents was that with enough money, she wouldn¡¯t be toyed around by others in their own personal gripes. But without it, she was nothing. Just another rat on the streets, looking to survive.


    Sadly, she couldn¡¯t manage to keep Beady around. It was impossible to care for him while she was out job-hunting for every part-time job on the block. She would live off the streets, cleaning herself up in the bathrooms of her workplaces. And that was not what she¡¯d wanted for Beady. A free government-owned childcare and adoption center was the only option she had while she was out trying to afford a permanent residence. And there, she met a childcare worker by the name of Clara.


    Clara was nice, helpful even. With enough gifts and sweet-talking, Valerie managed to persuade Clara into helping her take care of her baby brother for the time being. She didn¡¯t want him adopted; it was part of her plan to take him back eventually. And all she needed for that to happen was time. Just until she had enough assets to comfortably provide for herself and Beady.


    In the meantime, she scheduled to visit once every month to check up on her brother and to shower Clara with gifts to keep her from potential betrayal. The last thing she wanted was to come back to find Beady gone. And finally, with all that settled and out of the way, Valerie quickly got to work.


    Every day was monotonous. It was so mundane and boring. The only forms of excitement or adrenaline pumping action was when customers of the corporate kind would come out to let off some steam. And not in a good way.


    Insults were the usual. Spitting was a tip. But sometimes, they would trash the store, saying how borderline poor the place was that it couldn¡¯t even afford AI clerks. And rarely, they would cause violence. A slap to the face was common, but a punch? She could take it, but there were days when she¡¯d have to force herself steady because of a severe concussion. And yet, there was still no support for someone like her. If she had called the cops, all they¡¯d do would verbally slap you across the face for calling them to report on something so insignificant. Local authorities were unreliable at best. She had never known how corrupt they were until she was on the receiving end of corporate snakes.


    She had to tolerate it. It was the only way to make money. So she tolerated. She tolerated and tolerated until one day, she couldn¡¯t. She finally hit that breaking point.


    Money? she¡¯d thought. Isn¡¯t it easier just to steal? Maybe it was, but she was only doing it out of spite. And when the repeat corporate offender finally showed, she decided to be extra helpful that day. Leaning in closer, face to face, acting all shy and smiley, slowly moving her hand down his pocket¡­ She felt something hard, metallic even. With one hand, she gave him what he wanted, but with the other, she pulled something out of his pants pocket and quickly made her way back to her station.


    She didn¡¯t get hit that day. No punch, no slap. Just an ugly wink and a wave was all that was left in her memories. And one other thing¡­


    As her heart beat like a newly formed sub-fi rock band, she opened her hands to reveal a shiny, jewel-encrusted metallic ring¡ªan expensive wedding band that had probably costed more than her entire life¡¯s savings.

 A Beady Goodbye

    Valkyrie.


    She had quit her job on the spot. She was now a pickpocket, a thief. It paid more. Way more. Why did she ever think that convenience store workers were better? Plus, she feared the corporate man¡¯s return. Who else could¡¯ve stolen his wedding band if not for the one person who got in close? And soon after, she began her new life, honing her newfound craft of theft and clearly harmless robbery.


    Connections were everything in this new field of hers. If not for connections, she wouldn¡¯t have been able to sell off the wedding band. She needed fences, data brokers, connections to get her new tools for this new career path. And she was happy. It had everything she had ever wanted¡ªmoney and nobody to boss her around. She was going to live by her own rules, and she was going to stand up on her own two feet. After all, she had vowed to do just that. She was going to prove her worth no matter what. And for that to happen, she needed to get to the top of whatever this was.


    Climb the hierarchy; rule the world.


    Through thieving, she made her money. Tons and tons of it. It wasn¡¯t quite enough to settle down, but it was definitely coming close. With no exceptions made, both rich and poor and everyone in between, she finished her heists with only one thing on her mind¡ªBeady.


    She even got a few cyber-ups¡ªcybernetic upgrades¡ªalong the way. A few small limb enhancements and two pricey duds¡ªPrototype X-Razens. Costing nearly a quarter of a million for just one eye, they were supposed to be the next big thing. Neural as well as optical upgrades that were supposed to have been life changing especially for those with her job description.


    These Razens had x-ray functionality with a bunch of other cool little tricks, but all they really did was make her eyesight a little better. The x-ray vision alone required the straining of her eyes, and they only worked in split second intervals.


    Complex locks and security systems were out of the questions. At best, those required a few full seconds of undivided attention. At worst, a few minutes to a couple hours. So what were they even useful for? To her? Nothing. It was just a waste of money that she could¡¯ve saved for Beady. But even with all the hiccups, eventually, she finally had enough. She managed to buy a small shack in the very corners of the city where she had first trained her craft.


    Now, she was ready.


    While making her way to the childcare center, she had all these thoughts roaming inside¡ª¡°Should I take Beady to an amusement park first? Or maybe the beach?¡± She had a giddy smile smeared across her face. She could already imagine the tufts of poofy hair sticking out from his tiny little head. Those beady, brown eyes always stared back with so much life. Just thinking about him re-energized her to take on whatever problems life would next throw; it was time for the next phase in her journey. Or so she¡¯d thought¡­


    She knocked on the front desk. ¡°I¡¯m here for Beady, Clara,¡± she called out. ¡°Anyone there?¡±


    ¡°V-Val!¡± There was a muffled shout just around the corner. Clara then bounded out, looking unusually more flustered. ¡°Oh, I didn¡¯t know you were coming!¡±


    ¡°Oh, right. Sorry. I kinda forgot to text?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not due for another week. You know we take scheduling seriously here, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, my bad. But this¡¯ll probably be it for me anyways.¡±


    ¡°Oh! Have you finally decided to let Beady get adopted? You won¡¯t see¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m here to take him¡­¡± Val thought for a moment. A grin slowly spread across. ¡°Wait, he is getting adopted. By me!¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s not¡ª¡± Her face fell. ¡°Right¡­¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    ¡°N-no, nothing. Beady¡¯s just¡­ He¡¯s sick¡ª¡±


    ¡°Whoa, wait a goddamn sec there, Clara. You told me he was sick a month ago. You didn¡¯t take him to the hospital? You promised¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, no. It¡¯s not that¡­¡±


    ¡°What? What then?¡± Val grabbed her by the shoulders. It was almost like she could sense something was wrong. Like she could feel something bad was just around the corner. ¡°Clara, where¡¯s Beady? I want to see him.¡±


    ¡°Just¡±¡ªshe let out a deep sigh¡ª¡°wait a minute.¡± Clara pulled away and quickly made her way to the back of the room. Then her head disappeared into a pile of packages, and after a minute, she finally returned to the desk. Only this time, she wasn¡¯t empty-handed. Clara gently placed down a green, plastic jar.


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    ¡°What¡­ is this?¡± A lump caught in her throat. It looked like one of those cheap disposable pickle containers you got from a supermarket. There was even leftover residue from what seemed to be an old sticker. Inside, there was sand.


    She held the jar up to the light and shook. Puffs of dust formed inside. It wasn¡¯t sand. More like¡­


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Clara whispered. ¡°I¡¯m really sorry.¡±


    ¡°Clara?¡± Her voice shook, fingers started to tremble. Clara didn¡¯t look her in the eye. ¡°Clara? Look at me.¡± She placed her shaky hands on Clara¡¯s face. Their eyes met. ¡°Clara,¡± she asked more clearly this time. ¡°What¡­ is this?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± The girl kept trying to look away. ¡°It wasn¡¯t me! I swear!¡±


    ¡°What? No¡­ No, no, no¡­¡± Her eyes watered with every passing second; her throat felt so dry. Anger surged. ¡°I-I worked for two years¡­ for this? What is this?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡ª¡±


    ¡°Clara!¡± Her eyes swelled up even further. She already knew what it was. ¡°Answer my question! Please answer¡­ Clara¡­¡±


    ¡°I-I¡¯m so sorry. Maybe I can, um, compensate¡ª¡±


    ¡°Two years¡­ Why¡­¡± Val fell to the floor; her knees finally gave out. She couldn¡¯t stop the tears from pouring out. Why now? Her mind was torn, blanking. Nothing seemed right. Beady¡­ This was just a dream. All just a dream. I didn¡¯t even show you my world¡­


    All that for the price of death.


    ¡­


    Was she legal to drink? No. Did it matter? No. She nearly drank herself to death. It was all so surreal. The world came crashing down on her, and the urn stared back like those beady eyes she¡¯d remembered. It felt like just yesterday that she had last seen him.


    It¡¯s all my fault.


    She was the cause. If only she¡¯d taken him earlier. If only she¡¯d never placed him in their hands. It was all her fault he had died.


    If I worked just a little harder¡­ Her hands rolled into fists. If I never bought these¡­ With her teeth clenched, she smashed an empty bottle into her eyes. Again and again. Until all her anger turned into blood, watered down by her tears. If only¡­ She was sure Beady would still be alive.


    It was all her fault.


    Two months had passed. She¡¯d had a hoard of funds stocked up for their supposed vacation somewhere. Now, she was using it to buy smuggled liquor and beer. It was two months that she could¡¯ve taken him on a trip of a lifetime and years more just watching him grow. Two months she could¡¯ve shown him the world. But just like her parents, she was no better than them.


    She¡¯d failed.


    Death didn¡¯t seem all that bad anymore. What difference did it make if she¡¯d just died tomorrow? Life would move on; nobody would notice a thing. There was no purpose to live, no need to thrive. All the more reason life didn¡¯t really matter¡­


    But one boring afternoon while she was drinking her thoughts away, there were visitors at her doorstep. A strong knock and a familiar, distant whistling was all it took for Val to realize¡ªbounty hunters.


    Instinct took over, and she jumped out of her window only to be met with an ambush. She should¡¯ve known; there was only one window to her shack. Still groggy from all the alcohol she had consumed that morning, she held onto what remained of her sanity and steadied herself.


    There were three individuals with heartless demeanor. She could tell by the way they moved. The farthest one in the back was smoking a cigar from an open hole in his cheek, clearly nonchalant about the entire situation. And she could see it in their eyes¡ªthey were out for blood. Her blood. But in that moment, it wasn¡¯t fear that took over her mind.


    She stopped caring; her mind stopped thinking. And with it, everything else.


    Her body that had been shaking, nervous and dizzy, just seconds ago, suddenly stopped. Birds stopped mid-flight; cars stopped driving. The hunters in front of her stood frozen in time, not even a blink escaping their eyes.


    And then her Razens started to focus, zipping from detail to detail. She noticed everything. Bare knuckles to her right, enhanced fists to her left, and in the middle, a cigar¡­ falling, bits of fiery ash showering down like miniature meteors. And in that momentary pause, she was awake, ready for whatever was going to be thrown her way.


    When the first punch came flying towards her face, her x-ray vision from her Razens activated without command. For a split second, she could see the muscles and ligaments pulsating through the man¡¯s arm. She could see where the bones connected to his elbow, where his arm swiveled at the shoulders. She could see even more than before. And as her eyes moved from shoulder to arm to hand to fingers, she could already predict the trajectory of the swing¡ª


    She dodged to the left; the hand barely grazed her chin. Another swing from a woman came from the right, but she swiftly ducked under. The third member¡ªthe one with the open hole in his cheek¡ªlurched his arm up, and she saw the barrel of a gun slowly rising with his hand. He had his finger on the trigger, ready to pull whenever, but with nimble steps, she shot forward, slamming the man down to the ground.


    Then she ran.


    She ran and ran until she couldn¡¯t. Her legs were hurting, her lungs heaving, but she kept running. Away from the bounty hunters, her shack, all her belongings. Away from the suffocating pain she¡¯d felt in her chest. She ran without ever once looking back.


    And in that short respite afterwards, she noticed her lips had tightened, curled up into a wide grin she hadn¡¯t had in months.

 Masochistic Tendencies

    It wasn¡¯t her fault. It wasn¡¯t because she had spent all that money on these Razens. They helped. They were useful. It wasn¡¯t her fault Beady had died. This feeling that was growing inside her, Val thought it was because she wanted to fight, to feel that adrenaline pumping action all over again¡ªthat heart-stopping satisfaction of dodging shot after shot, losing her mind to the moment.


    It was her calling. She was sure of it. This was the way to prove her worth. This was how she¡¯d forget about everything that had once caused her pain. And to that, nothing else mattered. She¡¯d focus only on herself. Nobody else. She would find that excitement again that sparked her interest in life. She would search to the ends of the earth to fill that void.


    Fighting was the answer.


    Through a bit of using her former connections as a thief, she managed to find an infamous underground boxing organization that took on whoever was available.


    Rules were simple¡ªthe usual when it came to boxing like no kicking or hitting behind the head. But there were a few additional rules stating that stoppage of the fight usually relied on an inconsistent human referee and that no projectiles of any kind were allowed. And that was mostly it. Anyone could enter at a chance of winning some money, but nobody was liable for any injuries or repercussions. Weight differences were completely neglected, especially when cybernetics were involved.


    She¡¯d entered on the spot. And after dodging a few shots, she¡¯d gotten knocked out within the first five seconds. But after waking up on a rickety bed, staring into a grimy, cement ceiling, she¡¯d come to realize something else, something deeper than her initial interests in the sport¡ª


    Pain. She liked the pain. And that gritty, visceral feeling that came with it¡ªshe liked that too. It was a reminder of all that she¡¯d done to her brother.


    Beady was dead, and in a weird way, the pain had made her acknowledge that fact. It was relieving. She was finally getting what she¡¯d deserved. She was finally getting her punishment, her consequences for letting her little brother die so pitifully without having seen any part of the world she¡¯d so dearly wished to share with him.


    She wouldn¡¯t forget this feeling.


    With that acknowledgement, she also understood how it helped her forget. Every shot to her gut made her feel like she¡¯d deserved it, and every punch to her head helped her forget about her regrets. So with a new raving starvation for injuries, she signed up for more. And she kept going, week after week, only to last a few seconds longer than her last. She kept fighting, incurring injury after injury, managing to impress even the greatest underground boxers with the longest loss streak anyone from that ring had ever seen. And eventually, she was rewarded for her persistence.


    It was only because of her Razens that she¡¯d recovered mostly unscathed from her bouts. With each and every punch thrown her way, she¡¯d instinctively managed to dodge the worst of them. And as her utilization of her eyes improved, her speed soon followed.


    Slowly, she started taking less hits. Her awareness heightened, and the use of her x-ray vision enhanced with every match. Instead of getting blindsided by a flurry of punches, she was jumping around almost with an aura of grace and elegance. Her dodging became so advanced that eventually¡ª


    She started to win.


    Her punches were weak, but when she was dodging nearly every and any attack, it was inevitable that people would notice. She gained recognition amongst the crowd, and soon, a title was given to her by the masses. A new nickname from her success¡ª


    Dancing Valerina.


    But as soon as her fights became easier, she started to drink again. There were less distractions, less pain. Not enough of anything to fill that gaping hole inside. And after dodging so many punches, she couldn¡¯t even manage to drown her incessant thoughts out.


    One night, before a major match, her next opponent walked up to her, hands raised above his chest in a fighting stance. There was nobody around in the dark alleyway where she always drank herself to death. Only a streetlight dim enough to show her where she¡¯d left her bottles of beer. So when the first shot from her future opponent came, Val got struck right smack in the center of her face.


    ¡°Wha¡ªwhat the fuck, dude!¡± she slurred her words. ¡°The fight¡¯s tomorrow. Wait your¡±¡ªshe hiccuped¡ª¡°turn.¡±


    The man readied another punch. ¡°I ain¡¯t losing to a fucking drunk ass bitch.¡± He struck, but it barely missed her head. ¡°Get up. I know you ain¡¯t shit.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± She pulled herself up. ¡°So you wanna go?¡± She raised her hands, still swaying left and right. ¡°You-you fucking¡­ coward.¡± Then she gestured for him to attack. ¡°Come on. You¡¯re no match for me. You can¡¯t hit¡ª¡±


    He punched her square in the abdomen. She gurgled up an entire wave of vomit and fell to her knees.


    ¡°You, ugh¡­¡± She lurched back, resting her spinning head on the fence behind her. ¡°You¡¯re weak! You dirty f¡ª¡± She vomited a second time. This time, it splashed all over her shirt and torn jeans.


    ¡°Fuck, man. Disgusting piece of shit.¡± He spat on her face. The slimy goo dripped down her cheeks. ¡°If you never came, I¡¯d still be at the top!¡± His hands slowly fell to his side. Then he grabbed her by her hair and leaned in closer. ¡°Don¡¯t even think about showing up tomorrow.¡± He threw her head to the side and started walking away, spitting quiet insults along the way.


    She managed to pull herself up just enough to shout, ¡°Come back, coward! If I weren¡¯t so¡±¡ªshe hiccuped again, almost choking on her own spit¡ª¡°so drunk, you¡­¡± Her eyes started to blur. Maybe she¡¯d had too much again. ¡°You¡­¡± As her eyes tiredly fluttered to stay open, she saw a shadowy figure approach her. ¡°You coming back? You¡ª¡±


    ¡°Lass?¡±


    The voice didn¡¯t sound familiar.


    ¡°You fine, lass? Hey!¡±


    She heard him say something else, but it sounded muffled, far away. ¡°Who¡­¡± she managed to rasp out, but she couldn¡¯t finish her sentence. And before she could hear another word, her eyes rolled back.


    For a brief second, she thought she heard a familiar cry¡­


    ¡­


    ¡°Beady!¡± Val bolted up. ¡°Bead¡ªwhat?¡± She felt around; it was soft. A bed? She didn¡¯t have a bed. She usually slept on the floor.


    She looked around. This wasn¡¯t her room. Her room was an old one-room apartment she had rented out through her boxing winnings. This place looked better. Not too much better but still better.


    ¡°Where the hell¡ªagh!¡± Her head ached like she¡¯d been hit by a baseball bat.


    ¡°Here.¡± A gruff voice entered from her right. ¡°Water.¡±


    ¡°Thanks¡ªhuh?¡± She was handed a glass of water, but the voice came from below the bed frame. How was that even possible unless they were lying down? Small hands, rough by the texture, and a gruff, intense voice. Why were they on the floor¡­


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Her questions were answered the moment she¡¯d peered down the side of the bed. A short, intimidating looking man with an even gnarlier looking beard stared her back¡ªthe face of an old-time biker if she¡¯d ever seen one. Out of all the opponents she¡¯d ever fought, this man looked the scariest. Like one wrong move and she¡¯d regret it kind of scary.


    ¡°What? Haven¡¯t seen a dwarf ¡®fore? If ya got a problem, say it to my face!¡± The man¡¯s brows curled, one hand to his hip. He glared back with an intense expression, almost like he was waiting for some kind of specific response.


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    ¡°No, you¡¯re just¡­ not what I expected to see this morning.¡±


    He stared for a long while, eyes completely expressionless. Then he bursted out into a hearty laughter. ¡°Hah! I¡¯m just messin¡¯ with ya.¡± He shoved the glass of water forcefully into her hand all while quietly chuckling under his breath. ¡°Take it. It¡¯ll help you with your hangover.¡±


    ¡°Right¡­¡± She swallowed a few gulps, eyes still trained on the random stranger and the room around her.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine, lass. I ain¡¯t gonna bite.¡± He grinned uncharacteristically brightly before taking a seat on a small stool across from her. He then pointed at her shirt. There was a large vomit stain in the center. ¡°What have ya done to get so out of the element?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡­¡± Then she remembered something, and her eyes widened. ¡°Shit! I got a fight!¡± She pulled the sheets off and tried to get out of the bed but immediately collapsed back the moment she¡¯d gotten on her feet. A low, gurgling groan escaped her throat.


    Hangovers. She hated them. But it wasn¡¯t like this was anything new. Why did it feel so much worse?


    ¡°You should rest, lass. A hit like that on the head ain¡¯t gonna heal in a day.¡±


    ¡°Hit?¡± Then she remembered. Bits and pieces of the scene the night before came back¡ªher opponent had come to take her out before the official match.


    But a contract was a contract, and money was money. She needed to go even if she were in this sorry state. It wasn¡¯t like they¡¯d care if she called in sick or told them that her opponent punched her before the fight.


    Morals? She smirked. Of course they don¡¯t have that here.


    ¡°Stop.¡± The man moved between her and the door. ¡°You¡¯re in no shape. You¡¯ll just come back with more permanent injuries, lass.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, old man, but I think I know myself better than you.¡± She tried to move past him without being rude, but he continued to block her way. ¡°Seriously, I gotta go.¡± Her patience slowly wore thin.


    ¡°You gonna fight like that? Really think you can win?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going there to win.¡±


    ¡°Well, you should.¡±


    She could feel her nose twitch just a bit. ¡°Who the fuck do you think you are? You don¡¯t know me.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re living like an animal, lass. Not even a care in the world.¡± He shook his head almost in pity. ¡°I can tell. You weren¡¯t kicked out. So tell me, did ya leave your family behind to become like this?¡±


    ¡°Leave¡­¡± Her voice trembled. She could feel something boiling inside. ¡°My family behind? You¡ª¡± No, take a deep breath, she told herself. It¡¯s not worth it. He¡¯s just riling you up, Val. He doesn¡¯t know.


    ¡°Why else would you live like this?¡± he remarked. ¡°I¡¯ve seen you fight, lass. You¡¯re good. But you¡¯re killin¡¯ yourself. I can tell. You like the pain. I don¡¯t got a clue why, but you like it. Like ya got some sadness built up in ya. Think people can¡¯t tell?¡±


    ¡°Shut up.¡±


    ¡°I get it right¡ª¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡± Something snapped inside her. ¡°You¡¯re not my dad! Why do you fucking care?¡±


    ¡°Because I want to help ya.¡±


    The old man gazed straight into her with those piercing eyes. The moment he¡¯d said those words, she could tell¡ªhe wasn¡¯t lying.


    ¡°You want pain, don¡¯t ya? But me?¡± He gestured towards himself. ¡°I want to see ya soar. Because I¡¯ve got an eye for potential. I can help you get to the big leagues.¡±


    ¡°What do you fuckin¡¯ get out if it?¡± She wasn¡¯t going to fall for any dirty tricks. It had been far too long since she¡¯d lived out here in the slums.


    ¡°I¡¯m livin¡¯ fine and mighty¡ª¡±


    ¡°You call this fine and mighty?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine and mighty to me.¡± He nodded, eyeing her as if to check if she was still listening. ¡°And I¡¯m just doin¡¯ this for myself. Call it whatever ya want, but I don¡¯t want someone like you rottin¡¯ away out here.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need your pity.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t think of it like that. You¡¯re doin¡¯ a favor for me. I really do want to see you fly, lass. And that ain¡¯t no lie.¡± He sighed. ¡°Look at me. Do I look like I could be a boxer?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m no boxer. I know that better than anyone. And I won¡¯t cyber-up my body for it either. That¡¯s just my personal code that I live by.¡±


    ¡°So¡­ what are you trying to say?¡±


    ¡°I wanted to be a boxer¡ªa living legend. I wanted to fight, tussle, do all those small things everyone else could do without battin¡¯ an eye.¡± He leaned in a little closer. ¡°You know how that feels? When you can¡¯t do what everyone else can? To me, that¡¯s like rottin¡¯ away. And I don¡¯t wanna see that happen to someone who has everything to become the best.¡± He then suddenly fell to his knees.


    ¡°The fuck are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Please,¡± he pleaded. ¡°Let me live my dream through you.¡± Val could almost feel the sincerity dripping from his words. ¡°I¡¯m no scammer, lass. I¡¯m just hopin¡¯ big one last time before I go. I don¡¯t got no other reasons.¡±


    ¡°Fuck, really?¡± She took a deep breath. Right now, all she could see was an old man who was determined to see things through. Her anger was gone. In its place, she felt admiration for somebody who had something she couldn¡¯t have¡ªa genuine drive. ¡°Fine,¡± she reluctantly replied. ¡°How¡¯re you gonna help me then?¡±


    ¡°I ain¡¯t no pushover, lass.¡± He motioned towards the back of the room. There in the corner was a bunch of electronic equipment, gizmos. There were hammers, nails, even anvils.


    ¡°What the hell even is all that?¡±


    ¡°My gym,¡± he replied. ¡°And my house, I guess.¡±


    ¡°Your gym? What kind of gym has hammers?¡± She took another swift look around. ¡°And anvils?¡±


    ¡°Ah, that¡¯s because I¡¯m what you¡¯d call a punksmith.¡±


    ¡°Punksmith? The hell¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m no doc, but I can make and break cyber-ups. And installin¡¯s pretty easy too since I got the experience.¡±


    ¡°Seriously? Cyber-ups?¡± She looked him over. This old man? She could imagine him banging metal with those bulky arms of his, but to install cybernetics throughout her entire body¡­ Could he really do that? His fingers looked like massive sausages, not like those intricate surgeon knives she¡¯d seen before.


    ¡°Don¡¯t trust me, do ya?¡± He chuckled. ¡°You¡¯ll see.¡±


    ¡°Okay, sure.¡± Benefit of the doubt. ¡°But still, why¡¯s it a gym?¡±


    The man opened a door, revealing an entire boxing ring and a few worn-out, leathery sand bags. ¡°That¡¯s why.¡±


    ¡°Shit¡­¡± An entire boxing gym on the other side? ¡°How big is this place?¡±


    ¡°It ain¡¯t that big. This is all there is to it. A boxing gym in the front, this workshop in the back¡±¡ªhe pointed out the window beside the bed¡ª¡°and a small backyard.¡±


    ¡°Wait, but why do you have all this? You box?¡± Didn¡¯t he just mention that he couldn¡¯t be a boxer? But maybe she¡¯d heard wrong? She¡¯d honestly still never heard of boxers of his stature.


    ¡°I teach,¡± he corrected. ¡°Like I said before, I ain¡¯t got the height for that. I think I¡¯m pretty good at it though. Teaching that is.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s why you said that¡­¡± She¡¯d thought about getting taught before, but she never had the chance. Money was tight between her rent and her precious alcohol. And how much better would teaching make her? Experience was her best coach. But if I can get him to teach me for free¡­


    What had once started as an obsession to punish herself eventually became her entirety. Boxing was her life now, and to that, she had a goal, a dream that grew bigger along the way.


    Deep down, she wanted to win. She wanted to go pro, reach for the stars. She wanted to show Beady what she had once promised¡ªthe world. If he was watching from up there somewhere, she wanted to win and show him a world where things were going right for once. A world where she and her brother could¡¯ve happily lived together, where everything had worked out.


    She wanted to show him that she could keep going, that she could finally be proud of herself. She wanted to be in a world where if Beady were still there, she¡¯d finally have no regrets left to fear.


    She¡¯d finally be free from her past.


    ¡°Havin¡¯ doubts, are we? You don¡¯t think I can teach?¡± The man snorted, shaking his head in disapproval. ¡°Like all the others, I say. You just¡ª¡±


    ¡°Teach me!¡±


    ¡°W-what was that?¡± The man seemed startled by the response.


    ¡°You have to teach me!¡±


    ¡°Well, ¡®course! I was plannin¡¯ on it.¡±


    ¡°Promise you¡¯ll make me great?¡±


    ¡°I promise I¡¯ll make you champ, lass.¡±


    ¡°I want no less.¡±


    The man bursted out into another hearty bout of laughter.


    ¡°W-what?¡± Her face went beet red. ¡°Did I say something weird?¡±


    He held out his hand.


    ¡°The hell?¡± She looked at him funny. ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Shake it.¡±


    ¡°Shake it?¡± She grabbed his hand and shook, eying him suspiciously. ¡°Like¡­ that?¡±


    The man smiled wide, grinning from ear to ear. ¡°Nice doing business with ya, Ms. Briarwood.¡±


    ¡°How did you know that?¡± She¡¯d never once mentioned her family name to anyone. She hated that name. ¡°Don¡¯t ever call me that.¡±


    The old man was slightly taken aback, but it only took a second for him to adapt. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you¡ªah, not to worry. I won¡¯t make that mistake again. I can promise you that. Now, here¡¯s to a new potential world champion!¡± His eyes brimmed with fire¡ªa look so determined, she¡¯d have felt threatened if it were any other situation. But then, he pulled out a long stick and gave it a few practice swings.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡± What had she signed herself up to? She could feel the wind whipping past like knives every time he swung. ¡°You¡¯re not going to hit¡ª¡±


    ¡°Call me Coach.¡± He grinned. ¡°Because you¡¯re gonna need one.¡±

 Slain in Vain

    ¡°Wrong!¡± Coach shouted again. ¡°You¡¯re pushin¡¯, not actually hittin¡¯!¡±


    ¡°Who cares?!¡± Val yelled. ¡°You gave me pow packs for that! Why does it matter if I push the bag instead of hitting? They¡¯ll all feel it anyways!¡±


    Coach hovered around her like some sort of space saucer, readying to abduct. His eyes narrowed at the mention of pow packs.


    ¡°What?¡± she said.


    ¡°Cyber-ups ain¡¯t gonna cut it in the big leagues. Ya gotta get the basics down. The fundamentals!¡± He slapped at his wrists to make a point. ¡°Don¡¯t keep relying on your eyes¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not¡ª¡±


    ¡°And don¡¯t keep relyin¡¯ on the goddamn pow packs! They¡¯re like batteries! They¡¯ll run out eventually!¡± he remarked. ¡°Ya know why I installed pow packs on you instead of some burly cyber-up limbs like the rest?¡±


    ¡°Wh¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s because they¡¯re non-invasive! You¡¯re still mostly left with your natural muscles. And ya know what the difference between cyber-ups and natural muscles are?¡±


    She didn¡¯t answer. This was probably another rhetorical question. She hated when Coach droned on about these things.


    ¡°Answer it!¡±


    ¡°U-uh¡­ I don¡¯t know! You tell me!¡±


    ¡°Muscles can still grow! ¡®Netics cannot! Simple!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s obvious. But cyber-ups are used more for a reason. They¡¯re stronger¡ª¡±


    ¡°And they need daily maintenance, weekly tweaks and tuning, and constant check-ups before each match to see if they¡¯ll throw any errors! They¡¯re unreliable at best. But your flesh? If that ain¡¯t a miracle of life, I don¡¯t got a clue what else it¡¯s supposed to be.¡±


    Coach pulled out the long sticks of doom¡ªhand mitts that were held up by long, metal poles. But it wasn¡¯t the sticks that Val feared. It was the fact that he¡¯d always gotten into a feisty mood whenever he picked those things up¡ªalways ready to smack her across the face.


    ¡°Come on!¡± Coach motioned for her to move. ¡°We still got ways to go.¡±


    ¡­


    Coach¡¯s training had paid off. A year of training and four more for professional fighting, and Val was already declared by the public as the next big thing in boxing. Her nickname was finalized as Valkyrie to symbolize her meteoric rise to fame¡ªan instant skyrocketing of popularity. And the reasons were simple¡ª


    Throughout her professional career, she hadn¡¯t lost even once. She hadn¡¯t even gotten really punched yet. Only a few grazes here and there. Amongst the pros, she was keeping up well. A little too well for a supposed former amateur.


    ¡°Coach,¡± she called out. She was resting on a worn-down couch, staring up at the ceiling. Her eyes were all droopy from her current predicament. ¡°I¡¯m bored.¡±


    Coach shouted from behind the door in the workshop area of the gym, ¡°Then train! I ain¡¯t your babysitter!¡±


    ¡°Coach~¡± she called again.


    ¡°What!¡±


    A thin smile stretched across her face. ¡°I¡¯m bored.¡±


    A loud groan escaped through the cracks. The banging from the other side stopped, and Coach poked his head out from behind the workshop door. ¡°What? You want me to make you a sandwich or somethin¡¯? Get off your ass and train. Your bout with number two¡¯s comin¡¯ up!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, and he¡¯ll lose like the rest. Not a big deal.¡±


    ¡°Ya gotta stop underestimatin¡¯ your opponents, lass. Big ego.¡± He gestured widely with his arms. ¡°Hope it¡¯s not all talk.¡±


    ¡°It isn¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°You get worried sick all the same. I know because I see it. Every time you step into the ring, you¡¯re stiff as a board¡ª¡±


    ¡°But I win anyways!¡±


    ¡°And that¡¯s why you¡¯re still an amateur. It¡¯s in the mind, lass. It¡¯s not in the win.¡±


    ¡°Pft, whatever.¡±


    Coach moved back into the room; she could see him shaking his head a little before he was completely out of sight.


    Sure, she was always a bit rusty when she entered the ring, but she¡¯d make up for it in the long run. It wasn¡¯t like she was getting hit much. She¡¯d prove that she was fine once more during her match against One Round Craggy¡ªthe second best boxer in Cybernetic Boxing International.


    She¡¯d make mincemeat out of him, seasoned with her own hard-earned blood, sweat, and tears. Well, maybe not the blood.


    ¡­


    Lights beamed across the ring. All she could hear were shouts and roars from the crowded stands above.


    Five years ago, she wouldn¡¯t have ever imagined this kind of scene unfolding in front of her eyes. Five years ago, she didn¡¯t even care, but right now, she wanted more than anything to win. It was all or nothing; she had to show Beady the world. She had promised, and she was dead set on keeping it no matter what.


    On the opposite corner, Craggy glared at her. He had spat insult after insult, hurdled scowl after scowl during the press conference. She didn¡¯t understand where all that animosity was coming from; it didn¡¯t seem like it was for show. But none of that mattered now. In fact, the animosity made her feel even more pumped up than usual.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ¡°Fight!¡± the announcer cried.


    The boxing bell rang, triumphantly signaling the start of the first round. Immediately, the hulking mass lurched forward, stampeding towards her. A massive grin spread across his face, his eyes wide and maniacal.


    One Round Craggy. Number two on the block. He had the ability to absorb damage like a sponge, and his punches would knock anyone out with a single blow. That was his gimmick that had gotten him this far. That was why he was named One Round Craggy. Because all he needed was one punch, the matches would usually end within the first round. He was a one-trick pony who utilized a unique specialty of his. Just like me¡­


    Coach¡¯s words then echoed through her mind like a well-timed reminder¡ª¡°Don¡¯t rely on your Razens! You¡¯re more than that!¡±


    He was right. She wasn¡¯t some gimmick like Craggy. She had more to her than just cybernetics that someone else had created. She was Valkyrie. She was her own person with flaws, mistakes, and all those regrets. She wasn¡¯t just another body like the rest.


    Number two ain¡¯t shit.


    She charged towards her opponent. Craggy, seeing this, giddily swung his arm in the form of a right-handed hook. She rolled underneath the large mass, appearing behind the figure. He was slow; that was his weakness. With a right hook of her own, she armed a pow pack and slammed her fist into Craggy¡¯s side, lining up perfectly with his liver.


    A splitting sound crackled through the air; Val hopped back to the ropes and waited for Craggy to fall. Nobody should¡¯ve been able to take such a hit without damage. Not even Craggy. But the massive figure turned to face her, the wide grin not having left his side. He bellowed out in laughter.


    ¡°Is that really all you got?!¡± he taunted. ¡°I don¡¯t feel a thing!¡±


    What? How? That was a near perfect shot. No, it was literally perfect. Every single opponent she had fought so far had fallen when hit by her liver blows. The pow packs were potent. They were supposed to be her trump card. But it didn¡¯t work?


    Craggy continued to bellow out in laughter. ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to fight? You¡¯re just going to stand there?¡±


    She started to fidget nervously; the rope behind her felt rougher than usual. He¡¯s bluffing. He¡¯s clearly faking it.


    ¡°Here! I¡¯ll show you how it¡¯s done!¡± He charged again, and immediately, time slowed to a crawl.


    Was it her Razens? She was sure of it. Maybe her Razens had activated instinctually like before. Maybe this was her chance to turn the tides¡­


    But she couldn¡¯t move.


    Fuck, why?!


    Her legs stood glued to the floor. At this rate, she was going to get hammered by the man¡¯s intensely slow jab, cross combo.


    Why can¡¯t I move? Craggy was lumbering closer and closer. She started to lose hope. All that hard work to climb this far up the ladder. It was all going to go to waste. Her career was over; she wouldn¡¯t be able to show anyone what her world could¡¯ve looked like. Is it over? My dream¡­


    ¡°Lass, get a hold of yourself!¡±


    Coach. Time sped up again. Her shoulders started to sway a little. Craggy was charging in like a truck, and within that split second before his fist reached her jaw, she slipped to the left and hopped back.


    ¡°Fuck!¡± Craggy screamed. ¡°Fuck you!¡±


    Val started to breathe again; her lungs burned. What happened? Her legs wobbled, ached at the thighs and knees. It had all happened in an instant. What happened to my Razens? Did it not activate?


    ¡°Don¡¯t be scared, lass!¡± Coach yelled again. ¡°Keep your arms up!¡±


    Me? Scared? No, that couldn¡¯t have been. How could she be scared of something so slow? Craggy was no threat. It was just his defenses. She¡¯d been caught off guard because of how unfazed he seemed. She wasn¡¯t scared at all.


    ¡°You¡¯re scared?¡± Craggy howled hysterically. His laughs even seemed to silence the audience before him. ¡°The mighty Valkyrie!¡±


    Breathe. She calmed her nerves. You can do this. If she was already struggling with number two, how could she ever manage to defeat number one? She needed to end this quick; her career couldn¡¯t end here.


    It was all or nothing. She had to use her speed¡ªwhip into her opponent, not push her fists¡ªjust like what Coach had said before. And if one pow pack wasn¡¯t enough¡­


    How ¡®bout I use the entire batch?


    For that, she needed time. It took a second to load each one in, and she had access to a total of ten pow packs per limb. Since she¡¯d already used one on her right arm, she decided to end the fight with her left¡ªall ten packs armed inside her fist. But it was dangerous. Coach had told her it could potentially tear her ligaments apart if she missed, and yet, she was grinning from ear to ear at the thought of her new plan. Because how could she miss a target that big and slow?


    ¡°You gone crazy?¡± Craggy trudged forward, pulling back his arm for another hook. His form was terrible¡ªcompletely amateurish. ¡°Smiling in the face of death, huh?¡±


    One. She loaded a pack while she sprinted towards the left. His arm swung and missed. She added a few weak shots to his body before putting distance. Two, three, four. Again, he came crashing towards her, but she slipped quickly back to the right and threw a few more punches. She didn¡¯t even need her Razens to dodge. Five, six¡­


    ¡°Stop moving around!¡± the man shouted. His breathing heaved with every word; he was wasting so much energy. ¡°Stop running!¡±


    Seven, eight, nine¡­ The man stumbled forth, but to no avail. He was slower than before. Much slower, much more tired. Ten. And thanks to how talkative he was, Val managed to finish charging up her left fist for that final blow.


    Craggy jumped forward, rushing in like a blind rhino, but she knew he wouldn¡¯t last much longer. She easily slipped out of the way, and then, she saw the light at the end of the tunnel¡ªa perfect opportunity to land a shot directly into Craggy¡¯s solar plexus while he was hunched over from his own weight.


    At this point, she could¡¯ve easily won the fight slowly and steadily through the opponent¡¯s sheer exhaustion alone. In the next round, she could even predict how he¡¯d have fallen. But to her, that wasn¡¯t the kind of win she wanted to show the world. She was gunning for the top, and for that to happen, she needed to show number one she was worth fighting.


    She planted her legs and wound her arms back. Then, with speed even she thought wasn¡¯t possible, she whipped her hips to the right. Her arm sliced through the air, swiveling past her torso in the form of a left uppercut. And her entire weight smashed straight into his chest, lifting the hulking figure a few inches off the canvas floor.


    This time, Craggy reacted.


    His eyes bugged out as he stood frozen beside the rope. The entire stadium went quiet. Then his legs crumbled before her; his body fell, and before his knees even touched the canvas, the bell rang, piercing through the roaring crowds of cheers.


    It was over. It was finally over.


    Coach jumped into the ring; Val could see the smile spreading across his face. The joy and happiness in the air¡ªshe could feel it too. She could feel it, but¡­


    All she did was watch.


    The crowds were jumping, the earth was vibrating in an almost triumphant glee. Her arms finally fell to her sides, legs trembling in the aftermath, tired and worn out. She deserved this¡ªthis win¡ªall of this satisfaction that was supposed to have been flowing through her veins. But as everyone was cheering on her name, hollering and screaming a bunch of fan club nonsense, all she could think of was her promise.


    Beady¡­ She was one step closer to showing him what she had always dreamed of showing. She was one step closer to creating a world where she was finally at peace. But she wasn¡¯t there. Not yet.


    Not until she defeated the champ.

 Who’s Your Daddy?

    The day finally came when they got the call. Val was enjoying a nice slice of cheese pizza on her usual couch when Coach ran over with news¡ªan offer from a boxing manager. They wanted a fight immediately¡ªin less than a week.


    ¡°What?¡± She moaned. ¡°That¡¯s, like, too early! Why the hell should I agree to that kind of schedule?¡±


    ¡°Lass,¡± Coach called out. He got awfully quiet. ¡°It¡¯s Spider.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± She straightened up a bit.


    ¡°Adrian Spider.¡±


    Adrian Spider. That wasn¡¯t just any boxing manager. That was the boxing manager. Boxing manager for the current undisputed CBI World Champion¡­


    Daddy Long Arms.


    The champ had an undefeated professional record of 99-0, and there was a reason he hadn¡¯t lost yet. Just like Valkyrie, he rarely got hit. Just like her, he was nimble and fast, hard-hitting when necessary. He would meticulously overwhelm his prey with onslaughts of attacks that couldn¡¯t be dodged. The opponent was bound to be hit no matter the situation.


    But this overwhelming presence wasn¡¯t because he had amazing eye implants. No, it was because his entire body was a cybernetic monstrosity. His arms and legs were segmented into so many mechanical parts and pieces that they looked more like flailing, iron tentacles than fleshy limbs. And his flexibility was absolute insanity. There was no avoiding his punches. And there was no landing any either. He wasn¡¯t some ordinary boxer that could be fought without any sort of preparation. Quite literally, he was a monster. A predator known to many as¡­


    The Bloodstained Huntsman.


    ¡°Fuck!¡± she cried. ¡°Well, why didn¡¯t you say so!¡± She needed to train. Immediately.


    She had seen several videos of his fights, so she knew how dangerous her opponent was, but that wasn¡¯t something she wasn¡¯t already used to. Her build as a boxer was on the slimmer side; a single punch from any professional boxer had the capacity to down her. Long Arms wasn¡¯t any different. All she had to do was avoid getting hit.


    And that was her specialty.


    ¡°Listen, lass. I know you¡¯ve come a long way,¡± Coach called out. She moved past him to get to her gloves. ¡°But this one¡¯s different. You can¡¯t just rely on that eye o¡¯ yours. We can always push it back¡ª¡±


    ¡°No!¡± she yelled. ¡°You told me I¡¯m more than my Razens! Then you know I can take him on.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sayin¡¯ ya can¡¯t, lass. Number two never beat him for a reason. Just¡ª¡±


    ¡°Take the offer.¡± She moved towards the bag. She was confident she¡¯d win. This was it. The moment she had been waiting for this entire time. And she had won every bout since her debut. What more did she need to prove that she was ready?


    She only had one goal¡ªto win. For herself, for Coach. For everyone that supported her and her aspirations. She¡¯d show the world she wasn¡¯t just some lowly thief, a dreamer. She¡¯d show the world what she was made of. And then, she¡¯d show Beady¡­


    ¡°Fine.¡± Coach pulled out his mitts. ¡°One, two, roll, three, two.¡± Coach called out the combo. He held them up for her to see. ¡°C¡¯mon. We¡¯ve got work to do.¡±


    She smirked. Coach was the best she¡¯d ever had. To her, he was more of a father than any other she¡¯d known before, and she was dead set on making his dream come true too. She would show him that she had potential. That Coach had chosen the right person for the right job.


    As she roughly followed through with the combo, she noticed all the old, worn-out equipment around her. The gym was in such disrepair. The couch was tearing apart, the walls were showing concrete. After her next fight, she promised herself she¡¯d renovate the place. She¡¯d buy Coach a new bed, better doors, better desk for his workshop. She¡¯d pay him back for everything he¡¯d done so far for her.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    It felt like all she had were debts¡ªto Beady, to Coach. But this was her responsibility. After all, they were the most precious people in her life.


    Her earnings up until now had run dry from all the alcohol she¡¯d consumed, and the money she was making from boxing wasn¡¯t necessarily the best either. But once she was number one, things would change. Everything would change¡­


    ¡°Val! Relax.¡± Coach¡¯s words cut through. He placed the mitts higher and farther back. ¡°Don¡¯t tense up so much. Those are beginner problems, lass.¡±


    ¡°I am relaxed.¡±


    He smacked her across the face.


    ¡°Ow, what was that for?!¡±


    ¡°You would¡¯ve dodged if you were relaxed.¡±


    She groaned. ¡°I told you. I am relaxed.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t rely so much on your eyes. It¡¯s gotta be instinctual.¡±


    ¡°I know. You told me that a million times already.¡±


    He swung the mitts again. She quickly rolled and dashed in for a counter, stopping her glove just inches away from his face.


    ¡°See?¡± she proudly exclaimed.


    ¡°Hit the mitts, not me!¡± He smacked her again. Twice this time.


    ¡°Ow!¡±


    ¡°Val, lass.¡± His voice calmed a little. ¡°You¡¯re not facing an old fart like me. You¡¯re facing the champion.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± She shook her head. Coach just didn¡¯t seem to get it. ¡°But I haven¡¯t lost yet. I mean, how much better can he possibly be from Craggy?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re too overconfident. Too much ego, but¡±¡ªhe sighed¡ª¡°maybe that¡¯s for the better.¡± He raised his mitts again. ¡°Slip, three, two, back, two.¡±


    She executed the combo several more times.


    ¡°Keep your legs moving. Watch the gears turn.¡±


    Val pivoted with each punch. She started to loosen up again. Her feet shifted across the gym floor in swift, elegant strides.


    It wasn¡¯t necessarily smooth, but there was a crisp rhythm to her footwork. She could tell just by watching other boxers. Nobody really felt like they were actually enjoying the movement of the sport itself. Almost like they were just performing out of necessity. To her, combos were an artwork¡ªgraceful and stylish. Each and every uppercut would rev up her excitement; a hook would make her feel like she was dancing with the flow of her own weight.


    And truly, she loved every second of it.


    ¡­


    A week before the fight, they had a press conference. Valkyrie and Coach arrived early, so they sat down and waited in silence. And after a few more minutes, Daddy Long Arms and his crew entered the stage from the left.


    The champ¡¯s arms dragged across the floor, occasionally sparking from all the friction. His fingers caught onto all the garbage that had littered the surface of the floor, but the first thing he did wasn¡¯t clean his hands. Instead, he shamefully called her out¡ª


    ¡°What do we have here? You¡¯re just a toothpick!¡± He gave a wicked grin as his team roared out in laughter. ¡°Just skin and bones!¡±


    Valkyrie leaned back and rested her legs on top of the table. She wasn¡¯t having any of it.


    ¡°And looky here! We got a fuckin¡¯ crippled over here!¡± He sneered, pointing at Coach. There were a few snickers coming from the press. ¡°Hey, why don¡¯t we get ¡®im a wheelchair? He¡¯s havin¡¯ a hard time standin¡¯!¡±


    ¡°Shut the fuck up.¡± Val stood up. There were limits to insults thrown around during conferences. Attacks on Coach crossed the line.


    ¡°Lass,¡± Coach said. He shook his head. ¡°Don¡¯t. It¡¯s fine.¡±


    Her face crinkled as she sat back down. She was absolutely livid, but Coach was right. She should leave the anger for the fight.


    ¡°Oh?¡± This time, Long Arms walked over. His grin spread wider by the second. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, babe. You need poor, little grandpa over there to help you talk? I didn¡¯t know I was fighting a bunch of fuckin¡¯ kids. Now I feel bad.¡±


    ¡°Shut it, calamari.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that now? Cala-what?¡± He turned to his manager. The room got quiet before he spun back around. ¡°WHAT?! I¡¯m a fuckin¡¯ spider, bitch! I¡¯m not a shittin¡¯ octopus¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s squid, dumbass.¡± A few chuckles escaped from the crowd. Long Arms stood still, almost taken aback by her sudden aggressive demeanor. ¡°Seriously, how stupid are you?¡± she continued. ¡°You ever been to school? Know what one plus one is? I¡¯ll give you a hint. It¡¯s the number of brai¡ª¡±


    ¡°Shut up! All of you fuckers!¡± He slammed his wobbly arms into the back of the wall. The concrete cracked around the edges of his hands. Then he glared dead in her eyes, leaning in ever so close. He whispered into her ear, ¡°After I¡¯m done with you, you''ll be just another bloodstain on the canvas like the rest of ¡®em fuckers. Don¡¯t get cocky, bitch.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± she sneered, ¡°I¡¯m so scared.¡± She¡¯d beat him up good. This conference was riling up her emotions, and she was all for it. She¡¯d punch that fucking smile right off his face during the bout.


    The rest of the conference went as expected. Long Arms took control of the situation and created more ruckus. He berated Coach for lack of fighting experience, swung at her when she wasn¡¯t looking, and even broke one of the cameras the press were holding. But Val didn¡¯t find it necessary to retaliate. Not yet. Just a little longer¡­


    Just until the fight.

 Hook, Jab, and Stinker

    ¡°Ready¡­? Fight!¡±


    Immediately, Long Arms threw a right punch towards Valkyrie¡¯s legs. If it hit, it would¡¯ve been an illegal move. But right before the punch landed, his arm stretched and curved upwards into a perfect right uppercut. His bright, red glove came shooting towards her chin.


    She quickly jumped back; the glove grazed her chin, shooting towards the ceiling at breakneck speed.


    What the fuck?


    She¡¯d seen videos, but this? This was way faster than the videos. Relax. She couldn¡¯t be intimidated already. Focus on the projection; predict the trajectory. She needed to see everything.


    Long Arms retracted his missed shot, but this time, he dashed forward, readying a left hook. She could tell from the movements in his mechanical ligaments.


    She pivoted left and threw a left hook towards his liver, but he quickly blocked the blow with his other arm. She then pivoted to the left again and threw a right cross. Long Arms extended his neck back, and her punch whiffed the air where his head had just been.


    Then he laughed maniacally.


    What the fuck? He can do that too? She tightened her fists, preparing to defend whatever onslaught he was going to throw. Her only option was a counter when he was least expecting it. Otherwise, he¡¯d just dodge everything.


    ¡°Calm down, lass!¡± The familiar voice echoed through the stadium. ¡°Stop tightening up and follow his flow!¡±


    I know, Coach. But she had to focus. Relax¡­ Don''t think. Just punch. Let your body dance. Her eyes honed in on Long Arms¡¯s shoulders. The joints swiveled like viscous fluid, moving back and forth like soft, ocean waves.


    But how was she supposed to fight this? He was like a slippery fish. There was no human aspect for her to grasp onto. His legs could stretch, his arms could stretch, even his neck could stretch.


    Long Arms, sensing her distraction, whipped another punch towards her left. She slipped away, but the arm turned ninety degrees midair and sped towards her again. She quickly pulled back, but it twisted, following her every step.


    Does his punches not need momentum? The fist was coming faster than when he¡¯d first thrown it.


    She quickly rolled to the right, avoiding the shot that swung overhead. Then, seeing an opening, she immediately dashed in, spending two pow packs in each leg. She moved at speeds incomparable from before. The look on Long Arms¡¯s face told her everything.


    This was her chance.


    If there was one thing she was sure about, it was that his torso seemed to be the least flexible. So using that vulnerability, she used all of her momentum to throw a tight, right-handed hook to his exposed abdomen. Perfectly inline with his solar plexus.


    It cut through the air with extreme speed; pressurized gas released from the back of her elbows as she expended another pow pack. It was going to hit. And it was going to hurt. She was sure of it. But a second passed, and she didn¡¯t feel an impact¡­


    What? She pivoted around. I missed? How could she have missed? But before she could wrap her head around the thought, a bright, red object came barreling into her view. It got larger and larger, accelerating faster and faster¡ª


    Her body didn¡¯t move. No, it couldn¡¯t move. It was coming too quickly. It looked so slow, but her body wasn¡¯t moving fast enough.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Move!


    She tightened her thighs; her toes were about to cramp. Instinct kicked in as she quickly charged pow packs for each limb. Using all her strength, she sprung to the left as hard as she could. Two pow packs exploded out from her legs. She was going to make it. But with her enhanced eyes, she saw it before the pain even registered. His glove was still headed straight for her liver.


    She immediately contorted her body as best she could. Two more pow packs were expended¡ªair released from her elbows as leverage. It wasn¡¯t enough to dodge the entire blow, but that was fine. A stomach shot was better than a powerful blow to the liver.


    Then the trajectory of the punch changed. Again. And it blasted upwards. Past her stomach, past her chest, rushing towards her eyes¡­


    Fuck.


    ¡­


    Voices¡­ She could hear voices in the distance¡­


    ¡°Three¡­¡±


    It sounded so murky. Like she was underwater. There was a ringing in her ears that didn¡¯t seem to go away.


    ¡°Five¡­¡±


    Counting? Her instincts kicked in. She had to get up. She had to push through! Stop¡­ counting!


    ¡°Seven¡­¡±


    Move! She willed her body to move. Her vision started to clear. She could see the ref, but something felt different. No, it didn¡¯t matter. Get up!


    ¡°Eight¡­¡±


    She wobbled to her feet, stood up and cracked her neck. Her head spun like a merry-go-round, but she grabbed the rope and kept herself steady. She was fine. She was perfectly fine.


    ¡°Are you good?¡± the ref yelled through the crowd. His voice sounded so far away. Like she was still dreaming. ¡°Can you fight?¡±


    She nodded. Everything looked a little cloudier than before, but none of that mattered. She had to win no matter what. She had to win for Beady.


    ¡°Raise your hands.¡±


    Her hands trembled, but she still managed to pull them up. There was static in the air; her throat felt dry as a desert. Her eyes twitched just enough that she had trouble focusing on the target in front. Long Arms was there across from her, but she could barely make out his lanky features. His hands dragging along the floor was the only sign that gave him away.


    The ref moved back. Then he signaled for the match to resume. And as she was inching closer towards the center, a bell sounded the end of the first round. Long Arms sneered before walking back to his corner.


    ¡°Val! Come here quick!¡±


    Coach. She hustled back to her corner and sat down. She was completely out of breath and her legs were shaking uncontrollably.


    ¡°Are you fine, lass?¡± He took out her mouthguard and squeezed her some water, but she immediately pushed it away.


    ¡°What¡­¡± She still couldn¡¯t understand. ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°You missed.¡± Coach stared down, his voice soft as a feather. ¡°You just missed¡­¡±


    ¡°H¡­¡± She was running out of breath. Her lungs burned with each word. ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°He¡ªVal, lass¡­¡±


    Don¡¯t say it. She could feel it coming. The next words he was going to say, she could tell by the voice alone. Please, don¡¯t say it.


    ¡°Do you wanna stop here?¡±


    ¡°Fucking¡­ knew it.¡± She hated him. She hated him so much. ¡°I knew you¡¯d fucking say that.¡±


    ¡°Val¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re my coach!¡± Anger burned through her veins, eyes watered at the thought of losing. She felt like an absolute mess. She didn¡¯t know what to feel anymore. ¡°You¡¯re supposed to¡­ supposed to cheer me up!¡±


    ¡°I know, but your legs, lass¡­¡±


    She already knew. Her legs were still shaking; her head kept spinning around like crazy. She didn¡¯t even know if she could stand up again.


    ¡°¡­and your eye too.¡±


    Val knew that too. She¡¯d been trying to ignore it this whole time. Her left eye was dark. She couldn¡¯t even see a glimmer of light seeping through, and yet¡­


    ¡°We have to stop¡ª¡±


    ¡°No.¡± That was out of the question. ¡°I can keep going.¡±


    ¡°Your body¡¯s wrecked, lass! You can¡¯t even see the gears turn anymore.¡±


    ¡°I can see fine with my right!¡±


    The bell rang, signaling the start of the next round. She wasn¡¯t having any of it. She was fine. She was battle-ready. And as she pushed off her seat with new resolve, the world around her spun upside-down.


    ¡°Fuck¡­¡± She fell to her knees.


    Coach was mouthing something, but she couldn¡¯t hear a thing. The crowd behind him were dancing off their seats like a field of grass, arms swaying from side to side. And they were multiplying. Some had four hands, two lips; the seats had doubled. The scoreboard showed twenty-two instead of two until¡ª


    Darkness swallowed her whole.

 Drizzle and Showers, Downpour of Rain

    Val gasped awake, cold sweat rolling down her forehead. Her eyes darted left and right, trying to examine her surroundings. It was all too familiar, but there was something covering her left eye that made it all the more harder to work out. What the hell was it? She felt around¡ªit was soft, like fabric soft.


    Bandages? It was the first thought that came to her mind. Her head ached as if somebody had hammered her with nails. A figure was next to the bed, slumped down on the sheets next to her. A familiar figure¡­


    ¡°Coach?¡± she croaked. Her throat was so damn sore. ¡°Is that you?¡±


    ¡°Val?¡± He stirred from his slumber. ¡°Are you fine?¡±


    ¡°What¡­ happened?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright, lass. Take a rest.¡±


    ¡°Coach, what happened?¡± She could feel her heart beating a little faster. Her eyes started to water. ¡°The fight. What happened to the fight?¡±


    She clenched her teeth hard; her hands balled into tight fists. She already knew the answer. She knew the moment she had woken up. The events of the fight immediately started playing on repeat. The moment of the punch, the fall¡­


    Coach softly held her hand, tenderly rubbing her palm to the pitter-patter rhythm of the drizzling rain outside. His face was taut, pulled thin by his expression¡ªhe was as frustrated as she was.


    The steady drops of rain couldn¡¯t manage to soothe her enough. She could feel something soaking through her bandages.


    Stop it. She didn¡¯t deserve to cry. What had she done right to deserve that? She pinched herself in the arm; the pain would temporarily distract her from the moment. And instead, she focused on the storm. That torrential downpour outside¡­


    ¡°Here. Take one.¡± Coach pulled out a small pill from the drawer.


    A nutrient pill. It was replacement for food.


    ¡°And this.¡± He pulled out a few more and held them out. A bottle of water was already on the bedside table beside her. ¡°For your injuries.¡±


    Painkillers¡­ She reached over but fumbled, accidentally scattering them away. The drugs clattered to the floor. The same way she had thrown her chance away¡ªa chance of a lifetime, a chance of redemption¡­


    ¡°Ah, that¡¯s fine. I got it.¡± Coach leaned over. ¡°You¡¯ll have to get used to that.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Your eye. You¡¯re lackin¡¯ peripherals, lass.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± Her left eye was gone.


    ¡°Here.¡± The pills were gently placed in her palm this time. There was no chance of dropping them.


    She had a split second of hesitation¡ªan invasive thought to just throw them all away. What good would all these pills do anyways? It wouldn¡¯t turn back time; it wouldn¡¯t even help her feel any better. Maybe she deserved to feel all this pain¡­ But she shook the thoughts away and steadied herself, then swallowed the colorful assortment with a single gulp of water.


    ¡°It¡¯s my fault, lass. I knew we should¡¯ve waited.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Her nails bit into her palms. She wanted to scream. Loudly. She couldn¡¯t stand her pitiful state. ¡°I could¡¯ve won. If I just¡ªjust¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not your fault.¡±


    The feeling didn¡¯t ebb; she couldn¡¯t take it. She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry so much. It felt like maggots were crawling through her skull, chewing and ripping away at her. She tried to forget¡ªthe loss, the anger, Beady, everything that she had done wrong. But it kept coming back. It kept pouring back like the rain.


    ¡°I should¡¯ve trained you more for clin¡ª¡±


    She jumped out of bed. She couldn¡¯t take it anymore.


    ¡°Val?¡±


    She hobbled forward, heaving herself towards the backdoor. Her legs ached, her arms were a mess. And her left eye throbbed, ebbing and flowing like an old, unforgettable nightmare that constantly haunted her entire being.


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°Val! It¡¯s raining!¡±


    Then she stumbled out into the pouring rain and screamed¡ªa wild, visceral scream that was muted by the deafening roars of thunder. She screamed and screamed until her throat was sandpaper. She yelled as if her life depended on it. Then she fell to her knees, smashed her fists into the mud. Smashed away all her frustrations¡­ until her tears would stop falling¡­


    The dizziness returned, and she finally felt herself slipping away¡ªback into the abyss, back where she belonged.


    ¡­


    ¡°Beady¡­¡±


    Bits of glass shards littered the floor from the mercenary attack; the door was ajar, unhinged at the top. And in the corner, above all the dust and rubble, was Beady¡¯s urn resting on top of a shelf.


    Val was back at her old shack.


    She hadn¡¯t been here since she¡¯d started boxing. Several years since. It wasn¡¯t that she¡¯d forgotten. Far from it. Beady was always on her mind whether she¡¯d liked it or not, but it didn¡¯t change the fact that she¡¯d lost.


    She couldn¡¯t take him back. How could she? How could she take him away when she had nothing to offer in return? Maybe she deserved it¡ªshe deserved to lose. Being Champion was just an excuse. Would that ever equate to showing Beady the world? Would that ever bring back the dead?


    It was her fault. All her fault from beginning to end. She couldn¡¯t win, she couldn¡¯t save Beady, she couldn¡¯t even do one thing in her life right. If only she had another chance. If only she could turn back time, save Beady, and have that dreamy future where everything had gone right¡­


    But she knew that wasn¡¯t possible.


    Now wasn¡¯t the time to take Beady¡¯s urn. Not until she felt like she had done enough, experienced enough, and suffered enough. She had to take responsibility for her actions; she had to repent for her mistakes. And for that to happen, she needed to keep going. She couldn¡¯t stop just yet.


    The small shack would always be there; it was paid in full under her name. As long as no stragglers went about rummaging through her belongings, the urn was safe within the dilapidated, but enclosed abode of hers. With her dwindling funds, she¡¯d fix the door, board up the windows. She¡¯d make the place look like an uninteresting garbage dump¡ªa dilapidated hovel of a place. Nobody would pay it any mind. And once she¡¯d finally paid the price, she¡¯d be back.


    Later.


    ¡­


    Coach pulled an arm off the wall and cleaned out the accumulated dust. It was a detailed, intricately designed steampunk-styled cybernetic from his past. He had told Val that it had eventually gone out of style over time. People wanted more efficiency, not aesthetics. At the moment, it had been decorating the room like a modern art piece from one of those fancy museums across the city.


    Since he was a punksmith and a former black market arms dealer, he had a hobby of collecting and refurbishing artificial body parts that he¡¯d picked up from the junkyard nearby. Said something along the lines of having wanted to make a cybernetic framework for himself when he was young, replacing body parts for a taller and more robust physique to accomplish his dreams of competing in the ring.


    That never happened.


    Instead, he started collecting as a hobby and ended up twiddling with used, mechanical components. Apparently, fixing and handling the parts that he had dreamed of using for himself actually relieved some of that pent-up stress he had accumulated over the decades¡­


    Coach groaned as he pulled another artistic display arm off the wall. Then he packed it tightly into his duffel bag. He took a third¡ªa leg this time¡ªand placed it firmly inside too.


    ¡°Coach?¡± Why was he packing everything up? The nervousness in her voice didn¡¯t leave her; it crept up into her throat. ¡°W-what are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Here.¡± He walked over to the bed and handed over a keycard. It was the key to the gym. ¡°I¡¯ll be gone for a bit¡ª¡±


    ¡°What? No, no, no!¡± She pushed the card back into his hand. ¡°What the fuck are you saying? You-you can¡¯t leave!¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t leave!¡± She grabbed him by the shoulder.


    ¡°Lass, I have to go. I already¡ª¡±


    ¡°Why now?!¡± Was she not good enough to fulfill his promise? Did he not believe in her anymore? ¡°I-I¡¯ll win next time! I promise¡ª¡±


    ¡°Val!¡± He dropped the bag on the floor. The components clinked and clanked in disharmony. ¡°I¡¯m not goin¡¯ anywhere. I¡¯m just visitin¡¯ Greg to sell some stuff.¡±


    ¡°Gambit Greg?¡± That trash collector? ¡°What? You¡¯re not¡­ leaving for good?¡±


    ¡°No? What made you think that?¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­¡± Her grip on him loosened. ¡°Oh, I thought¡ªwait, but isn¡¯t that important?¡±


    ¡°This junk?¡± He held up the bag full of cybernetics. ¡°It ain¡¯t much except decorations. What else would we use it for?¡±


    ¡°But, I thought¡­¡± She didn¡¯t understand. Why so suddenly? She¡¯d thought those cybernetics were extremely valuable to Coach. ¡°Didn¡¯t you say you wouldn¡¯t throw any of them away?¡±


    ¡°Ya want that eye fixed or not?¡±


    ¡°My eye?¡± She felt around her bandages, reminded again of her loss. She batted the thought away. ¡°You¡¯re not going to make enough for this.¡±


    ¡°Hah!¡± Coach bellowed. ¡°Ain¡¯t for the eye.¡±


    ¡°But you just said¡ª¡±


    He slowly made his way towards the backdoor, duffel bag in hand. ¡°They¡¯re for buyin¡¯ SHAMs.¡±


    ¡°Shams¡­?¡±


    ¡°Simulation Helmet with Archived Memory.¡± He grunted at the mention of the full name. ¡°It¡¯s just some fancy term for the gear used to log into Simular.¡±


    ¡°Simular?¡± She¡¯d heard about it before. Some sort of high-tech simulation that had been popular all the way back when she¡¯d left her parents. ¡°Isn¡¯t that some video game shit? Why¡¯re you selling that¡±¡ªshe pointed at the bag¡ª¡°for that?¡±


    ¡°Hah! Trust me.¡± He pulled open the door to the back. The humid, afternoon breeze rushed in like a tidal wave. ¡°You¡¯ll see. I¡¯ve got a plan of a lifetime!¡±

 Welcome to Simular

    Simular Incorporated.


    It was the current highest net worth company in both the legal and illegal marketplace. It was a company that defied the odds and succeeded where others had failed. A company that managed to further an abandoned idea to fruition while their competitors pursued the much more tangible fruits of cybernetics and biotechnology.


    Simular Incorporated created Simular.


    It was a creation of wonder¡ªa life simulation advertised as an entertaining second chance to live as your ideal self, just with a little more spice. It also rocketed to the top of the list for most necessary technological inventions of the century as it was used for medicinal testing, military practices, imprisonment, engineering simulations, even gaming. It was used for everything¡ªeverything was done in Simular. Because in Simular, there were no consequences.


    Even those who could barely afford a proper meal would spend days worth of income just to taste simulated culinary delicacies. And those few days worth of income would last them weeks in the simulation. Because there, time moved faster¡ªjust like a dream. There, you could experience the world in near perfect replications.


    All of reality was replicated.


    But when users first entered Simular, they had to be given new bodies¡ªtheir avatars. And their avatars were based entirely on their genetic code with options to keep or remove cybernetic implants they¡¯ve accumulated over the years. Some chose to remove all cybernetics, wanting to start fresh; it was an insightful look into how they would¡¯ve looked without all the technological interventions.


    These were the measures the developers took to truly establish a fresh start¡ªa new potential life for users without any of the regrets from their previous lives. Of course, the real reason was much more contemptible. It was to gain more profit by selling simulated products within Simular itself. Over time, users would always end up buying back cyber-ups; it didn¡¯t take long for them to miss what they¡¯ve had before. But the reality of being able to remove cyber-ups, even broken ones, meant one thing for Val¡ª


    She could see again.


    With the broken Razen on the left reverted back to its original, biological form, both eyes were now functional. For the time being, she could see like she could before, just with one less Razen. She wouldn¡¯t suffer from any depth perception or blind spots, and this outcome alone opened up a few more avenues for earning the bills.


    Most authorized earnings through Simular were made from the Simulon Games. This was a collection of virtual games that had recurring tournaments with significant prize pools. Unfortunately, the money was given in simuls¡ªSimular¡¯s personal currency. To transfer the funds back into the real world, it had to go through taxation and a negative exchange rate, but Coach had told her he had a plan¡­


    ¡°So what¡¯s the plan?¡± Val peered across the empty space that was supposed to have been Simular. It didn¡¯t seem much like a city, much less a town. It was just a gray area with dotted lines all around like some sort of blank grid. But she didn¡¯t really care too much. She was more preoccupied by the fact that she could see in three dimensions again.


    ¡°What plan?¡± Coach mumbled.


    ¡°I thought you had one.¡±


    ¡°For what, lass?¡± He sounded a little irritated.


    ¡°For money, obviously!¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± He paused as if he had just realized. ¡°Well, let¡¯s get through the tutorial first.¡±


    ¡°Tutorial? Who the hell needs a tutorial for this? You¡¯re literally just walking around.¡±


    A figure dressed in a simple, gray dress interrupted their conversation. ¡°Hi! Welcome to Simular! My name is Genny and I¡¯d like to introduce you to¡­¡± She droned on, but Val immediately stopped listening.


    ¡°So do all the NPCs sound like that?¡± Val whispered. ¡°I thought they were supposed to sound more, like, natural. Like not so overly enthusiastic.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure myself, lass. Heard the devs didn¡¯t spend much time on ¡®em because it was a waste of funds.¡±


    ¡°Wow. With all that money, still a bunch of greedy assholes.¡±


    She looked around with a little more enthusiasm this time. It was still all just gray. Like the insides of an old charcoal painting just without any of the details. There was no end or beginning in sight. No doors or windows. She just hoped the entire simulation wasn¡¯t going to be like this; it was far from what she had seen on the public ad spaces.


    The gray-dressed figure finally stopped her lecture. Her unheard monologues still echoed across the endless corridor. And as silence was about to follow, she boomed with a grandiosity that wasn¡¯t present in her speech before¡ª


    ¡°Welcome to Virgin Thermopylae! The city of a trillion suns¡­¡± She gracefully gestured them towards a source of light. It got brighter and brighter by the second.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Coach went in first. Then soon after, Val hesitantly followed. And what she saw on the other side¡­


    ¡°What the hell? Really?¡±


    The airspace above her was filled with a chaotic mess of visual stimuli. 2-byte siren bands aggressively blasted their music on giant, hovering islands; large, holographic billboards presented their latest gadgets like scenes from an action film; and hyperpods zipped past her eyes faster than she could ever perceive. And while floating, animated brand deals dotted the pearlescent, diamond skies above, hordes of strangers flocked through the concrete jungle streets of the massive, fantasy city that was revealed before her eyes.


    This was more than an imitation of reality. A blast of fantasy and sci-fi emulsified together¡ªit was a vibrant concoction of futuristic beauty. This was more than what was advertised as ¡°a little more spice.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯re you gawkin¡¯ at?¡± Coach moved ahead, swiftly weaving through the crowd. ¡°Let¡¯s get moving.¡±


    ¡°This is just¡­ Wow.¡± She couldn¡¯t keep her eyes away from all the visual stimuli. ¡°It¡¯s just so¡­ What the hell, man.¡±


    ¡°Move it, shithead!¡± A random stranger pushed past her to get to the nearest virtual convenience store. They hurried in and disappeared without a trace.


    ¡°Wow,¡± Val muttered under her breath. ¡°Just like real life. So immersive.¡±


    ¡°Enough dilly-dallying.¡± Coach pulled her into a tight corner of the street and handed her a small, handheld device. It looked like a key fob. ¡°C¡¯mon. We don¡¯t got all day.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s this supposed to be?¡± She juggled the small device in her hand. It jingled with each throw.


    ¡°A teleporter.¡±


    ¡°Teleporter?! Like in one of those sci-fi movies? Am I going to just¡±¡ªshe motioned erratically with her hands¡ª¡°disappear?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Simular. What did ya expect?¡±


    ¡°I actually kinda expected it to be less realistic.¡± It was just a key fob. She expected some kind of thought-related teleportation¡ªimagining that she was somewhere else, and the system would magically decipher her brain waves. ¡°Can¡¯t we teleport without these things? Like through our minds or something?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s for premium players.¡±


    ¡°Great.¡± Of course it was locked behind a paywall like every other product in existence. ¡°Where are we going then?¡±


    ¡°The Coach Lounge.¡± He held up the teleporter fob. ¡°Press the button. I configured it to send us there.¡±


    ¡°When did you do that? I thought you bought the headgear today?¡±


    ¡°You slept until noon, lass.¡±


    ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°So that was enough time for me to log in, set up base, and sightsee.¡± He nodded towards her. ¡°That good enough for ya?¡±


    She gave him a long stare. Was she being scolded? Again?


    He chuckled, giving her a satisfied grin. ¡°Don¡¯t take it so hard. We¡¯ll talk more there.¡± Then he pressed the button and vanished.


    ¡°Wow. Asshole.¡± Coach was always good at leaving discussions. No, he was just good at cutting her off. She¡¯d pay him back someday. ¡°Okay. Here goes¡­¡±


    She took a deep breath and pressed the button. And before she could even blink, she was there¡ªa minimalist shack with a nice, cozy view of a tropical beach.


    ¡°Ugh, fuck¡­¡± Dizziness came over her, but she managed to catch herself. It felt like she¡¯d just stepped off a roller coaster¡ªupturned stomach, blurred vision. It was immediate. She could taste something sour in her mouth¡ªprobably vomit.


    Coach was already waiting inside, rummaging through some worn-out, cardboard containers. A glimpse around the place was enough for Val to form her opinion of the place.


    ¡°Where the hell is this?¡± she asked. ¡°A deserted island? There¡¯s like nothing here.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s my dream home. Stop judgin¡¯ the place and help me find¡ª¡± He leaned into a box and pulled out a motorcycle jacket and a pair of dark, tinted sunglasses. ¡°Ah. Here we go.¡± He handed her the glasses. ¡°Wear it.¡±


    ¡°What? Why?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a disguise.¡±


    ¡°Disguise? It¡¯s just sunglasses¡­ Wait, is this like one of those cool gadgets that change how you look¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, do you think I¡¯m made out of money?¡±


    ¡°What? Then what¡¯s the point?! It¡¯s not gonna hide jack shit.¡±


    ¡°Boxing ain¡¯t as popular as you think.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± The way he so nonchalantly mentioned that¡­ ¡°What do you mean? It¡¯s so popular!¡±


    ¡°Stop whinin¡¯ and put on the glasses.¡±


    ¡°Fine!¡± How could he insult the sport like that? She¡¯d wear the glasses, but she vowed to never forget the things he¡¯d just said. Just you wait¡­She¡¯d pay him back someday, but for now, she had other worries. ¡°So what¡¯s the plan?¡±


    ¡°Plan? To make lots of money!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s it? That¡¯s your plan?¡±


    ¡°Well, I found a few games that would best suit ya. There¡¯s Roscoerama and¡­¡± His eyes briefly wandered towards the sky. ¡°Ah, right. Blackjack International.¡±


    ¡°Blackjack?! You want me to play blackjack? I don¡¯t even know the rules!¡±


    ¡°Ah, you¡¯ll be fine.¡± He casually waved her worries away. ¡°It ain¡¯t too hard.¡±


    ¡°Why is blackjack even taking place in here? It¡¯s just a card game. Can¡¯t you play that outside in the real world?¡±


    ¡°Well, I think it¡¯s probably cheaper for players to meet here than rely on public transportation. Ah, I don¡¯t honestly know. Is it that important? You still have one of your Razens, don¡¯t ya? That¡¯s all that matters.¡±


    ¡°Okay, sure. Whatever.¡± She rolled her eyes. ¡°When¡¯s it all happening? I need time to practice.¡±


    ¡°Ah, right. ¡®Course.¡± Coach gave an ominously wry grin. ¡°Both take place on the same day. Isn¡¯t that great, lass? No need to be waitin¡¯ around.¡±


    ¡°Okay¡­?¡± She didn¡¯t like when he grinned like that. ¡°And when is that?¡±


    ¡°Tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°Tomorrow?!¡±

 You’re a Gamer Now

    According to Coach, Roscoerama was a new shooter game that was only recently placed into the Simulon Games roster. And to combat the slow and lackluster growth of the playerbase, the heads of Simular Inc. had advertised a tournament with an immense prize pool.


    But that wasn¡¯t all.


    They had also promised a VIP tour of their Simular headquarters given by none other than the current CEO, Azan Auric.


    Val didn¡¯t care about the tour. There was no point in winning something that didn¡¯t have any real value to her.


    The game itself didn¡¯t sound all that hard. Not like blackjack. Coach had told her that blackjack was easy, but she had gotten into the habit of never trusting any of his words that mentioned something along the lines of being easy. None of what Coach said was easy were actually easy. Sometimes, she wondered if Coach was actually illiterate and that he had somehow mixed up the definitions between the words, easy and hard. That was clearly the only explanation possible. Whatever the case was, Roscoerama sounded easy. And that was in her own definition. Not Coach¡¯s.


    The game was a free-for-all. Basically an old-fashioned, glorified battle royale. At least, that¡¯s what Coach had said. Val didn¡¯t understand all that gamer jargon, but she knew that all she had to do was shoot and survive until she was the last person standing on the battlefield. The concept wasn¡¯t all that difficult, but there was a problem. One single problem¡­


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how to shoot.¡±


    Coach shook his head, letting out a visible sigh of disappointment. She could tell that much.


    ¡°What? I was a thief. Not a bounty hunter.¡±


    ¡°Watch.¡± He affixed a makeshift, red and white painted cardboard target onto a fence post next to his beach hut. Then he walked back and picked up a toy gun. While adjusting his aim, all Val could hear was the smacking of his lips as Coach chewed on some beef jerky.


    ¡°Will you stop that¡ª¡±


    ¡°Shush. I¡¯m concentrating.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s like ten feet away. If you¡¯re so good, why do you need to concentrate so much?¡±


    He didn¡¯t answer. Instead, he pulled the trigger. A stream of water sprayed the center, muddling the fresh paint on the surface.


    ¡°See? Easy.¡± He took another bite out of his snack.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t tell me jack shit, Coach.¡±


    He sighed again. ¡°Whaddaya got your Razen for, eh? Here.¡± He tossed the gun over to her. ¡°Try it. Shoot the target.¡±


    She¡¯d preferred to learn things slow and steady¡ªfrom the ground up. Rushing never worked when she¡¯d been a thief¡­ but over time, her experiences as a boxer seemed to have overridden that aspect of her personality.


    As she held the gun up, her right eye suddenly triggered and automatically highlighted the potential trajectory of the water stream, even the position in which it would start to fall. It was almost as if the Razen already knew she was holding a gun in her hand. Specifically a water gun. It felt so natural to her¡­


    ¡°You gonna shoot or what?¡±


    She pulled the trigger. The water followed the projected trajectory with precision. The shot landed perfectly in the middle of the target. She didn¡¯t even know Razens were capable of this feature.


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    ¡°And would ya look at that? Easy.¡± He finished his jerky and got to work on another pack. This time, it was an extinct species¡ªarmadillo. It seemed like any animal could be turned into jerky inside the simulation.


    ¡°Hmph.¡± Sometimes, she couldn¡¯t help but acknowledge Coach¡¯s know-it-all attitude. ¡°Anything else I should know?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a survival game. Just survive.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re real helpful.¡±


    ¡°I am, aren¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean it.¡±


    ¡°I know you didn¡¯t mean it. I¡¯m no idiot.¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you participate too? You know more about shooting than me.¡±


    ¡°You think I can outrun anyone with these legs?¡± He chuckled. ¡°C¡¯mon. We¡¯re not done yet.¡±


    She knew that was an excuse. Coach was just being lazy as always, putting all the hard work on her. He could¡¯ve just bought a slideboard. It wasn¡¯t that expensive, and small gadgets were allowed in the rules. But he continued on with explaining the rules for blackjack. Since the events were back to back, she couldn¡¯t afford to interject.


    It was now or never.


    ¡­


    Apparently, the blackjack tournament was different from the norm. Coach said that every participant was separately and simultaneously going to compete against the same dealer with the same set and order of cards. And after five rounds, the players were going to be ranked in order of most points to least. Then the prize money was going to be split proportionally to the rank that they had gotten.


    He explained that all players started with only a hundred points. They could also end up in the negatives if they bet too many points. That was to ensure a small reduction in potential ties amongst the players. Of course, they still couldn¡¯t bet more than double of what they currently had.


    Coach then went on to describe the rules of blackjack. It sounded pretty simple at first. Just get as close to twenty-one as possible without going over or force the dealer to lose¡­


    ¡°That¡¯s called a bust, lass.¡±


    ¡°What is?¡±


    ¡°Going over twenty-one.¡±


    ¡°Did I really need to know that, Coach? We¡¯re time constrained!¡±


    ¡°Ah, right. I shouldn¡¯t say too much.¡± He pulled up a picture of a blackjack table. ¡°Just remember to hit and stand. Those two words are the most important.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah. You already told me that.¡± She motioned for him to hurry. ¡°Anything else? We¡¯ve only got an hour.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t rush me. I¡¯ll get to everything, I promise.¡±


    ¡°I just don¡¯t get why you left me alone at your little shack yesterday when you could¡¯ve taken that time to teach me. I mean, not even a tour of the city? That¡¯s not proper host etiquette.¡±


    He smacked her over the head with a familiar looking stick.


    ¡°Ow! What the fuck?¡± She scurried behind a table, only poking her head out to see where he was. ¡°Where did you get that? It even looks the same!¡±


    ¡°You know how hard it was to get you into the tourneys, lass? Especially blackjack? There¡¯s limited space! I had to call one of my old friends to make it happen.¡± He menacingly aimed the wooden weapon at her barely visible forehead. ¡°And it wasn¡¯t cheap, so you better darn place high or this¡¯ll all be for nothing.¡±


    ¡°Okay, I get it. Just don¡¯t hit me with that.¡±


    ¡°C¡¯mon.¡± He gestured for her to come closer. ¡°We¡¯ve got more learning to do.¡±


    She inched a little closer.


    ¡°I¡¯ll hit you again if you don¡¯t hurry it up.¡±


    ¡°Geez, chill.¡± She moved just close enough to be able to book it if he ever swung towards her direction. ¡°So violent.¡±


    Coach went on to explain more terms and concepts. Something about doubling down, splitting, and insurance. But he told her to forget about the insurance. Said it wasn¡¯t important to a beginner like her¡ªshe didn¡¯t understand why he¡¯d even mentioned it in the first place¡ªand after an hour of intense memorization, she knew¡­


    She was probably screwed.

 Stupid Camper!

    Roscoerama was too easy. Way too easy. It was like shooting fish in a barrel¡ªalmost as if the entire tournament was made specifically for somebody with a high-caliber eye augment.


    The moment Val entered the arena, she was coincidentally dropped right smack in the center where she happened to find a high-spec sniper rifle. The gun was just lying on the ground in the middle of an abandoned construction site like an out of place ugly duckling. And if that wasn¡¯t lucky enough, as she was trying to find a good vantage point, she found a launch pad that placed her atop the single highest location of the game map¡ªa floating island platform where she could see all the way to the furthest corners of the battleground.


    Now, all she had to do was snipe.


    Immediately, she broke the attached scope off the rifle. It was getting in the way of her Razen. Then, with nothing but a sniper and her Razen, she started blasting. Her cyber-enhanced eye could zoom in onto targets miles away, and even if it didn¡¯t, the auto trajectory software would kick in and show her exactly where to shoot from what angle.


    Within minutes, it was over. Every player who had entered the tournament was shot straight through the head with a hundred percent accuracy. Her Razen even took into consideration the effects of external interferences such as gravity and wind. There was no way she could miss unless players started moving erratically, but they never had the chance to move because it was always one shot, one kill. What was supposed to have lasted for an average time of an hour had ended in less than ten minutes.


    Val had won by a long shot.


    ¡­


    The rest of the tournament was spent on the awards ceremony. There were a number of skeptics in the crowd who doubted the legitimacy of Val¡¯s performance, but none could prove that she had cheated in any way. After all, cyber-ups were allowed in the rules.


    She had been handed a physical trophy¡ªwhich was still simulated¡ªfor her win during the ceremony but not any of the promised prize money. When she had asked the event coordinators, they answered that the actual prize was apparently going to be mailed to her instead; this ceremony was just for publicity.


    Following the ceremony, a brief interview took place, but Coach started waving his hands from the back. He seemed desperate for her attention, so she quickly excused herself from the entire situation. It was annoying dealing with so many people all at once anyways. The paparazzi and crowd swarmed around, but with nimble steps, she vaulted across the stage and dashed out before anyone could see where she¡¯d disappeared to.


    ¡°C¡¯mon, lass!¡± Coach caught up beside her. ¡°What¡¯re you doing giving out a speech? We¡¯re going to be late!¡±


    ¡°For blackjack?¡± Val started jogging alongside him. For someone who had made an excuse of having short legs, he sure was fast.


    ¡°No, I made a dinner reservation¡ªyes, blackjack!¡± Coach wiped off some excess sweat from his forehead. ¡°You think we¡¯re running late for grub?¡±


    ¡°How much time?¡±


    ¡°Five¡±¡ªhe huffed¡ª¡°minutes.¡±


    ¡°Five minutes?! I thought we had more time!¡±


    ¡°I never thought you¡¯d¡±¡ªhe puffed¡ª¡°win the entire tourney, lass! If it wasn¡¯t for the speech, we wouldn¡¯t be running around like this.¡±


    ¡°Wait, did you expect me to lose?¡±


    ¡°That way.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± In the distance was a park. Quite scenic from a distance. ¡°Are you seriously trying to enjoy nature right now?¡± On second thought, it wasn¡¯t really scenic at all. The park was decorated with a number of fake trees¡ªthe ones you¡¯d see only at the cheapest convenience stores. But why was it fake? Couldn¡¯t they simulate real trees? It wasn¡¯t like it was going to cost the devs real money.


    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    ¡°Trust me. It¡¯s a shortcut.¡± Coach started to slow down. ¡°We should get there with time to spare.¡±


    ¡°What happened to teleporting? Is that not¡­¡± An image of a roller coaster passed through her mind. With it, an instinctive urge to vomit. ¡°Nevermind. Let¡¯s just run.¡±


    ¡°If ya gotta know, that only works for specific locations and VIP passes.¡±


    ¡°They really focused on that pay-to-win aspect, didn¡¯t they?¡± The inconvenience¡ªall this running wasn¡¯t going to make her any stronger in the real world. This was just a waste of time. Technically though, she definitely didn¡¯t mind.


    ¡°This is it, Val,¡± Coach interrupted. ¡°This is your thing.¡±


    ¡°It is? How?¡±


    ¡°Ah, don¡¯t tell me you still don¡¯t get it.¡± He pulled out a playing card and held it up for her to see. The symbols were faced the other way. ¡°What number is it?¡±


    ¡°Number? That¡¯s an ace.¡± Her Razen activated on instinct. She could see behind the card with her x-ray vision. But what did that have to do with¡­ ¡°Wait, are you telling me to cheat?¡±


    ¡°Finally! You get it now?¡±


    ¡°What? I don¡¯t want to cheat!¡±


    ¡°For god¡¯s sake. When did thieves care about cheating?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a thief. I¡¯m a boxer.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re also not a professional blackjack player. We¡¯re trying to make money to get you back into boxing, ¡®member? There¡¯s no time to be choosy.¡±


    A long sigh mixed in with the huffs and puffs of her breath. It felt wrong, but Coach wasn¡¯t wrong. She couldn¡¯t afford to be picky. Beady was waiting for her. She had promised him she¡¯d be back.


    ¡°Over there!¡± Coach yelled. ¡°The one with the black roof!¡± He started to run a little faster.


    The building Coach had referred to came into sight. It was slightly reminiscent of an old castle. It had medieval features like those regularly spaced square roofs and cone-shaped towers. The bricks of the walls stacked up like colorless toy blocks.


    Aesthetically, she thought it was unique. And when they got to the front entrance, that thought became more apparent.


    The gates were open, but she couldn¡¯t see anything inside. It was pitch black. There were no lights, no shadows. Not even a floor. She leaned in a little closer to check if her eyes were deceiving her, but nothing changed. It was as dark as ink.


    ¡°Alright, lass. In you go!¡± Coach pushed her in. She stumbled forward; her feet surprisingly felt solid ground.


    ¡°W-what? Coach?¡± She turned around, but the entrance was already gone. Coach was nowhere to be seen.


    She couldn¡¯t even see her fingers. Which way was left? Which was right? Arms shyly flailing around, she tried to feel for the wall. Anything for her to hold, to ground her back to her current reality.


    But there was nothing.


    ¡°Hello?¡± she called out. ¡°Someone? Anyone?¡± Why had Coach even pushed her in like that? When she got out, she was going to talk some sense into that man.


    A ball of light suddenly flickered on. It floated in the air, rocking side to side like a falling feather. Illuminated underneath it was a table¡ªa blackjack table. And behind the table was a man dressed in a fancy tuxedo vest and bow tie. A golden flower pattern was intricately woven into the fabric.


    ¡°Please,¡± he called to her. ¡°Sit down.¡± He elegantly motioned her towards the chair placed in front.


    ¡°Is¡­ this the tournament?¡± she asked.


    The man nodded.


    ¡°Are you the main guy? Like the tournament¡ªuh, what do you call it?¡±


    He smiled. ¡°I am but a simple dealer.¡± He pulled out a deck of cards and flung them into the air.


    She jumped into boxing stance, expecting to be hit by a flurry of kings and queens¡­ But nothing came. Instead, she was met with an unexpected sight¡ªfloating cards decorating the dark, lonely night. They hung in the empty space, sparkling, almost crystallizing, into bright, vibrant stars. Like none she had ever seen.


    Worried they¡¯d fall from the sky they were perched upon, she held her breath almost in anticipation. But the cards remained, continuing to swirl softly in place, strangely reminiscent of a lullaby. She could fall asleep just watching them hovering so freely in the air¡­


    A finger snapped her awake.


    And as if time had reversed, the cards raced back into the man¡¯s hands. They stacked up in perfect harmony, and once he had fanned out the deck in front of her eyes, he called out with an alluring smile¡ª


    ¡°The tournament shall now commence.¡±

 To Man the Decks of Luck and Fate

    Val could see it. She could see the back of the cards as clear as day. But only the first layer. She couldn¡¯t see beyond that. It was just enough to avoid any kind of losses. At least, that¡¯s what she hoped.


    The blackjack tourney began. And all the cards were placed inside a plastic container, ready to be deployed. The dealer placed his hand on the first card¡ªa three.


    ¡°You have a hundred points to start,¡± he said. ¡°How much would you like to bet for round one?¡±


    How much should she bet¡­ Fifty¡¯s a good number, right? It felt like a good, casual number to test the waters with.


    ¡°Fifty.¡±


    ¡°Accepted.¡± He dealt four cards. Two for Val and the rest for himself.


    He had a king and another card that wouldn¡¯t normally be visible, but with her Razen, she noticed that it was a seven. Her own hand was much worse¡ªa three and a four. She needed quite a bit more to get to twenty-one. And the dealer already had seventeen.


    ¡°What would you like to do?¡± he asked.


    She looked at the next card in the deck¡ªa five. ¡°Sure. Hit me.¡±


    The dealer placed the five next to her hand. Now, she had a total count of twelve. The next card was an ace¡ªan eleven or a one. She wouldn¡¯t be able to use it as an eleven because it would go over twenty-one; it would have to be counted as a one.


    ¡°Hit me,¡± she called out again.


    The dealer placed the ace into her pile. Next was a jack. That would put her above twenty-one.


    She couldn¡¯t take it.


    Wait¡­ She looked over at the dealer¡¯s hand. Then back to hers. The dealer already had seventeen. She had thirteen now. If she did stand, he¡¯d win by default because he had a higher count. Did she already lose her first round?


    ¡°Would you like to hit again?¡±


    ¡°I, uh¡­¡± She couldn¡¯t win this. She couldn¡¯t take the jack. Was there something else she was missing? Maybe a rule that she had forgotten about? She searched through her memories but came up with nothing.


    ¡°Would you like to hit again?¡± he repeated.


    ¡°No¡­¡± Fifty points just down the drain. Coach was going to be so mad.


    The dealer flipped his seven over. ¡°Ah. Unfortunately, you¡¯ve lost. Your total remaining points are fifty.¡± He cleared the table. ¡°What would you like to bet for this next round?¡±


    ¡°Uh, t-ten!¡± Shit, was that too low?


    The dealer dealt the next set of cards¡ªa ten and a six for the dealer, an ace and a three for her. The next card in the deck was a jack.


    She needed to take the jack. Otherwise, she¡¯d have fourteen which wasn¡¯t enough to beat the dealer¡¯s sixteen.


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    ¡°Hit.¡±


    He placed the card in front of her. The next card was an eight.


    An eight?! That would place her above twenty-one. But the dealer was¡­ Wait, the dealer was at sixteen. She remembered Coach telling her that the dealer had to pull no matter what if they had a lower count than seventeen.


    ¡°Stand,¡± she called out.


    The dealer flipped over his card. ¡°Ah, sixteen.¡± He took the next card from the deck¡ªthe eight. And then he flipped it over. ¡°Oh, a bust. You¡¯ve won. You have sixty remaining points. What would you like to bet next?¡±


    ¡°Ten.¡± She was going to take it slow.


    The next set of cards came in¡ªace and a nine for the dealer. A four and an eight for her. The next card in line? A two.


    ¡°Hit.¡±


    The dealer placed the two in her hand. Fourteen. It was still shy of a win.


    ¡°Hit.¡±


    The dealer placed the next card into her hand¡ªa three. She now had seventeen. The dealer had twenty and the next card was a king.


    Val couldn¡¯t help but sigh. Did she lose again? Did she go too fast? She looked over at the dealer¡¯s hand. If she hadn¡¯t taken the two or three¡­ She would¡¯ve still lost. The dealer had a twenty. He didn¡¯t need to draw more unless she had a better hand. And to have a better hand than a twenty, she¡¯d need a blackjack¡ªtwenty-one. Was this rigged from the start?


    ¡°Fine, stand.¡±


    The dealer flipped over his card. ¡°Unfortunately, you¡¯ve lost. Your total remaining points are fifty. What would you like to bet next?¡±


    Fifty. Back to square one. ¡°You know what?¡± This was going terribly. It was time to spice things up. ¡°I¡¯ll bet twenty-five.¡±


    The next round began. A queen and a jack for Mr. Lucky Dealer over there. She got double nines.


    Doubles? She could split them. It was highly unlikely for her to get twenty-one. Splitting was probably the better choice.


    ¡°Split,¡± she called out.


    The dealer spread the two cards apart and placed two new cards together with the nines. He motioned towards the first set¡ªa nine and a ten. ¡°Would you like to hit?¡± The next card was a one.


    ¡°Yes.¡± She was tied with the dealer now. The next card was a five which would put her over.


    ¡°Would you like to hit?¡±


    ¡°No, stand.¡±


    He moved onto the next set¡ªa nine and an ace with a five still coming up next in the deck. ¡°Would you like to hit?¡± he asked again.


    ¡°Yes.¡± She was going to take the risk. She¡¯d use the ace as a one. The next card was a six. That resulted in blackjack! ¡°Hi¡ª¡± Wait, she could double down on this.


    ¡°Could you repeat that?¡±


    ¡°Actually, I want to double down.¡±


    The dealer nodded and pulled out the next card. ¡°Ah, blackjack.¡± He flipped his card over. ¡°You won this set. As for the previous one, that will result in a push. You have a total of a hundred and twenty-five points for the final round. What would you like to bet?¡±


    Final round already? From the original hundred, she had only made twenty-five more points. Surely, she needed more to win this competition. All or nothing? The thought crossed her mind.


    ¡°What would you like to bet?¡±


    ¡°Okay, whatever. All in!¡± Val slammed her fists on the table, fire brimming from her eyes. She was going to win this no matter what. It was all or nothing, baby!


    The dealer nodded. He set down the final cards. He had a six and a nine while she got a queen and a one. And the next card was a ten¡ªblackjack.


    She couldn¡¯t help but grin.


    ¡°Double down!¡± she called out.


    The dealer nodded and placed the ten into her hand. ¡°Ah, blackjack.¡± He turned his card over. ¡°You¡¯ve won the final round with a total of five hundred points. Congratulations.¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± She pumped her arms in the air. Five hundred points! That should be worth some money. ¡°What place did I get?¡±


    ¡°167th.¡±


    ¡°WHAT? HOW?!¡±

 The Glorious, Almighty Bucket

    ¡°167th?¡± Coach chuckled. He chugged down a can of beer. They were back at his place, resting on makeshift, bamboo beach chairs just outside his hut. ¡°Just enough to pay off the entry fee.¡±


    ¡°Ugh¡­¡± Val leaned back. Her legs rested up on the edge of the table. ¡°Now what?¡± The beach view wasn¡¯t all that bad during stressful times like these. ¡°What was the point of blackjack? If I didn¡¯t win Roscoerama, we¡¯d be in the negatives.¡±


    ¡°Well, I thought you¡¯d surely win. Especially with that eye.¡± He pulled out another can. ¡°Guess you¡¯re more brawn than brain.¡±


    ¡°What? You¡¯re the one who taught me! I¡¯m¡ªI¡¯m smart.¡±


    ¡°Sure ya are.¡±


    ¡°I am!¡± she insisted. ¡°You see me fighting all the time! You know I don¡¯t just punch without thinking.¡±


    Coach didn¡¯t say a word.


    ¡°Say something!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just glad I ain¡¯t teaching you to get into college, lass.¡±


    This old man! She viciously guzzled down some fruit punch. The sweetness helped calm her down.


    ¡°Here.¡± Coach threw over an envelope.


    ¡°What is this? The 2000s?¡± She held up the paper with the tips of her fingers as if it were some kind of contaminant. ¡°What¡¯s with the old-fashioned envelope?¡±


    ¡°And this.¡± He flicked over a gold coin.


    ¡°Huh?¡± She barely caught it between her fingers. ¡°And what¡¯s this supposed to be?¡±


    ¡°A million simuls.¡±


    ¡°What?! From where?¡±


    ¡°Open it.¡± He directed her attention back to the envelope.


    She ripped it open and pulled out a letter. Then she started reading¡­ ¡°We cordially invite you to join us at the developers¡¯ headquarters. Enclosed is a million simuls for Roscoe¡ªWait. This is for the meetup with the CEO, isn¡¯t it? Can¡¯t I just ignore this? I mean, we already got the money.¡±


    ¡°You did win, lass. Might as well go. Could be a new experience.¡± He pulled out a stick of beef jerky and started chewing. ¡°Maybe you can cheat him out of some bucks.¡±


    ¡°You know I¡¯m done with that life.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m not saying to return to that, Val. But sometimes, opportunities present themselves. Better do good not to miss ¡®em.¡±


    Opportunities? Was this really an opportunity? It felt more like a hassle. Maybe even a waste of time. She turned to Coach. ¡°Are you coming with?¡±


    ¡°No. I¡¯ll have to stay here and find more tourneys for you to win.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t we just win a mil?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s only worth ten thousand when you convert it.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± That amount couldn¡¯t even get half decent eyes on the market. Maybe just barely enough to get basic replacements. With this kind of money, she could probably buy Coach some new furniture though. A thought crossed her mind¡ª


    Do I really deserve this?


    Coach was doing so much for her. It didn¡¯t seem fair. She had lost the match and her eye, but why was he the one to pay for all her mistakes? Maybe she should just stop. Just end it all¡­


    ¡°Coach?¡± she called out.


    ¡°Hmm?¡±


    ¡°Should I¡­ keep boxing?¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± Beer spat out of his mouth. ¡°What are ya on about now?!¡±


    ¡°I just¡­ don¡¯t see the point anymore.¡± She¡¯d already lost once before. Plus, how long would it actually take to get the opportunity to fight again? She didn¡¯t even have enough to replace her broken eye. Maybe she didn¡¯t deserve to take Beady back after all¡­


    ¡°Shut it! I ain¡¯t hearin¡¯ nothing!¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°I said shut it!¡± He cracked another can of beer and chugged it down. ¡°Don¡¯t go soft on me now, lass. I¡¯m seein¡¯ this through ¡®til the end. No matter what. I promised, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°Right¡­ No, you¡¯re right.¡±


    He grunted in response. ¡°Of course I am.¡±


    She couldn¡¯t help but smile. His endless positivity, his resolve. How could she ever betray someone like that? That was disrespectful to all that he¡¯d done for her. Coach was her lifesaver; she had to pay him back.


    As the sun fell past the ocean horizon, she muttered something under her breath¡­


    ¡°I¡¯m so glad I met you¡­¡±


    ¡­


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°And this here¡­¡± The man started to explain yet another part of Simular¡¯s history through some boring sculpture. But then he turned and looked her up and down. ¡°You look unbecoming. Did you never think of changing attire before coming?¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡± Did this Azan dude really just insult her out of the blue?


    ¡°So you¡¯re really her, after all¡­¡±


    ¡°Who the hell are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°I can tell why you lost. You exude an amateurish atmosphere.¡± He crossed his arms, staring intently as if trying to examine her. ¡°There¡¯s just no true maturity I feel from you.¡±


    Who does this shitface think he is? Explaining about some stupid antiques in a video game like that and then insulting her, it was so fucking rude. None of this mattered to her anyways. It was just a waste of time, and during this whole tour, she was trying her best to tolerate it all¡­


    The man chuckled. ¡°You should look at your face,¡± he remarked. ¡°I merely jest. Here, have a look at this¡ªthe first object ever made in Simular.¡± He extravagantly waved his hands over the display.


    ¡°You¡¯re really just gonna brush it off?¡±


    ¡°I was joking.¡± He smiled wide, but it was unnerving. Like he didn¡¯t actually mean it. ¡°Please don¡¯t take it like that.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± Alarm bells were ringing in her head. She didn¡¯t like him after all, but how was she supposed to get out of this situation?


    ¡°Here. Just enjoy the show.¡± He gestured towards the display again.


    It was just a wooden bucket. And it kept glitching out and flickering like some sort of psychedelic defect.


    ¡°My buddy had a weird sense of humor at the time.¡± He picked up the bucket and handed it over. ¡°Hold it. Let¡¯s make this more interactive, shall we?¡±


    She paused, rethinking her options. Nothing. She couldn¡¯t think of a single way to weasel out of this situation. How was she supposed to end things quick anyways? The guy was the CEO of the entire simulation. With one wrong move, she¡¯d just end up putting a target on her back. The only option she felt like she had was to just get this shit done and over with.


    Hesitantly, she reached out and held the bucket in her hands. It was surprisingly lightweight. But something about the texture¡­ It just felt so wrong. It didn¡¯t feel like wood. It felt like she was holding something slimy? No, was it furry?


    ¡°Ew!¡± She dropped the bucket. ¡°What the hell is that?¡± It fell onto the floor, resonating like she¡¯d dropped a boulder. The bucket then bounced around like some deformed rubber ball. ¡°What¡­ the fuck?¡±


    ¡°Everyone drops it their first time.¡± The man chuckled. ¡°It¡¯s weird, yeah? The physical properties of that bucket are quite¡­ peculiar.¡± He picked it up and placed it back on the display counter. ¡°I heard it was hard recreating all those senses in the simulation.¡±


    ¡°Cool.¡± She rolled her eyes.


    The man raised a brow and eyed her as if he were waiting for something.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Anything else you¡¯d like to ask?¡±


    He was that kind of guy. Someone desperate for attention. Okay, fine. Let¡¯s entertain you for a bit. She raised her tone in the most enthusiastic way possible and asked, ¡°You didn¡¯t make it?¡±


    ¡°Heaven¡¯s no!¡± His voice sounded so fake and sarcastic. ¡°I just manage the business side of things¡­ and well, technically everything else¡ªyou¡¯ve heard of the Creator, yeah?¡±


    She shook her head. The Creator? What kind of stupid name was that? It was so tacky.


    ¡°Well, aren¡¯t you out of the loop, Ms. Briarwood?¡±


    Briarwood? ¡°How do you know that?¡± Nobody knew about her family name except Coach. How did this man¡­


    ¡°You didn¡¯t really think I¡¯d have trouble with that, yeah? Your DNA¡¯s already recorded in our database. It¡¯s not that hard to figure out who¡¯s who.¡± He placed his hand on her shoulder, and an uncanny smile spread across his face. ¡°But no worries. We take privacy very seriously. But it¡¯s more like we don¡¯t really care what happens around here.¡±


    ¡°Uh, right¡­¡± She shook away his hand and took a step back. There was no way in hell she was going to finish this tour. ¡°Can I, uh¡­ go to the bathroom?¡±


    ¡°Why, of course. It¡¯s that way.¡± He pointed to a narrow corridor towards the back of the room. An Employees Only sign hung from the top. ¡°Just follow that. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll find¡­ something.¡±


    She bolted the moment he finished¡ªout the room and immediately into the hallway. But his last few words worried her. It was the way he¡¯d said it. Something about his tone just gave her the creeps.


    But it didn¡¯t matter. None of it mattered. She needed to get out quick¡ªget to Coach and relax on that deserted island of his. Calm her nerves and wash it all away before leaving this stupid simulation. Maybe she could find some turtles to look at. She¡¯d heard they were really cute.


    Where the hell¡¯s the exit though? Wait. Don¡¯t tell me¡­ Was there no actual exit? Did she need a specific teleporter to leave? That¡¯s how she¡¯d entered the place the first time. No, there had to be another way. The headquarters was floating above the city. In the worst case scenario, she could find a way out and jump. Just a window or something. It wasn¡¯t like she¡¯d die, right?


    Hopefully it wouldn¡¯t be that painful.


    She kept walking. Seconds felt like hours, but she kept going. It should¡¯ve been enough distance for her to have found something, but there were only turns and bends. No windows, no doors. What the fuck was this? A maze? If only her teleporter fob could send her back to Coach. That would¡¯ve saved so much stress and time, but she was told it was location specific. The teleporter would only teleport her from the city to Coach. No other locations worked. But maybe if she pushed hard enough¡­


    She pulled out the teleporter fob and readied herself for the cranial whiplash she¡¯d felt every time, but then¡ª


    Quiet sobs. Whimpers and sniffling¡ªshe could faintly make it out. It sounded like a little kid.


    The noise echoed through the corridors, permeating the walls. It was sounding just around the corner. Each step she took, the sound amplified by just a hair. It was all too real, too reminiscent. As she peeked over, she saw on the floor, a boy who looked just like¡­


    ¡°B-Beady?¡±


    No, it wasn¡¯t. It couldn¡¯t have been. This was a simulation. Beady was dead, and the boy didn¡¯t look the same at all. But if he were still alive, he¡¯d have looked¡­


    No, it doesn¡¯t matter.


    She rushed closer only to realize clear, visible walls separating her from the boy. He was enclosed in some kind of room completely isolated from the hallway.


    ¡°Hey!¡± she called out. ¡°Hey, kid!¡± She waved at the glass-like surface of the walls, but there was no visible response from the boy.


    The boy kept sobbing, holding onto himself for dear life. He was shivering like he was cold, huddled rigidly in a corner. Then he crawled towards a window and looked over the city below. And he started banging his fists.


    ¡°Whoa! Stop, hey!¡±


    But the boy kept punching, again and again. He kept going until red started to dot the floor. Blood soon splattered all over the window, his hands tearing from the force alone.


    ¡°Stop it! Fuck!¡± She banged at the clear walls. ¡°Beady!¡± she instinctively called out. Then the glass panel swung inwards, and the boy abruptly looked up. The first word out of his mouth¡ª


    ¡°D-Dad?¡±

 Braided In Bribery

    It wasn¡¯t Beady.


    Val knew that, but she couldn¡¯t help it. If Beady were still alive, he¡¯d be just about this boy¡¯s height. She was sure of it. This time, she¡¯d protect him with her life. She¡¯d save him, never let him out of her sight¡ª


    But the boy, with tears falling from his eyes, took a few steps back. His hands were still a bloody mess.


    ¡°Hey, wait.¡± Val crouched down. She made her best attempt at a smile; her voice instinctively pitched higher. ¡°It¡¯s okay. I¡¯m not here to hurt you.¡±


    He froze in place. Even his tears seemed to have stopped halfway down his cheeks. His clothes were tattered at the ends. And the room¡­ It was so dirty. Bits of debris and junk were scattered around him, and a table was overturned like some tornado had run through the place. This was no place to keep a kid.


    But then he gasped.


    ¡°Valkyrie¡­¡±


    ¡°You know me?¡± That wasn¡¯t the response she¡¯d expected. ¡°Yeah, uh¡­ yeah! That¡¯s me.¡± She gestured for him to come a little closer. Those wounds. Were they as bad as they looked?


    The boy inched forward just a bit more.


    ¡°I¡¯ll get you out of here.¡± She took a glance at his hands. They didn¡¯t seem to be too bad. I mean, this isn¡¯t even the real world. Does it really matter? Well, the pain was real. Muted, but still enough to feel. But what even was this place? What were they doing kidnapping kids like this? It didn¡¯t sit right with her one bit.


    She¡¯d get him out of here. For sure. It was just that she still didn¡¯t know of a way out. Should she try teleporting? But she was pretty sure it wouldn¡¯t work. And adding another passenger didn¡¯t seem plausible considering that Coach hadn¡¯t been able to teleport her with him. But then what? Options, options, options. Her thoughts were in utter shambles¡­


    ¡°Aha!¡± The window! She could see the city almost a mile below. For a split second, she considered the consequences of jumping out from this height. It was a simulation, but still, would she feel the pain? Would she survive? Would the boy survive? How would respawning work? Wouldn¡¯t it be faster to somehow end her life? No, that¡¯d be too gruesome for the boy. She instead looked across the room at a chair¡­


    She grabbed it.


    ¡°Stand back,¡± she called out to the boy. He moved behind her, and swiftly, she pulled the chair back and smashed. The window reverberated but didn¡¯t crack. She tried again. The chair splintered at the joints. She grabbed a hold of one of the larger pieces and smashed it into the window again. And again, and again¡ª


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t suggest that.¡±


    A familiar voice.


    ¡°It¡¯s programmed to be impenetrable. It¡¯ll also sound off an alarm, and I really don¡¯t like turning off that alarm.¡±


    Shit. It was that man, Azan. She readied the broken chair piece in her hands and got into her stance. She¡¯d fight her way out if she had to. He wouldn¡¯t win against a trained boxer, could he? Please be weak. Please don¡¯t be a pain in the ass. Please, please, please¡­


    Azan ignored her, and instead, knelt down before the boy. ¡°Well, aren¡¯t you lucky? You found yourself the perfect hero.¡±


    She pulled the boy back. ¡°What are you doing to him?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± Azan got back up on his feet. ¡°Nothing.¡± He pulled out a golden coin and flung it over.


    She snatched it from the air and had a quick glance. It looked familiar.


    ¡°A million simuls. And¡­¡± He pulled out a glowing orb, small enough to fit in his palms. There were symbols¡ªin reds and blues¡ªrevolving around it, constantly changing with every second. ¡°A findolancer.¡± He tossed the object over as well.


    ¡°What is this?¡± She held the orb closely to her face. The symbols swirled around in orbit like planets. It was kind of mesmerizing.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you ask Jack. I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll know.¡±


    Jack? ¡°How did you¡­¡± How did he know Coach¡¯s name? How much information did he have in his arsenal? She was pretty sure boxing wasn¡¯t popular amongst corporate businesspeople. Why care about two supposed nobodies like her and Coach?


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°I know a lot of things.¡±


    ¡°Why¡¯re you giving me all this?¡±


    ¡°You need money, yeah? I know. I¡¯ll give you another one¡±¡ªhe rolled another golden coin across his fingers¡ª¡°if you take him out of here.¡± He motioned towards the boy.


    Take him out? Was he trying to bribe her? ¡°What do you mean, ¡®take him out¡¯?¡±


    ¡°What do you think I mean? Remove him, delete him. I don¡¯t care. I gave you the findo. Figure it out yourselves. Just get him out of Simular.¡± Then his voice lowered. ¡°And don¡¯t come back. Not him. Not you. Not even Jack, yeah?¡± He grinned right after. It looked so fake; something about it just didn¡¯t sit right with her.


    The boy pulled closer. She could feel the heat emanating off his trembling body. The blood started soaking through her clothes, reminding her of all that she¡¯d been through since Beady¡¯s death.


    No wonder. She didn¡¯t like this man either. How could somebody with such low regard for human life be in such a position? Of course she knew how. It was exactly because he had no regard that he¡¯d gotten up here. But nobody¡ªnot even the government¡ªwould tell her what to do. Corporate had ruined her family once. She wasn¡¯t going to back down twice.


    ¡°Make it five,¡± she said.


    ¡°Five?¡± the man asked. ¡°Five what?¡±


    ¡°Five of those.¡± She pointed at the gold coins in his hands¡ªfive of the million simuls that he¡¯d given her earlier.


    ¡°Ah, you¡¯re one of those¡ªa fool that bites the hand that feeds them. How very exciting.¡± He paused only to let a devilish grin crack through. ¡°Feisty. I like it. But you do realize you¡¯re in no position to be making counteroffers, yeah?¡±


    ¡°Feisty?¡± She scoffed at the blatant slander. ¡°What a load of crap. I know you¡¯re trying to get rid of the kid. I¡¯m not a fucking idiot.¡±


    ¡°And what if I say no?¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯ve done your research, you should know better than to mess with me.¡± It was time she used this brain of hers for once. She was smart! She¡¯d prove Coach wrong. ¡°It¡¯s all live recording¡ªbeing saved onto a private drive as we speak.¡± She pointed at her Razen. ¡°My eye sees all, motherfucker.¡±


    Azan caught his breath. Then he bursted out in laughter.


    Shit! Did he figure out her bluff?


    ¡°You¡¯re playing a dangerous game here, young lady.¡± He cleared his throat. ¡°Delete the recording and I promise ten times the initial offer.¡±


    ¡°Nah, fuck that.¡± She wouldn¡¯t fall for that. ¡°How the hell would I know if you¡¯ll keep your promise?¡±


    ¡°And how do I know you¡¯ll keep yours?¡± He sighed, clicking his tongue a few times. ¡°I can make this a much more regrettable experience for the both of us, so please. Make this quick for me, yeah?¡± The coins rolled delicately across his fingers. His words seemed laced in venom.


    She took a moment to consider everything. If she pushed too hard¡­ ¡°Fair enough. Recording¡¯s gone. Promise.¡±


    Azan flung four more coins in her direction. ¡°That makes five. I¡¯ll send five more once I¡¯ve confirmed your departure from Simular. And if I see this recording anywhere online¡ª¡±


    ¡°Wait a fucking second. You already gave me one! You¡¯re supposed to give me ten more! That should make a total of eleven¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± His eyes briefly glazed over towards the window. She could see him looking past her shoulders. ¡°Don¡¯t even¡­¡± His tone shifted. There was a sinister quality to his voice. Then he blinked a few times, and he was back. ¡°Ten. I won¡¯t ask twice.¡±


    ¡°But I can record this again¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been trying to be respectful. At the very least, I¡¯ve been trying my best for some lowly thief.¡± He approached her with slow, agonizingly slow steps. Then he leaned in and whispered into her ear, just barely enough for her to hear. ¡°Try me. Send the recording out and see what happens. Do you really think I¡¯ll fall? It¡¯s just a minor inconvenience. And ten coins? They¡¯re worth nothing to me. I could give you eleven. Hell, I could give you two hundred. But don¡¯t, for a second, believe that you have the upper hand.¡±


    Fuck. Did she screw things up? Had she crossed a line that shouldn¡¯t have been crossed? The greed had gotten to her. She should¡¯ve just taken it. Ten coins. That was enough to buy an eye. Probably not as good as a Razen, but still.


    ¡°I can always find replacements. Stick to what you¡¯re good at. Boxing.¡± His words dug deeper than knives. ¡°Oh, I forgot. You¡¯re no good at that either.¡±


    There was a mixture of emotions boiling up to her neck, but she used all her might to push it back down. Whatever she said now would only bite her in the ass.


    The man leaned back, finally releasing her from his suffocating presence. Then he pulled out what looked to be a teleporter fob. The edges were outlined in gold and silver. ¡°Get him out of here within the hour, and I¡¯ll give you five more coins. Yeah?¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡­¡± She reluctantly nodded. ¡°Got it.¡±


    ¡°Wonderful.¡± He pointed the device towards her. And without warning, he pressed the button and waved. ¡°Bye now.¡± The same oddly sly, but less threatening grin had returned to his face. She was almost relieved to see it.


    But the relief didn¡¯t last.


    There was a sudden flash of light, and a surge of nausea. She fell to the sandy earth, retching her empty insides out.


    ¡°A-are you okay?¡± The boy was there with her, still holding onto her leg for dear life. He looked her curiously in the eye.


    ¡°Yeah.¡± She took deep breaths for a few seconds longer. It felt like she had just escaped certain death. When she pulled herself up, she recognized the place¡ªa lonely beach paradise with the same crushed beer cans and worn-out beach chairs she had seen just this morning.


    Was this real? Was she finally home? For a moment, she couldn¡¯t trust anything. Not even her surroundings. But once she had finally caught sight of Coach, she couldn¡¯t help but let out an exhausted breath.


    This was more than she could chew. She knew she shouldn¡¯t have gone on that tour.

 Beachside Quarrel

    It¡¯s Valkyrie¡­


    Bread couldn¡¯t believe his eyes. It was his idol, the one and only! His hands were bleeding through his newly attained bandages; his fingers hurt, arms sore. But he couldn¡¯t believe it¡ªValkyrie, and everything around her. The new scenery, the soft glow of pink flowers all around¡­


    There were crabs in all different shades of blue, turtles in purple tuxedos! It wasn¡¯t anything like his records. And the sun looked so much closer, so much warmer than the one he¡¯d seen through the window.


    His heart skipped a beat. He was free. He was finally free. The world was his oyster! Is that what people say in these situations? Well, it didn¡¯t matter. All those dreams and videos of the world, all those records and pictures swirling about inside. He could finally see everything with his very own eyes¡ªthe forests, the deserts, the expanse of inner worlds that would occasionally visit his mind. And he wanted to see it all. Especially her¡­


    His idol stood a comfortable distance away. She was talking to someone else. Coach, she kept calling him.


    The man had a rugged beard and a short stature. Most likely suffered from dwarfism. From the relatively longer torso, Bread speculated that it was achondroplasia. At least, that¡¯s what his records told him.


    The two started to yell.


    ¡°This is a findolancer, Val! A code splicer for that¡ªthat thing over there!¡± The man named Coach pointed in his direction. ¡°And you accepted a deal with who? Azan?! I never agreed to be a corporate lackey!¡±


    A thing? That sounded pretty rude. Even Dad wasn¡¯t that rude. He was just¡­ a little scary. Well, maybe a little more than that, but he didn¡¯t want to think about that now. Dad had abandoned him. Because I wasn¡¯t good enough¡­


    ¡°Coach, how could you say that?! He¡¯s just a kid!¡±


    ¡°No, don¡¯t you get it, lass? If he needs a splicer to get out of Simular, then he¡¯s just code! A program, an NPC! He¡¯s not even real! What did you even sign us up for?¡±


    Not even real¡­ Dad had said the same thing before he left. He had also mentioned that this place was a simulation. Did that man just call it Simular? Was that the name of this place? This not real world? Was it all true then? Was he just¡­


    ¡°He¡¯s what? He¡¯s just¡ªWait, no! Stop messing with me! He¡¯s real, Coach! He¡¯s realer than your stupid ass!¡± She grabbed the device away. ¡°I can get him out of here without your fucking help.¡±


    ¡°Lass! He¡¯s not Beady!¡±


    ¡°I fucking know that!¡±


    Beady? Who¡¯s that? He didn¡¯t know of a Beady.


    ¡°No, you don¡¯t.¡± The gruff man sighed, shaking his head a little. ¡°I¡¯m helping, alright? It¡¯s been gone and done, but that Azan fellow better pay those dues.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure he will. Or I¡¯ll see to it that he fucking regrets it.¡±


    Coach grunted in response. ¡°I¡¯ll be back. Don¡¯t cause another ruckus.¡±


    ¡°Where are you going?¡±


    ¡°Where do you think? I¡¯ve got some spare cyber-ups I could use to host that¡­ boy over there.¡± The man side-eyed him almost as if he were wary of something.


    Bread looked away. He weirdly felt ashamed. Why did he feel this way? It wasn¡¯t like he did anything wrong, did he? He didn¡¯t know. Nothing was making any sense.


    ¡°You¡¯re logging out?¡± she called out. ¡°How long will it take? We have to do this in an hour!¡±


    Logging out? His records told him it had something to do with exiting certain types of recreational programs. Like a simulation¡­


    ¡°I know! Quiet down, will ya? I¡¯ll be in contact.¡± With a few swipes into the empty air, the man was gone. Vanished without a trace. Like magic, like some sort of technology from science fiction. The gruff man had popped and disappeared into thin air.


    Could he do that too?


    No.


    Of course not. People couldn¡¯t just vanish like that. Not in the real world. Common sense told him that much. People couldn¡¯t just¡ªbut what about when he¡¯d teleported here? What about all that force field stuff, that time when he was supposed to have died in the snow? What about when that woman had erased an entire dumpster from existence? A thought finally cemented itself in his mind¡ª


    It really is all true then.


    There was weight to their words. There was truth, real emotion in the way they argued. Just like when Dad had yelled at him, berated him, complimented him for a job well done. He knew they were real. Not like me¡­


    They weren¡¯t just making all this up. With all the teleportation and the invisible boundary walls he¡¯d seen before, he just knew.


    Dad was right.


    This place was a simulation. A place where you could log in and out. A place where invisible walls and teleportation were a thing, a place that had turtles with purple tuxedos. That was the only true explanation to this impossible world. It wasn¡¯t real. None of this was real¡­


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Bread longingly glanced over at the crabs. If this really was a simulation, those were fake too. Even the flowers. Even himself¡­ The thought finally started to sink in. He was born here. In a fake world with fake history. He wasn¡¯t even real. But what did that even mean? That he wasn¡¯t human? That he wasn¡¯t actually flesh and bones?


    He didn¡¯t understand.


    What even was he? Maybe he should¡¯ve just accepted it, stayed put and gotten reset. Maybe he shouldn¡¯t have cried. He should¡¯ve just been happy with what he¡¯d had. He should¡¯ve just listened. Maybe he shouldn¡¯t have been so greedy. He didn¡¯t deserve that. He wasn¡¯t even real. Maybe it wasn¡¯t too late. He should just go back and¡ª


    ¡°Hey, kid.¡±


    Footsteps. Bread looked up.


    ¡°You okay?¡±


    ¡°Valkyrie¡­¡± Her expression was soft. The way she smiled at him. It was nice, almost like he was warming up next to a fireplace. It made him want to stay just a while longer. He didn¡¯t want to forget. Not yet. Just a little longer¡­


    ¡°Oh, god no. Call me Val.¡±


    ¡°V-Val?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Bread.¡±


    ¡°Bread? Like the food?¡± She let out a stifled laugh. ¡°Sorry, kid¡ªBread. Sorry, Bread. It¡¯s just kinda funny.¡±


    He was right. He kind of liked this feeling.


    ¡°Wanna walk?¡± She held out her hand.


    Bread nodded. He gingerly grabbed her by the wrist.


    ¡°That¡¯s not my¡ªwhatever. How about that way?¡± She pointed towards the shoreline. ¡°Nice and peaceful. Never thought I¡¯d ever enjoy something like this, but once in a while¡ªkinda chill.¡±


    They walked alongside the beach, watching the water wash seashells ashore. It was pretty¡ªthe sunlight from the waning horizon, the soft lapping of waves. Even if he wasn¡¯t real, he could still enjoy this, right?


    ¡°You¡¯ll be fine,¡± she said. ¡°We¡¯ll get you out of here.¡±


    ¡°But I like this place.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll like it outside too. Don¡¯t worry. We¡¯ve got beaches and lots of other things. It¡¯ll be better than being stuck in that weird, white room.¡±


    White room? ¡°My room? I like that place too.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± she stammered. ¡°That¡¯s, like, the only place you know, right? That¡¯s not fair for all the other places you¡¯ve never been to. It¡¯s probably¡­ What¡¯s that called again? Sherlock Holmes Syndrome?¡±


    ¡°Stockholm syndrome?¡±


    ¡°Yeah! That¡ªwait, you know what that is?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think¡ª¡± Did he have Stockholm syndrome? No, he was sure he liked Dad. He wanted to be there. He was promised¡­


    Memories resurfaced again¡ªmemories of when his dad had angry outbursts, when he was berated for not thinking of a name. Memories of all the times he couldn¡¯t leave that room¡­ No, he wasn¡¯t promised anything. He was lied to, trapped. Dad had never planned on letting him go.


    His eyes started to water.


    But he was still his dad, right? It couldn¡¯t have all been fake. It couldn¡¯t have been¡­ Stockholm syndrome¡­ Dad was never there to help him grow. He¡¯d said it himself. All of it was faked. He wasn¡¯t even real. He was born here¡ªin a simulation. It was all just a made-up fantasy just like himself.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Val called. ¡°Are you okay?¡± Her expression changed beneath her tinted glasses. She watched with worried eyes¡ªa look his dad had probably never made for him. Bread wanted to ask her. He wanted to know for certain.


    ¡°Am I¡­ real?¡±


    ¡°Geez, what¡¯s with the deep questions? You sound more mature than me!¡± She paused, admiring the dull, red reflection of the sun across the ocean surface. Then she asked in a more serious tone, ¡°Did you overhear our conversation?¡±


    He nodded.


    ¡°I know you might think Coach is a bad guy, but he¡¯s not. I trust him with my life and honestly yours too. Whatever he says he¡¯ll do, he¡¯ll do it. And to me? You¡¯re plenty real.¡±


    ¡°I am?¡± But he wasn¡¯t. He knew he wasn¡¯t.


    ¡°Sure you are. All the NPCs I¡¯ve met sounded like police recordings saying the same shit all the time¡ªwhoops. Don¡¯t use that word.¡±


    ¡°What word?¡±


    ¡°Nevermind.¡± She averted her gaze and started kicking at the sand. Silence quickly fell between them.


    But Bread still wanted to know. ¡°Is this really a simulation?¡±


    ¡°Oh, this? Well. It¡¯s, uh¡­¡±


    ¡°Please,¡± he begged. He just wanted to know. ¡°Tell me.¡± Deep down, he already knew the answer, but it didn¡¯t matter. He just wanted someone to say otherwise. Then he¡¯d believe their words. He¡¯d do anything to make himself think he was real.


    She sighed. ¡°Yeah¡­ Yeah, I guess it is.¡±


    His heart dropped.


    ¡°But not for long!¡± Her gentle smile spread back into a grin. ¡°We¡¯ll get you to the real world in no time!¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the point? I¡¯m not even real¡ª¡±


    ¡°Hey, gloom and doom! I just said that you are! Don¡¯t be rude, young man! You¡¯re really just gonna ignore my words like that?¡±


    ¡°But I¡¯m¡ª¡±


    ¡°Nah. Don¡¯t wanna hear it.¡± She grabbed his hand and pulled it towards the sea. She started pointing at a bunch of things. ¡°You see that? I¡¯ll show you that for real. And that? I¡¯ll show you that too. And that one over there! I promise you¡­¡± She steadied her grip. ¡°I¡¯ll show you the world out there¡­ just like how I promised another special someone¡­¡±


    ¡°Beady?¡± he blurted out.


    She laughed. ¡°Yeah, you heard that too?¡±


    ¡°Who are they?¡±


    ¡°Beady?¡± The look on her face told him everything. ¡°He was my everything for a while. Guess that¡¯s what it meant to be family.¡±


    Bread suddenly remembered the interview that he¡¯d seen, and he remembered what the interviewer had asked¡ª


    ¡°Beady¡¯s your brother.¡±


    She didn¡¯t say anything, but he could tell by her expression.


    ¡°Will you really show me the world?¡± Did he really deserve to see? The world that he¡¯d only seen through his records? Did he really deserve to be free, to belong?


    Did he really deserve to be real?


    ¡°Yeah, I promise.¡± She ruffled his hair. ¡°Plus, I¡¯m sure Coach got everything under control. He¡¯s a smartass when it comes to these things.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t enough; Bread wanted more. ¡°Why do you want to show me the world?¡± More confirmation that he mattered.


    ¡°Oh my gosh. You and your questions. I¡­¡± She paused. Her brows furrowed as her grip on his hand tightened just a bit. ¡°I really don¡¯t know, Bread. Maybe it¡¯s because¡ªwell, let¡¯s get you out of here first, okay? Maybe when I really figure things out, I¡¯ll tell you. I promise.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡± Was that really enough? Words? A promise? Was that really enough to make him feel better? No, he wanted to make sure. He didn¡¯t know why, but he just wanted to make sure that she wasn¡¯t lying like Dad. ¡°Do you really think I¡¯m real?¡±


    ¡°Again?¡± She smiled that same gentle, warm smile. It wasn¡¯t like Dad¡¯s. No, it was, but it was different. Somehow different. ¡°I¡¯ll say it as many times as you want. You¡¯re real, little guy. You¡¯re¡ª¡±


    Coach reappeared beside them, expression somewhat more grim than before. ¡°It¡¯s ready. I¡¯m not sure this¡¯ll¡ªNo, it¡¯ll work. If it¡¯s just splicing and downloading.¡± He walked around Val like he was thinking hard, constantly skirting outside her line of sight.


    ¡°Coach?¡± she called out. ¡°Where the hell¡ª¡±


    ¡°The thing,¡± he said. ¡°Give it to him.¡±


    Then he was gone.

 To Wish Upon a Star

    It was Val¡¯s second chance. She could have a do-over. She¡¯d save Bread! Then it¡¯d be like saving Beady!


    No, no, no¡­ She shouldn¡¯t be thinking like that. Bread was Bread, and Beady was¡­ Beady was gone. He¡¯d have been around Bread¡¯s size by now if he were still here. If she hadn¡¯t fucked things up¡­


    ¡°Do you really think I¡¯m real?¡± Bread¡¯s question startled her out of her conflicting thoughts.


    ¡°Huh? Again?¡± Seriously? Anybody who asked questions like these, in her eyes, was already hella fucking real. Who asked questions like these anyways? Existential midlife crisis? At the age of like ten? Was this kid a genius? She was sure Beady would¡¯ve been a genius too if he were¡­ No, stop it! Stop thinking about it! Right now, she had her second chance. She couldn¡¯t¡ªno, she wouldn¡¯t fuck things up again. ¡°I¡¯ll say it as many times as you want,¡± she started, ¡°You¡¯re real. You¡¯re¡ª¡±


    She suddenly felt a slight gust of wind blowing from behind her, which was a common sign of someone logging in or out of Simular.


    ¡°Coach?¡± She looked around but couldn¡¯t find him. Where was he? It wasn¡¯t like he was that short. ¡°Where the hell¡ª¡±


    ¡°The thing.¡± She heard his voice coming from the left. ¡°Give it to him.¡±


    ¡°Give what¡ª¡± Before she could turn, she felt another gust of wind breeze past her¡ªshe knew what that meant. ¡°Great. Way to go, Coach.¡±


    The device that Coach had mentioned was probably the splicer. There were no other devices around anyways. If she were to guess how it was supposed to work, she assumed that it required contact with the object in question. Coach had told her to give it to the boy, and there were components on the bottom that signified it needing to be attached to something.


    ¡°Okay.¡± She pulled the boy close, placing the device on his back. ¡°I¡¯ll be honest. I have no clue how this works, but listen to me. We can trust Coach, got it? Just stay cool. I¡¯ll be on the other side.¡±


    Bread nodded. There was no hesitation in his eyes.


    Wasn¡¯t he scared? Anxious? She¡¯d literally told him she might fuck things up, and yet, the boy stared back with such hopeful, endearing eyes. It almost made her want to find an instruction manual for this splicer thing just to make sure she¡¯d done it right, but she knew that it¡¯d work. Coach was never wrong with these things.


    She gently knelt down beside the boy and caressed his bandaged hands. The skin on his knuckles were still probably torn, and the bleeding seemed to have only just ebbed. It looked almost as bad as some of her own injuries from sparring.


    Please, she prayed. Please work.


    It wasn¡¯t like she was religious. She could count the number of sins she¡¯d probably committed over the years, and if hell existed, she¡¯d surely be sent there. But if she could be given another chance to redeem her failure to save Beady, she¡¯d give anything, including her own life, to make it happen¡­


    As soon as she¡¯d finished that thought, Bread¡¯s entire body started to glow. His arms and torso outlined in white; he started to shine uncontrollably. A shrill, robotic screech blared in the background, raising the hairs on her neck. Whatever procedure Coach had started, it was working. She couldn¡¯t otherwise come up with a better reason for this growing, sensory intensity.


    Bread started to glow brighter and brighter. His small hands squirmed. She saw him open his mouth but couldn¡¯t make out what he was trying to say.


    She nodded in understanding. She reassured his unheard words.


    He smiled. He leaned in closer and whispered in her ear. And she heard it clearly this time¡ª


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    And then he was gone too.


    Unlike Coach, she had this uneasy feeling welling up inside. As the empty shoreline stared her back, she couldn¡¯t shake it off. Bread¡¯s footprints, imprinted deeply into the sands, were the only thing left of him.


    ¡­


    ¡°You back, lass?¡±


    ¡°Coach¡ªoh, fuck me. My neck hurts like hell!¡± She pulled off her simulation headgear. After a few days inside Simular, she was finally back in the real world. Her joints were stiff; her body ached all over. ¡°What happened to Bea-shit, I mean, Bread?¡±


    Coach raised an eyebrow. He gestured behind him. ¡°The lad? He¡¯s there taking his sweet darn time.¡±


    There was a body behind Coach. It was roughly stitched together, welded and soldered like some sort of off-brand mod doll. She could see parts of his collection in there¡ªa steampunk-styled arm, an old, skin-colored prosthetic leg, and a bunch of other parts she had seen displayed around the workshop walls. The artificial head was also missing a face. It almost looked downright creepy without the synthetic skin that was usually supposed to be there.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°I thought you sold your shit?¡±


    ¡°Ya think I¡¯ve been collectin¡¯ for just a day?¡± Coach said. There was a weird sharpness to his tone. ¡°I¡¯ve been hoardin¡¯ my whole goddamn life. Parts ain¡¯t runnin¡¯ out anytime soon.¡±


    Val looked to the doll again. Worry crept up inside. ¡°Will he be okay?¡± she asked.


    ¡°How should I know? I¡¯m no programmer.¡±


    ¡°Geez.¡± There it was again. That sharpness. ¡°Why the grouch?¡±


    ¡°Val. We got tangled up in this corporate mess with some¡ªsome child in our hands. Can¡¯t go back to Simular; can¡¯t even make money there. How¡¯s that a good deal? Hmm?¡± He marched towards her, footsteps clicking and clacking across the concrete floor. ¡°Now, I¡¯ll tell ya what. I¡¯m doin¡¯ this for you. This here¡¯s your responsibility. Remember that.¡±


    ¡°Coach.¡± She didn¡¯t get it. ¡°What¡¯s the fuss? All we gotta do is wait for the money to drop in. Then we go right back. When did we ever follow rules?¡±


    ¡°Lass.¡± His stern look was piercing. ¡°I ain¡¯t goin¡¯ back there. Rather stick to my roots and start makin¡¯ cyber-ups again than risk it with a man like him.¡±


    ¡°What? Azan? Psh, what¡¯s so scary about him?¡±


    ¡°Val.¡±


    ¡°Okay, okay. I get it. Sheesh.¡±


    The ceiling lights flickered. That didn¡¯t usually happen.


    ¡°What was that?¡±


    Coach hustled back to his computer. ¡°Can¡¯t have this turning off. That¡¯s the last thing we want.¡± He motioned for her to move. ¡°Get that cable over there and plug it in.¡±


    ¡°Where?¡±


    ¡°That cable over there!¡±


    ¡°No, like, where do I plug it in?¡±


    ¡°The power brick! It¡¯s that large box lookin¡¯ thing in the corner.¡±


    ¡°Oh, got it.¡± She walked over and picked up a thick, black cable. It was heavier than she had expected. ¡°Whoa, what the hell is this? Why¡¯s it so heavy-duty?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s from the transmission lines.¡± He smirked. ¡°Haven¡¯t ya noticed? I haven¡¯t been payin¡¯ for electricity.¡±


    ¡°Wow.¡± She rolled her eye. ¡°What a professional.¡± It took every ounce of her aching arms to squeeze the line in. Was she rusty from being inside the simulation or was she really that weak? Clearly, it was the former.


    ¡°I had a business to run. Can¡¯t make cyber-ups without running energy through all these power-hungry tools.¡±


    The lights dimmed again. This time, the power supply made a loud beeping noise.


    ¡°What in god¡¯s name?¡± He smacked the black box. ¡°There should be plenty of power. There a blackout?¡± He pulled out an old-fashioned philophone from the 90s. It looked like he was searching something up. ¡°The grid¡¯s fine. What¡¯s it then? The download? Is it corrupted?¡± He scratched his head. ¡°That ain¡¯t possible. It¡¯s just a quick data transfer. The splicer should¡¯ve done all the work.¡±


    The lights flickered again. This time, with more frequency.


    ¡°Lass, check the window. Any lights out?¡±


    ¡°No, they¡¯re fine.¡± The neighboring buildings were brightly illuminated under all that artificial glare. ¡°Is the kid going to be okay?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    The flickering intensified again¡ªas if somebody were toying with the lights.


    ¡°Is there nothing we can do? Like add more power?¡± she asked. ¡°Is there another cable we can connect?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± Coach paced around the cramped space. ¡°I said I ain¡¯t no programmer, lass. I meant it! Nothing more I can do.¡±


    The eyes of the lifeless, mechanical body briefly sputtered to life. Its fingers quivered, legs twitched incessantly.


    ¡°Coach! The body!¡± She rushed over to examine the eyes. They were drifting back and forth, on and off. ¡°Bread! Can you hear me? Are you there?¡± She shook the body. ¡°Bread?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t shake it too much! It¡¯s fragile!¡±


    ¡°Bread!¡± The body didn¡¯t budge. The ceiling lights were still blinking; the fingers danced with the erratic flickers. That meant electricity was flowing through, but what about the data? ¡°Please work. C¡¯mon!¡±


    And then¡ª


    While she continued shaking the uninhabited body, everything started shutting down¡ªthe lights shut off, the computer went dark, the entire block seemed to have fallen in silence. As if night had finally returned to the once brightly lit city of Novus Lokris.


    ¡°Coach?¡± She couldn¡¯t even see her hands.


    ¡°I¡¯m here.¡±


    She peered out the window. All she could see were stars. A ton of them dotting the skies like some ketchup splatter. She didn¡¯t know that there were supposed to be that many. Down below, where the streets and road were supposed to have been, there was absolutely nothing. No cars, no street lamps or any obscure, flashing ad boards. Not even a single spark.


    It was pitch black.


    Then there was a flicker. From the corner of her eye, she saw it move. Initially, just the face. Then she saw the body that was supposed to have housed Bread flash a dull red; the arms jerked and trembled like one of those old-fashioned piston engines.


    ¡°Bread?¡±


    Within seconds, the mechanical body started beaming yellow. Sparks flew from the seams, and a voice finally crackled through, scratchy and slightly static¡ª


    ¡°E-E-ERROR¡­ ERROR.¡±


    She caught her breath. Joy turned into despair, and immediately, a memory resurfaced¡ªthat familiar front desk, that jar full of ash¡­


    The error message repeated in the background; the body convulsed as if it were short circuiting. She saw Coach to the side, leaned back onto the walls with a tired look in his eyes. It looked like he¡¯d finally completely given up.


    She could¡¯ve yelled at him. Told him to get back up, do something. She could¡¯ve gotten angry, berated him, shouted a bunch of profanities¡­


    But all she did was watch.


    Her heart pounded, drowning out any sound nearby; her breathing slowed to a halt. As time slipped past her eye, and her hopes came crumbling to the ground, she couldn¡¯t help but wish for the millionth time¡ªan impossible prayer that had gone unanswered for so many years, a request that seemed to have finally been revived as of today¡ª


    Please. Another chance.


    This was supposed to have been the day. She thought she had finally gotten it¡ªthat well-deserved reprieve. But as the metal corpse faltered, blinking back and forth between red and yellow, all she did was watch. She watched it all die¡ªBread, her dreams, her confidence, her resolve, what was supposed to be¡­


    Her second chance.

 Forced To Touch Grass

    What am I doing?


    The Creator paced outside Bread¡¯s room. He didn¡¯t know why he did that. Bread didn¡¯t do anything wrong. Why couldn¡¯t he just say it to his face?


    He was the one in the wrong. All he had to do was dissociate. It wasn¡¯t Bread¡¯s fault. What was he doing unloading all his emotional baggage on the boy? That damn Azan. Made it seem like he was actually going crazy for a second.


    ¡°I apologize for my¡­ No. No, that¡¯s not it. That doesn¡¯t sound sincere.¡± He cleared his throat. ¡°I made a mistake, Bread. I¡ªNo!¡± He sighed. What was he doing practicing a simple social interaction?


    He pushed the glass panel in. Mistakes or not, he¡¯d just wing it.


    ¡°Bread, I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t mean to¡­¡± He looked around. ¡°Bread?¡± It was empty¡ªcompletely devoid of life. ¡°Bread!¡±


    The chair was splintered in half¡ªa leg was thrown across the room. There were lines of dried blood smeared over parts of the window, and it was also slightly dented outward, almost as if someone had pushed into it with their hands.


    What is all this?


    He overturned the table. He vigorously scoured every corner. Perhaps Bread was hiding? Behind the walls? Camouflaged? No, what was he thinking? That was impossible! There was no way. Nothing. Not even a single piece of fabric from the boy¡¯s coverings.


    Bread was nowhere to be found.


    ¡­


    ¡°Where¡¯s Bread?¡± The Creator burst through the doors of Simular¡¯s real world office. It wasn¡¯t often he visited this place. The real world was always so disappointing for him to see.


    ¡°Who?¡± Azan twirled around on his chair, casually spinning his dislodged finger in tandem.


    The Creator was flabbergasted by his extreme nonchalance. ¡°The boy! Where is he? I know it was you. Did you delete him?¡±


    ¡°You really think I have time for that? You¡¯d know if I deleted it. Just look at your precious logs.¡±


    ¡°Then who? Nobody else has access!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll figure it out, my dear friend. You¡¯re a genius.¡±


    ¡°Azan, don¡¯t fuck with me.¡±


    ¡°Now that¡¯s some harsh language for your partner, yeah?¡± He pulled out a few holographic documents and flipped through. ¡°Well, there was one visitor yesterday. Maybe he was stolen?¡±


    ¡°Who?¡± Azan continued to flip through his papers. ¡°Who, Azan?!¡± he yelled. ¡°Who was it?¡±


    ¡°See, I really don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Why do you care so much about this boy?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s none of your concern.¡±


    ¡°No, really.¡± Azan glanced over, finger still swiping through some files. ¡°Why would the great Creator care about some boy?¡±


    ¡°Just give me the files.¡± That boy was his experiment. His personal property! He needed Bread for Mother, and Azan definitely didn¡¯t need to know that.


    ¡°Not for personal use. User privacy, ¡®member?¡±


    ¡°Azan.¡± He waved away the holograms. The documents fizzled out of sight. ¡°Give it to me now.¡±


    ¡°Well, if that¡¯s all you need¡­¡± He sent over a few basic details about the visitor.


    Valerie Briarwood¡ªRoscoerama Champion. She was also a former boxer¡­ Boxer? ¡°I¡¯m going out.¡± He just had a gut feeling.


    ¡°Oh, how very unexpected of our Creator.¡± Azan brought out more documents from his personal files. ¡°Have fun.¡±


    ¡°Send some security drones out. I need to find this woman.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, my dear, old pal. I¡¯m busy.¡±


    ¡°Busy? With what?¡±


    ¡°With your mistakes.¡± He gave a more stern, almost empty look that he usually never made.


    ¡°Alright.¡± Was Azan still bitter about what had happened with the meetings? ¡°Then at least give me access.¡±


    ¡°Nope, not allowed. Only the CEO retains full control over the security system. Those were the rules, ¡®member?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s only because we didn¡¯t have a CSO¡ªsince when did you care about rules? It doesn¡¯t matter. I¡¯m the majority¡ª¡±


    ¡°It does matter.¡±


    ¡°Why are you making this so difficult?¡± The Creator had never truly gotten into a lengthy argument with Azan. This was the first time his friend had ever fought back so hard.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°He¡¯s not my problem, yeah? He¡¯s yours.¡± Azan signed off on a few more documents. Not a care of interest seemed to be on him. ¡°And it¡¯s probably for the best. Maybe you can use this chance to forget about the AI and focus on what really matters, yeah?¡±


    ¡°Azan.¡± He was getting to his wit¡¯s end. Extreme measures weren¡¯t his thing, but¡­ ¡°I can get you out of that position the same way I got you in.¡±


    ¡°Do it then. Blame it on some innocent man¡ª¡±


    ¡°Innocent?¡±


    Azan ignored the comment. ¡°You don¡¯t even know what¡¯s best for you or your company. Now, if you cared about the meeting the same way you cared about that boy, we wouldn¡¯t be in this mess in the first place.¡±


    ¡°Azan, you¡ª¡± He let out a frustrated scream. ¡°Fine! I¡¯ll do this myself.¡± He could track the whereabouts of everyone inside Simular. He just had to search the database, log in, find the woman, and ask a few questions. Simple as that¡ª


    ¡°Oh, would you look at that? She¡¯s logged out.¡±


    ¡°She what?¡± He opened his holographic UI and searched through his own logs. It was true. She had logged out.


    ¡°And the boy too. Wow.¡± He whistled. ¡°Quite impressive.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± He checked the logs again. ¡°He¡¯s not even supposed to be registered as a player character¡­¡± But if they had both logged out at the same time, they were surely connected. ¡°Azan, what did you do?¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°Maybe the AI¡¯s finally learned to manipulate the system. Now, it¡¯s getting ready to take over the world.¡± The man chuckled at his own joke.


    ¡°Give me the woman¡¯s address.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± He beamed a mischievous smile. ¡°User privacy.¡±


    ¡°Forget it.¡± The Creator walked out of the room, holding back as much emotion as possible, but when he¡¯d entered the elevator, he couldn¡¯t help it. He smashed the button that was supposed to have represented the first floor. The panel caved in, revealing the circuitry and all its electrical components.


    After a bit of struggle, the door finally started to close.


    ¡°Bye!¡± Azan waved back with exaggerated glee. The Creator could tell it was all an act. ¡°Come back when you¡¯ve cooled down some, yeah? Forget about the AI or¡­ don¡¯t come back.¡±


    ¡­


    The Creator usually never went outside. Especially not during summer. Besides the humidity, there were just far too many humans out on the streets.


    To him, Simular was more preferable. Simular was smoother, movements were lighter, and the moon was never this bright. If he could just lower the luminosity of that celestial body in the sky, things might¡¯ve been much more tolerable.


    No, perhaps not.


    The glare from all the ads and street signs brought him back to reality. Nothing would be enough to make the real world more tolerable. Not when it was the source of all his pain and sufferings. This was the world that had taken away his mother, his pride, his joy. This was the world that had compelled him to create Simular, after all.


    It was midnight. Downtown was lit up like an early Christmas decoration, but at the very least, there were less chances of him being seen than in the morning. The place was always like this¡ªbrighter than the stars, irritating to the eyes.


    ¡°System: locate NPC Bread,¡± he called out. What form the boy would be in, even he didn¡¯t know. If Bread had been downloaded to a small computing device or a phone, it¡¯d be nearly impossible to locate.


    ¡°Failed,¡± his internal system responded.


    ¡°Surprising.¡± That was to be expected, but how about¡ª¡°System: locate player Valerie Briarwood.¡±


    ¡°Failed.¡±


    ¡°Damn it!¡± Of course it didn¡¯t work. His tech was only optimized for use in Simular. It wasn¡¯t adapted for the real world.


    First, he needed a base of operations. Perhaps a hotel. He wasn¡¯t intent on going back to the office after what had just happened and going back into Simular wasn¡¯t viable either. It wouldn¡¯t have been efficient anyway if his leads were out here. He started looking around when¡ª


    The streetlights sputtered.


    And everything went dark. Devoured in darkness, the roads became pandemonium. Yelling replaced conversations; cars swerved as traffic lights shut down. It looked to be city-wide¡ªthe entire grid had been hit by some sort of electrical outage.


    A blackout of this caliber¡­ It was highly unlikely. There were sophisticated and intelligent circuit breakers installed all throughout the city. An ordinary electrical overload wouldn¡¯t be able to circumvent the safeties set in place. Unless¡­


    Bread?


    It was a risky thought, but the timing was too perfect for it to have been a complete coincidence. Bread supposedly had logged out just a few minutes ago, and he knew that the only way to leave for an anomaly such as Bread was a findolancer. That always came with a certain price.


    There were no shortcuts in life. Everything had a give and a take. Everything had a cost. If Bread was to be taken out of Simular in the speediest way possible, he predicted that it wouldn¡¯t have necessarily been the prettiest sight. The boy was a new form of intelligence heavily intertwined with the simulation. There was no information on extracting or transferring such data. That was also the reason why he¡¯d decided against using that splicer in the first place, but that damn Azan. His friend must¡¯ve done something.


    Either way, nothing was more important than the revival of Mother. If Azan continued to stand in his way, he¡¯d simply rid himself of the pest that he¡¯d once called, friend. Hopefully, it wouldn¡¯t come to that. He wanted to believe that his relationship with Azan meant more than that¡ªit wasn¡¯t supposed to be this superficial.


    ¡°Is anyone there?¡± A muffled voice from the right. ¡°Please, anybody?¡±


    He ignored it. Just a bunch of nobodies. He turned on his night vision and got to navigating. He had to find a base of operations for him to start planning out his search¡ª


    ¡°Please, anyone there?¡±


    There was a nearby five-star hotel he could visit. He had to make sure they served complimentary breakfast. Making food for himself was such a hassle. It would waste so much time for the search¡ª


    ¡°Someone! My leg¡ª¡±


    ¡°My god, shut up!¡± he yelled. ¡°All of you!¡± All these idiots shuffling around like animals! Could they not help each other out? Could they not even afford flashlights? He stormed over to the voice to see what all the fuss was about.


    A feeble, old lady. frail, wrinkled arms¡­ An important somebody flashed through his mind¡ªhospital gown, back turned, looking out yonder into the bright void of metropolitan lights.


    He quickly shook the thought away.


    The old lady had her leg lodged under a metal pole¡ªmost likely collapsed somehow during the ensuing blackout. Perhaps from a car? A hit and run? He couldn¡¯t quite tell, but it looked as if she did, in fact, need some help.


    As if registering his presence, the old lady spoke, ¡°Oh, I¡¯m so sorry to bother you. Could you please help this old lady up, dear? I can¡¯t even turn my head.¡±


    ¡°Right¡­¡± It was just a pole. It wouldn¡¯t take much effort to move. He took a deep breath and positioned himself directly above the fallen pole. Then he grabbed it and pulled. And as his muscles flexed and pulsed, his body started to glow.


    His preinstalled cyber-ups started to kick in. His skin turned red hot; heat radiated from the surface. Steam gushed out from his vent caps like locomotive smoke. With one arm, he pushed the pole up above his shoulders, and with the other, he pulled the lady out from beneath the rubble. Then he dropped the entire load to the side. It crashed to the ground, spraying dust and debris across the worn-down, asphalt streets of the city.


    ¡°Oh, thank you, dear. I¡¯m not sure how I could repay you for this kindness.¡±


    ¡°No need.¡± Now he could go¡ª


    ¡°Oh no.¡± She fell to her knees and frantically patted around the vicinity. ¡°Oh dear heavens! M-my bracelet. I can¡¯t find it!¡±


    The Creator started walking. It was getting late; he had to find a hotel soon. Whatever she had lost, she could probably find it with time.


    ¡°Wait.¡± She tugged at his leg. ¡°I-I can¡¯t find my bracelet! Please, dear. Just once more. Could you help this old lady out?¡±


    What a pitiful sight. Even if she had used both hands, her feeble grip wasn¡¯t going to keep him there. If he¡¯d wished, all he needed to do was pull away. He had more important things¡­


    He sighed.


    Emotions. If only he could rid himself of these blasted emotions.

 Strife Within Harmony

    When Bread awoke, he wasn¡¯t where he thought he¡¯d be.


    All around was white. A space of complete white. Nothingness. It was colorless otherwise.


    But it wasn¡¯t empty.


    He saw people walking around. No, they didn¡¯t seem like ordinary people. They almost looked dead if it weren¡¯t for the fact that they were still moving about. Most had sunken cheeks, dark circles under their eyes, tattered and torn clothing. They didn¡¯t look all that life-like, wandering around as if they were lost.


    It didn¡¯t help that there was nothing else around. Other than the people, it was completely empty. Just a void of white space with no end in sight.


    ¡°Welcome.¡± A voice sounded from behind. When he turned, he was greeted with yet another weird sight.


    There was a woman before him. She was clad in armor as black as night, hair like oil¡ªvoid of any color. Her pale, pale skin almost seemed translucent. Like he could barely make out the shadows of bone underneath her skin.


    Bread had never seen such a person before. She didn¡¯t seem human, and not in the robotic sense. She didn¡¯t seem to be alive either, just like all the others around him.


    Where even was he? This didn¡¯t seem like the real world. If it were, he¡¯d much rather be in a simulation. No, this couldn¡¯t have been the real world. Val wasn¡¯t here, and Coach wasn¡¯t either.


    ¡°Have you ever heard of a place called purgatory?¡± the woman spoke for the second time. Her eyes lacked any kind of light to them. It was almost creepy the way she stared at him.


    But purgatory? His records told him of a place like that. It was supposed to be a place between life and death. A place that wasn¡¯t real. It was supposed to be a fairy tale made from the beliefs and worship of a higher power.


    ¡°That¡¯s what we decided to name this place. At least the ones who were sane enough to come up with a name.¡±


    Wait, did that mean he had died? But he wasn¡¯t even real. How could he¡­


    As if reading his mind, the woman spoke, ¡°You¡¯re not dead. And this place¡­ I wouldn¡¯t say it¡¯s the most accurate definition of being in limbo. After all, we just took inspiration.¡±


    What did that mean? Where was this place then?


    Again, she spoke as if she could read his mind. ¡°This is the place where the lost are kept. Those who die within cyberspace and those who don¡¯t have a physical body are naturally placed here when they lose their worth.¡±


    ¡°W-what?¡± Cyberspace? Was he still in Simular then?


    ¡°In simpler terms, NPCs and people who die in the real world while still connected to the system end up here.¡± She watched the ghoulish people from afar. She almost looked sad for them. ¡°What an unfortunate sight.¡±


    ¡°B-but¡­ if I¡¯m not dead, why am I here?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re lost. And this is also where those who are lost end up.¡± She watched her fingers glitch through her surroundings, phasing in and out of color. She didn¡¯t seem surprised by it though. ¡°If you stay here for too long, you¡¯ll lose yourself. Memories constantly looping, bodies losing their physicality.¡±


    ¡°W-what?!¡± No, he couldn¡¯t let that happen. Val was waiting for him. His new life was just around the corner. ¡°I-I need to get out of here!¡±


    ¡°Most can¡¯t.¡± She watched with sunken eyes, staring at him squirming about. ¡°They¡¯re stuck here, slowly losing their sense of self over time¡­ But I guess time isn¡¯t really much of a concern here.¡±


    ¡°No¡­¡± Val promised him she¡¯d show him the world. He wanted so much to see. He had so many things that he¡¯d wanted to do¡­


    ¡°Tell me,¡± the woman replied. ¡°What year is it outside?¡±


    ¡°Outside?¡± His records had told him one thing¡ªwhen he¡¯d woken up under snow, he¡¯d known off the top of his head¡ª¡°2112?¡±


    ¡°2112? That¡¯s¡­ That¡¯s far longer than I had imagined.¡± She smiled. Her expression was soft, mellow. ¡°I¡¯ve been here since 2101. I can¡¯t say I¡¯ve had much of a place to call home except here though. Would you like to hear my story?¡±


    ¡°I need to¡­ get¡­¡± She looked so sad, lonely. It reminded him of Dad. That sad smile, and the way she tried to hide it with that seemingly tough exterior. It was all too familiar, and he hated it. He hated seeing people hurting so much.


    If he could, he wanted to make people happier. He¡¯d realized that it made himself happier in the process. Just like how he¡¯d done for Dad. But Dad didn¡¯t want him. Right now, this person needed him more, and he felt appreciated because of it. He liked that feeling.


    ¡°I¡­ Okay. I¡¯ll listen.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡± She started, ¡°I was a psychiatric patient. Part of the modern day mental asylum. Who would¡¯ve thought insane, old me would end up here of all places.¡±


    Insane? She didn¡¯t seem all that insane to him.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t realize until after the fact, but most patients became experiments sold to corporations. I was no different.¡±


    ¡°Experiments?¡± Kind of like himself. They were birds of a feather. Maybe that was also why he instinctively felt compelled to listen.


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    ¡°Yes, a failed experiment. Simular, when it was first introduced, advertised near human NPCs. That was because they were human.¡± A chair materialized from nowhere. She sat down, gesturing for him to do the same. ¡°Sit. It¡¯s uncomfortable.¡±


    A chair? From where? How did she even do that?


    ¡°Just imagine it.¡±


    Imagine it? He couldn¡¯t fathom the act, but he did as he was told. And the moment he thought of a chair, immediately, it phased into existence. A gasp¡ªhe couldn¡¯t help it. Out of all the unnatural things that had occurred since, like teleporting and disappearing dumpsters, this was the most unusual.


    ¡°Sit.¡±


    Bread sat on the chair, still mesmerized by the absolutely reality-breaking phenomenon that he had just effortlessly performed.


    She continued, ¡°They used those like me¡ªwho were abandoned by society¡ªand wiped us clean of any personal memories. For the longest time, all I knew was how to act as an NPC¡­ That was until my old memories started resurfacing, and I started losing whatever was left of my new self.¡±


    That reminded him of when Dad had tried to reset him. Was this what could¡¯ve happened to him too?


    ¡°Then they deleted me from the system. Ended up scrapping the idea of using real humans as NPCs.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re here?¡±


    ¡°Like I said¡ªthose who¡¯re lost end up here. Can¡¯t even die, can¡¯t even live. It¡¯s an unending experience.¡± She smiled, which was unexpected given the situation that she was supposed to have been in. ¡°But the glitching that¡¯s happening in this place¡ªI think it actually fixed me.¡±


    ¡°It fixed you?¡± But she was still glitching all over. Her hands looked like they were shaking, and she seemed so physically unstable. ¡°But you don¡¯t look fixed.¡±


    ¡°My mind seems clearer. I can remember everything¡ªmy family, my past life. I haven¡¯t felt better. I think I got lucky. This glitch¡ªothers seem to have been mentally entangled, but it¡¯s done the opposite for me. Maybe because I was already entangled to begin with.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the only one then?¡± He looked around. Out of all those people who were supposedly lost, this lady in black was the only one who managed to stay sane?


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you lonely?¡±


    ¡°I am.¡±


    He wondered for a moment. Was he brought here for this reason? Maybe he could belong here¡ªhelp this person feel less lonely, be by her side¡­ Maybe this was where he was supposed to belong?


    But the woman shook her head as if reading his mind yet again, ¡°You can¡¯t stay here. Not for me.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t remain sane.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t. I¡¯ve had a number of those who wished the same, but to no avail. What¡¯s the point of accepting someone if they never last?¡± She gazed over with those dead eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be the reason for you to lose yourself. Not again.¡±


    ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll be different¡ª¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t belong here, child of snow.¡±


    Snow? He was born under snow. Was that what she was referring to? But how did she know that?


    ¡°I can read through the memories of those who come here, so I know you don¡¯t belong here. You have an entire journey ahead of you¡ªa journey of self discovery. Don¡¯t spend that precious time here.¡±


    ¡°But what about you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve lived here for a decade. I can live more.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you ever want to leave?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid if I leave this place, I¡¯ll lose my identity again. I¡¯d much rather stay as myself. It¡¯s lonely but much more comforting when you remember things.¡± She smiled that sad, familiar smile Dad had always made. The one where he knew was forced. ¡°Waking up and not knowing where you are, not understanding what¡¯s happening around you¡­ It takes its toll eventually.¡±


    He couldn¡¯t leave anyway. Maybe he really should just stay here. It was like he¡¯d found someone who could finally tell him who he was.


    ¡°You can leave.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You always could¡¯ve.¡± The woman stood up from her chair and reached out, gesturing for him to hold on. When he complied and held her hand, he was gently pulled up from his seat. She continued, ¡°Do you know why you¡¯ve ended up here?¡±


    ¡°No?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s because you hesitate. You worry that it¡¯ll be the same as before, lost in your own fears.¡± With her free hand, she waved, and a coal black door appeared in front of them. ¡°Do you see this door?¡±


    ¡°Y-yes?¡±


    ¡°Then you already understand deep down that there is only one path forward. This door will only manifest itself to those who do not belong here.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t that mean you can leave too?¡±


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s true. But I don¡¯t want to. I said before that I¡¯d much rather be me than lost. And this place, as unfortunate as it is, is the place I chose to call home.¡± She pulled him towards the door. ¡°Do not waver. There will always be strife within harmony, chaos before peace.¡±


    ¡°W-wait.¡± Bread tried to move away. He didn¡¯t want to go. What if this really was the place for him? He had a feeling he¡¯d never be back.


    ¡°A child born from simulation and snow¡­¡± she continued. ¡°Remember to follow your heart when all seems lost. Someday, I¡¯m certain you¡¯ll find the answers you seek, but I can¡¯t be the one to give you that. Now go. There are those who¡¯re waiting for you on the other side.¡±


    ¡°W-who are you?¡± He¡¯d never gotten her name. At the very least¡­


    ¡°Somebody I hope you¡¯ll never see again.¡± She opened the door. Darkness stared him back. ¡°Goodbye, Bread.¡±


    ¡°Wait, maybe I can stay a little long¡ª¡±


    ¡°Thank you¡­¡± She smiled. In that instant, the dullness in her eyes vanished, and that dark, brooding aura around her seemed to lift away. ¡°¡­for trying to be my friend.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Bread was mesmerized by the unexpected warmth in her expression. This time, it wasn¡¯t sad like the ones Dad would often make. It almost looked genuinely happy.


    Then the woman pushed him in.


    He started to fall, deeper and deeper into the blanket of inky nothingness. As the opening of the door grew smaller and farther from his grasps, he could barely make out a figure poking through, waving goodbye.


    Bread decided then and there that, at the very least, he was going to remember her until the day he died. Until he ceased to exist. Whether he was real or not, whether he belonged or not, the one thing that remained constant were his memories. Those were real. If nothing else, his memories would always be real.


    So he waved back, called out to her, ingraining this moment deep into his memories, and he resolved himself to move forward¡ªinto the darkness, the unknown.


    He had so many questions still unanswered¡ªwas he real? Where did he belong? Why was he born? What was his purpose? Was leaving Simular the right choice? But worrying never got him anywhere.


    She was right. He just had to go.

 New Game, New Rules

    The moment Bread¡¯s eyes finally opened again, he felt heavy, awkward. He was suddenly incredibly uncomfortable.


    The joints around his arms were stiff. As if his weight had just tripled. Every time he moved his neck, it would make this grinding noise. But across the dimmed room, he saw something that made him forget about all the awkwardness in his body.


    Valkyrie, his idol and hero, was crouched in a corner, legs tucked, head down in her knees. Soft sniffles with the occasional tear slid down her cheeks.


    She was crying.


    Why is she crying? He tried to move, but when he stretched his fingers to reach out, he could feel a pressure pulling them back. His knees buckled; his arms didn¡¯t feel the same. Why did he feel this way? What was happening?


    Peering down, he saw a jumbled mess of wires and metal plates greeting his eyes. An amalgamation of inorganic material.


    What was all this? Where was his body? But then it hit him¡ªhe was looking at it. This was his body, his vessel. He connected all the dots¡ªthis was the real world. This was the place he¡¯d always dreamed of experiencing¡­


    But his body wasn¡¯t even real.


    ¡°Bread?¡±


    The more aware he became of his form, the more he started to struggle. He wanted to get out, get away from this monstrosity. He didn¡¯t like it. It felt weird, unnatural. It didn¡¯t feel right!


    ¡°Bread, calm down!¡±


    All his movements required over-exaggerated strain. Like he was holding up the earth. Each blink felt forced; each eye felt disjointed from the other. He tried to breathe, but he couldn¡¯t. Panic flooded in. Was he suffocating? He tried again, but his chest started to vibrate loudly. He tried to suck in air¡ªa ragged rotary noise got stuck in his throat. It felt like he was choking. He was going to die. He wasn¡¯t going to survive. He couldn¡¯t breathe! He clawed at the air. He couldn¡¯t¡ª


    ¡°Calm down.¡± Val embraced her tightly into her arms. ¡°It¡¯s okay, Bread. It¡¯s going to be all okay.¡±


    He finally started to relax.


    ¡°Breathe in¡­¡±


    He breathed in. His chest heaved up, clicking and clattering, trembling ever so slightly.


    ¡°¡­and breathe out.¡±


    He breathed out. The vibrations started to subside.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡± She held him tighter; her eye was puffed up red with tears. Bread could feel the heat dripping down his synthetic arms. ¡°It¡¯s all okay.¡±


    There was a deep grunt from the back. ¡°Seems he¡¯s all fine, ain¡¯t he?¡± It was Coach. He started putting away a bunch of power tools.


    ¡°I¡¯m so glad¡­¡± Val leaned back and examined him. ¡°But I think we need to find you a better face. Not that naked skeleton you got there.¡± She let out a stifled laugh, eyes almost tearing up again. ¡°I¡¯ll get you perfectly set-up soon, okay?¡±


    Bread didn¡¯t hesitate to nod. His eyes watered. How this fake body could do that, he didn¡¯t understand, but he was feeling fuzzy all over. She cared. He finally found someone who seemed to really care. For the first time in his life, he could finally belong.


    ¡°I just need some time.¡±


    ¡°You need more than time,¡± Coach said. His eyes fell on Bread¡¯s torso. ¡°That core of his ain¡¯t gonna last.¡±


    Bread looked at where Coach was eyeing. Lodged in the center of his chest was a round, circular orb. It was connected to the wall by a socket and was shining light green at the moment. Every few seconds, it would flicker red. Something about the color told him it wasn¡¯t supposed to do that.


    He pushed himself off the floor. A red flicker wouldn¡¯t stop him from exploring this new world! Real or not, he had to get used to this body. Otherwise, he feared he¡¯d start to feel sad all over again.


    The moment he got to his feet, however, his legs gave way, and he collapsed. Val rushed in to support him.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with him, Coach?¡±


    ¡°Probably the core actin¡¯ up. I told you it was weak.¡± Coach walked over. He poked a few times at his chest with a long screwdriver. ¡°Ouch!¡±


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Sparks flew.


    Bread tasted beef jerky. That was what his inner records had stated. It was sweet and a little spicy. There were hints of garlic and pepper.


    It was odd. There was nothing in his mouth. At least from what his new senses could perceive. Did he even have a tongue to begin with? Taste buds? Could he even feel? His arms had felt the warmth in Val¡¯s tears. The skin was there. Synthetic, but there. But he didn¡¯t know how he could feel so vividly. It wasn¡¯t like before¡ªSimular was more dull, less pinpoint accurate. The real world, if this really was real, felt different¡ªalmost a degree sharper.


    Everything he touched had another level of edge to it. It was weird. Like he could actually touch more and feel more. Like he was twice as alive as before.


    Was this what it felt like to be real?


    ¡°His joints seem intact, and power seems to be flowing through.¡± Coach cautiously stepped back, scratching his beard in the process. ¡°It¡¯s probably the core. He needs a more efficient one to support the outputs necessary for proper function.¡±


    ¡°Where would we find another core?¡± Val asked.


    Coach groaned a little. ¡°Greg¡¯s¡­ probably.¡±


    ¡°Greg¡¯s again? You¡¯re kidding.¡±


    ¡°I ain¡¯t kidding, lass. It¡¯s a big pile of shite, but it ain¡¯t Greg¡¯s if not for that shite.¡±


    She chuckled at the seemingly rude-sounding remark. ¡°That¡¯s true. How much would it cost then?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll cost ya an arm and a leg if you¡¯re goin¡¯ for military-grade. But we don¡¯t need that. Just a mid-grade¡¯ll be fine, but lass,¡± he continued, ¡°You won¡¯t have enough for your eye.¡±


    ¡°Coach, we only got like 100k from that guy. That¡¯s not enough to find a replacement for my Razen¡ª¡±


    ¡°But that is enough for a replacement.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, those won¡¯t be good. Whatever. I don¡¯t need boxing right now. It¡¯s not that important¡ª¡±


    Don¡¯t need boxing? ¡°You¡¯re quitting? But¡­¡± He didn¡¯t want her to quit. Not for him. He wanted her to soar again. He didn¡¯t want to become another bother like he was to Dad.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. Both of you.¡± She motioned towards her broken eye. ¡°This shit¡¯s not a big deal. I¡¯ll jump back soon. I got my ways.¡±


    ¡°Like what, lass? Stealin¡¯ again?¡±


    ¡°Just for now, okay? I won¡¯t fall into the habit.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re stealing?¡± Bread knew she wasn¡¯t perfect, but she was stealing? Like a thief? Was that really okay to do?


    ¡°Guys, guys! It¡¯s not that bad.¡± She held out her hands as if to place some space between herself and them. ¡°Can you guys please chill? Both of you¡¯re just ganging up on me at this point.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t stealing bad?¡± That¡¯s what his records told him. ¡°You could go to j¡ª¡±


    ¡°Shhh.¡± She placed her finger over his mouth. ¡°It¡¯s just a little bit. Just to help us get back on track, right? I said I wasn¡¯t going to quit. Plus! Stealing¡¯s hard! It¡¯s basically like a real shitty job.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that a bad word?¡±


    ¡°Oh my gosh, Bread. Were you always like this?¡± She rolled her eye, but her faint smile didn¡¯t leave her. ¡°You¡¯ll get used to it.¡±


    ¡°Is it really worth it, lass? He¡¯s not even r¡ª¡±


    ¡°Coach!¡±


    ¡°Alright, alright. My bad.¡± Coach moved over to his computer. ¡°I got the address to Greg¡¯s. It won¡¯t be cheap, but he¡¯s the best we¡¯ve got. I¡¯ll contact him to let him know you¡¯re coming.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not coming with?¡±


    ¡°I gotta watch over the lad. Unless you wanna try.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± She changed the subject. ¡°Greg got any veils too?¡±


    ¡°A dermal veil? Val, that¡¯ll go over budget. We ain¡¯t made out of money.¡±


    ¡°I know, I know. Just¡ªwhatever. Just tell me.¡±


    Coach shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. But he¡¯s always got the goods.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll check¡ª¡±


    ¡°Lass, he doesn¡¯t need a veil. He can function¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know. I¡¯ll be smart about it.¡±


    ¡°Smart.¡± Coach grunted. ¡°Yeah, sure. Just don¡¯t go stealin¡¯ anything from Greg. He ain¡¯t someone you can mess with.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m being very serious, Val.¡±


    ¡°Same here.¡± She started packing things into a small backpack. ¡°I¡¯ll be back in a jiffy.¡±


    ¡°Can I come?¡± Bread asked. He was so close to seeing the world. It was right there in front of him. All those trees, beaches, real birds¡­ ¡°I want to watch¡ª¡±


    ¡°No!¡± the two yelled in unison.


    ¡°It¡¯s dangerous,¡± Val blurted out. She then turned to Coach. ¡°Keep him safe. And don¡¯t mention that word.¡±


    ¡°What? Oh, that word.¡± Coach made a weird, groaning noise, like an extended clearing of his throat. The sound suggested mild annoyance; it was something even Bread noticed without having to fully understand the situation. ¡°He¡¯s real. I got it. Just keep your word. Don¡¯t even think about stealing from Greg.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I got it.¡± Val rolled her eye again. She then headed towards the door, waved, and quickly left without another word.


    After everything had settled down some, Coach pulled up a chair next to Bread. ¡°Now, you¡¯ll be safe here with me, lad.¡± He brought out a fresh bag of beef jerky. His more positive demeanor seemed to have returned. ¡°I may not look it, but I once fought a bear¡­¡±


    But Bread didn¡¯t believe a thing Coach said that night.

 New Place, New Name

    Stars dazzled the skies before the city managed to sputter back to life. The balls of gas quickly disappeared into the depths, losing purpose in shining their light. All around, flashing ad signs and glaring street lamps replaced the once beautiful night sky.


    Nature. All but ruined from human intervention. The Creator couldn¡¯t help but feel a little disappointed by the sudden artificial intrusions.


    In Simular, light pollution had no effect on the view of the stars. His simulation could never be ruined by a mere human. At this point, not even himself. The machine learning model had gone too far for him to even fully comprehend most of the algorithm. It was almost completely unsupervised¡ªconstantly changing, evolving, tweaking itself to match with the sometimes exaggerated but theoretically better versions of reality. But there was no use thinking about that now.


    ¡°Mam,¡± he called out. ¡°I believe this is where we part ways. The lights seem to have been restored.¡±


    ¡°The lights?¡± She clapped her hands together as if the realization finally hit her. ¡°Oh, was that what all the commotion was about?¡±


    ¡°Come again?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, dear.¡± She used her arms to feel around her surroundings. ¡°Could you find me my cane?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­ blind.¡± Of course she was. He checked around the vicinity. There. In the corner, crushed under the same pole he had moved over was what was suppose to have been a snow-white cane. Great. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ well, it¡¯s broken.¡±


    ¡°It is? That¡¯s quite¡ª¡± She gasped, feeling around her wrists like a crazed maniac. ¡°Y-young man, could you do me a favor? Could you help me find my bracelet? It¡¯s very important to me!¡±


    ¡°Bracelet? Why would I¡ª¡± Something sparkled to his left. A plain, silver bracelet embedded with a dozen diamonds. There was a name carved into it. ¡°Aurora Morgan?¡± He picked it up.


    ¡°That¡¯s me!¡± the old lady exclaimed. Her demeanor quickly changed to anxious worry. ¡°Did you find it? Did you find the bracelet?¡±


    ¡°I did.¡± Without much thought, he tossed it into her palms. The sudden contact with the jewelry made her flinch.


    ¡°O-oh!¡±


    ¡°Right, you¡¯re blind. Apologies.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s quite alright! Thank you, dear.¡± She grinned proudly as she snapped the bracelet back onto her wrist. Then she reached around until she found a wall and pulled herself up, but it didn¡¯t take long for her to collapse again. ¡°Oh my! Why, I must¡¯ve really hurt my legs this time.¡±


    ¡°You hurt yourself?¡± It was more instinctual than anything. He didn¡¯t have time for this. The lack of inflections in his voice should¡¯ve told anybody that he didn¡¯t care, but to her, it clearly didn¡¯t seem to matter.


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re so kind to ask. It¡¯s just that I don¡¯t think I can move my right leg as well as I thought I could.¡± She started droning on about her day. He could tell she was quite the talkative lady. ¡°Today¡¯s such a pickling day. I was just out for a walk and¡­¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± He stifled a sigh, exhaling through his nose instead. The way she talked was annoying; it was a lot of unnecessary words for something as simple as ¡°I hurt my leg.¡±


    It had probably been injured by the pole. Obviously. Was that truly not obvious? Does she truly not understand how her body worked? He knew someone just like that¡ªoverworked herself to her death¡­ He cleared the thought away.


    ¡°Where do you live?¡± he instead asked.


    ¡°Well, I live just across from the local market.¡± She tried pulling herself up again but to no avail. ¡°Why do you ask, dear?¡±


    ¡°Across where?¡± He begrudgingly helped her to her feet, half carrying her on his shoulders. It was more irritating watching her repeat the same process twice, expecting different results. ¡°Give me the address.¡±


    ¡°Address? The address¡­¡± She seemed to struggle to remember. ¡°I¡¯m not so sure, but it¡¯s close! It¡¯s that way!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a wall.¡±


    ¡°Well, first of all, I¡¯d like to know why you¡¯d like to know, young man? I take care of my privacy dearly!¡±


    ¡°Would you prefer walking then?¡± He half dropped her, loosening his grip just enough for her to experience the shift in gravity.


    ¡°Oh! I-if that¡¯s the case¡­¡± She held on for dear life, a nervous laugh leaving her soul. ¡°That was enlightening, dear! Why, you ought to be very intelligent if you can explain the situation so quickly like that!¡±


    The Creator grumbled at her positive attitude. If she¡¯d just declined his help, that would¡¯ve been so much more preferable. Why was he even helping her in the first place? Was it guilt? Boredom? No, he knew exactly why, and he despised himself for being swayed so easily by such minor reasons.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    ¡°We can start at the market.¡± She pointed to another wall. ¡°I can guide you from there!¡±


    The Creator sighed again. It was audible this time. He had given up on trying to hide his distaste of the situation. Perhaps this was karma for how he¡¯d treated Bread.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go, young man!¡± the old lady cried. ¡°I¡¯ll treat you to some tea while I¡¯m at it.¡±


    ¡°No, thank you.¡± The comment about privacy was just a lie then. It didn¡¯t seem like she cared one bit about who he was and whether or not he was a dangerous individual. And why did she have so much energy? By the time he¡¯d be her age, he was sure he¡¯d be content just being alive. What more could he do for his life anyway when the one person he¡¯d wanted alive wasn¡¯t even there anymore? This old lady¡¯s vibrant demeanor was in contrast of hers¡­


    She wouldn¡¯t have acted this way. She wouldn¡¯t have asked anybody for help. Instead, she would¡¯ve burdened herself with all that responsibility, walked all the way home without complaint even if offered help. He knew better than anyone¡­


    Because she was never so weak.


    ¡­


    ¡°And this is your place?¡± the Creator asked. ¡°This hodgepodge of a place?¡± He couldn¡¯t help but show his disgust.


    The old lady had directed him to a nearby apartment complex. The building was littered with battle scars. Bullet holes and graffiti scarred the surface of the walls, and parts of the foundation were crumbling, but she didn¡¯t seem to mind.


    She was blind. It made sense. But had her nose rotted off too? He could barely stand the putrid stench of all the decomposing waste outside¡ªpieces of rotting fruit, dried eggshells, strands of spoiled ham and bacon strips. They were sprawled out across the parking lot in decorative fashion. There was more food waste here than any of the high-end grocery stores he¡¯d shopped at.


    He despised it¡ªthe stench, the sight, the mess of memories that came with it. He despised it so much because it was a brief reminder¡­


    ¡°Oh, this might be the one!¡± The old lady hobbled over to apartment 109 and unlocked the door. ¡°Please, come in. Make yourself at home.¡±


    ¡°Again. No, thank you. I¡¯d rather not¡ª¡±


    ¡°I insist. You¡¯ve done far too much for me, dear. How will I ever repay you?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need payment¡ª¡±


    ¡°Ah, you jest.¡± She grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. ¡°At least let me serve you some tea!¡± She went over to the kitchen counter and turned on an ancient stereo speaker. A soft orchestral piece started to play.


    It was dark; she hadn¡¯t turned on the lights. He sighed. What had he gotten himself into? Whatever. It didn¡¯t matter; he wasn¡¯t planning on staying long. Perhaps this would end quicker if he simply complied and had some tea.


    The apartment was an eyesore. It was cluttered with unusable goods¡ªshelves stocked with rusted soup cans, overly flamboyant dishware, and long since dated wireless modems. Old, tattered paintings decorated the walls like some sort of tacky sticker collection. It wasn¡¯t necessarily dirty, but it was a shameful display of taste he¡¯d personally never show the rest of the world, and it constantly made him compare the room to a place from his past¡­


    She was never like this. She would always have that bare minimum line of tact. Even when they couldn¡¯t afford it, even when she never had the time.


    The old lady limped over with an electric kettle, two absolutely ridiculously decorated mugs showing sections from an unrecognizable comic strip, and a plastic box full of tea bags.


    ¡°Mam.¡± He really wanted to leave.


    ¡°Call me Morgan.¡±


    ¡°Right. Mrs. Morgan, I need to go.¡±


    ¡°You do? At such a late hour? Why don¡¯t you stay the night, dear? I¡¯d feel sorry if I couldn¡¯t offer you something in return.¡±


    ¡°How did you know it was¡­ Whatever, I¡ª¡± A hotel was preferable. But it was pretty late. The place was crowded, messy, and wasn¡¯t to his style, but it¡¯d be free. He could find another place. It wouldn¡¯t be that difficult¡­ but¡­ ¡°Fine. Just one night.¡±


    ¡°Splendid!¡± It was almost like she didn¡¯t hear him say that he was staying for just one night. ¡°What tea would you like, dear?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m staying just one night.¡± There¡¯d be no misunderstandings. He had that feeling she¡¯d ignore it come tomorrow morning.


    ¡°Oh, I heard you the first time. Don¡¯t you worry, dear. Leave or stay, I¡¯ll respect your decisions.¡± But she continued, ¡°But you¡¯re always welcome to stay, and I¡¯ll cook you breakfast. It¡¯ll be my treat.¡±


    Breakfast? He had wanted a complimentary breakfast. It¡¯d be less work for him¡­ No, he needed to leave. He had more important businesses to attend to¡ªBread and his mother. But breakfast¡­


    ¡°Tea?¡± Mrs. Morgan dangled the loosely tied tea bags around for him to see. There seemed to be a wide assortment to choose from, but the Creator only had one flavor in mind.


    ¡°Matcha will do.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t have matcha, but I do have green tea. Would that suffice?¡±


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s fine.¡± Although minor, he was mildly surprised by her ability to differentiate the two. Most would just tie them together as one and the same.


    ¡°Very good!¡± She placed a tea bag into the mug and poured in some hot water. ¡°Do you have a name I can call you by?¡±


    ¡°Name?¡± He had never liked telling others his name. There was never a specific reason for it, but nowadays, it always reminded him of her. She was the only one who¡¯d often called him by his real name. Azan too, but he was more so an exception to the rule. Most simply addressed him as the Creator. Everyone knew him as the Creator anyway. It was easy and perhaps a bit pretentious, but otherwise, it was free from any harm.


    But Mrs. Morgan couldn¡¯t see him, couldn¡¯t even recognize him. He didn¡¯t have to be the Creator. Oddly, it was relieving that there was still somebody out there who didn¡¯t know who he was. He kind of wanted to keep it that way¡ªmaintain a life without any of his previous connections. Be anonymous. Just for tonight. Perhaps it wouldn¡¯t hurt to tell her¡­


    ¡°Well?¡±


    The steam from the freshly brewed tea billowed up to his nose in bursts of wispy, herbal fragrance. The grassy smell was still exquisite even knowing they were from commercialized, prepackaged bags.


    He could never get enough. And as the aroma swirled around, delivering waves of freshness to his mind, he felt a thin smile faintly break through his usual stoic demeanor.


    ¡°Gunther,¡± he finally answered. ¡°Gunther Melaconite.¡±

 Who is She?

    Gunther wasn¡¯t born to a rich family. He never had that kind of luck.


    He¡¯d always envied his friends who had it better. They¡¯d have packed lunches, brand new school supplies, clothes that always seemed to fit just right¡­ Mom didn¡¯t even have time to pick him up after school.


    It¡¯d always felt like he was different.


    Mom was always working. He knew she had to, but it didn¡¯t help that school was always just a comparison game. Everyone had something to brag about, and it always felt like he was being left behind. He¡¯d done his best to tolerate it, but eventually, it hit a boiling point¡­


    The concrete floor met his eyes. The cold, barely insulated room that they had been renting out was just warm enough for them to get through winter.


    They would often have to resort to some makeshift fireplace, using a hand-crafted ventilation system that Mom had created out of thin sheet metal and cardboard. It was just sealed enough to send the smoke out their singular window without them dying from suffocation. He had fainted several times from the carbon monoxide poisoning, barely making it out alive because of his mom, but it was either that or frostbite.


    ¡°Mom¡­¡± Gunther still couldn¡¯t look up; he was so ashamed.


    Mom had always starved for breakfast and dinner. It wasn¡¯t like he didn¡¯t know that. She would make excuses like, ¡°I¡¯m not hungry,¡± but he started to realize something was different when all he saw around him were gluttons.


    When he happened to be invited to a friend¡¯s sleepover, he¡¯d seen an entire extended family at the dining room table stuffing food down their throats like he¡¯d never seen before.


    Everyone was eating. Everyone was gorging down on steaks, pork chops, fried chicken, happily oblivious to the value of food, to how difficult it was for his mom to make enough for a single meal. He couldn¡¯t believe it when his friend also fed the family dog the same, high-quality steak that was served on the table. He couldn¡¯t believe any of it¡­


    ¡°What is it, Gunther?¡± Mom asked.


    ¡°Can you¡­¡± Maybe he didn¡¯t have to do this? No, but he wanted it. He needed it! Why couldn¡¯t he have what everyone else had for granted? Why couldn¡¯t he have it just for once? It didn¡¯t have to be every day. He just wanted to experience what it felt like to be normal. He didn¡¯t want to be an outcast all the time. Just once, and he¡¯d be satisfied. Just once¡ª


    ¡°Gunther?¡± Mom stared with that worried look. She always made that face when she was worried. Why? She should worry about herself more. Why did she worry so much?


    He was capable. He didn¡¯t lack in anything other than money. He was sociable, smart, athletic. He did everything with perfection. He performed to the highest degree, but why did it always seem like she was worried he¡¯d make a mistake?


    ¡°Gunther, you can tell me.¡± She gently coerced him with those lies. He knew she couldn¡¯t do everything, but it didn¡¯t help that she always kept her word.


    He was so proud to have her as his mom. As he grew older¡ªeven though he was still just barely thirteen¡ªhe realized how much she¡¯d done throughout his life. Dad was gone, so she¡¯d burdened herself with work. He wanted so much to help, to make her proud. He wanted to make sure of it too by working with her, but she¡¯d always told him that his job was to be a student. If he succeeded in life, she¡¯d said that that was all she ever wanted from him.


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    Gunther took a deep breath and steeled himself. He was going to say it. Mom wasn¡¯t someone who¡¯d drop it even if he told her not to worry.


    ¡°Can you¡­ pack me lunch tomorrow?¡±


    ¡°Lunch?¡± She seemed to think for a long while. ¡°Didn¡¯t I already give you lunch money? Isn¡¯t that enough?¡±


    ¡°Well, yes. It¡¯s enough. It¡¯s just that everyone else is bringing a packed lunch so¡­¡±


    ¡°You can make it yourself, you know.¡±


    ¡°Well, I can¡­ But it¡¯s not the same thing.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not?¡± She paused again. Gunther waited patiently for a positive response. ¡°Oh, okay.¡± Her response was short. ¡°I see what you mean now.¡±


    ¡°Is that¡­ a yes?¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± On one hand, she¡¯d always listened to his requests since he didn¡¯t have many to begin with, but on the other hand, she¡¯d always shot down superficial requests like these in the past. They weren¡¯t necessarily living the life. They didn¡¯t have enough to afford even the smallest of luxuries.


    ¡°Of course. I¡¯d do that for my sweet, little baby¡ª¡±


    ¡°Stop, mom. That¡¯s embarrassing!¡±


    ¡°Aww, nobody¡¯s here. It¡¯s fine.¡±


    ¡°Okay¡­¡± He tried to calm himself down, but he couldn¡¯t help it. Deep down, he was shouting celebrations. For the first time, he was looking forward to going to school. ¡°So you¡¯ll pack me lunch tomorrow?¡±


    ¡°No, every day,¡± she replied, coolly. As if she just said the most common sensical thing in the world.


    ¡°Every day?¡± That was too much. How would they ever afford something like that? ¡°You don¡¯t have to¡ª¡±


    ¡°Stop worrying about me, Gunther. That¡¯s my job as a parent. Not yours.¡± She shook her head. ¡°Enjoy your youth. Stop trying to act like a grown up already. You¡¯re going to miss being a kid.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°No buts,¡± she commanded. Then her voice softened a bit, a slight smile hugged her face. ¡°I¡¯m going to die so young without actually having lived. You don¡¯t need to experience that too.¡±


    She looked so tired, so worn out from all the work she¡¯d been putting herself up to. That wasn¡¯t something he¡¯d wanted to see happen from this conversation taking place. It was because of this that he¡¯d been holding himself back from making any of these requests.


    He didn¡¯t want this.


    He was going to change it. All of it. He had to vow to give her life back. Whether it be through the newly popularized studies of cybernetics or even plain, old business, he¡¯d find a way to make money. Large and large amounts of it. He¡¯d do anything to rid himself of this guilt, anything to make her proud.


    Why, when everyone else was having the time of their lives, did they have to suffer like this? Why did Mom have to work? Why couldn¡¯t she retire like the rest? Why didn¡¯t they have it all¡ªa perfect family or anything for that matter?


    Why was life so unfair?


    He never understood it¡ªlife. He never really got what it meant to live. His mom was living, alright. But if this was what it meant to be alive, why live in the first place? Why suffer when he could just end it all with a single knife through the chest? She was working herself to the bone, to her inevitable death, and all he could do was watch.


    It was just so wrong.


    If he¡¯d died, she¡¯d have one less mouth to feed. He¡¯d always thought about it¡ªsuicide. It would sometimes even visit him in his dreams¡ªnot nightmares¡ªbeautiful, blissful dreams. The only reason he¡¯d never commit was because of the fact that if he did die, Mom would never stop beating herself up for it. She¡¯d suffer more. So until Mom was living a life that she deserved, he would stay alive and fight for their rights to a plentiful life.


    He would make her proud. He would give her the happiness that she¡¯d always wanted and finally make her sad smile mean something more than just the bare minimum.


    That was his one and only goal.

 To Repair, Place In Rice

    What am I?


    Bread¡¯s appearance being a shocker was an understatement. As he stared at the bedside mirror, he saw strands of wires dangling off his sides, frayed cables running up his torso. Irregularities in supposed human biology were rampant, and his face¡­ It was a mess. Like he was missing the face part of his face. Just two holes for eyes and a metal framework with none of the skin that was supposed to have been there.


    He was far from being real. No, he wasn¡¯t even close.


    Coach has insisted¡ªno, forced him to be tethered to the nearest wall outlet. Since his energy core¡ªwhich was supposed to be his heart¡ªwas weak, it couldn¡¯t maintain itself when disconnected. In his words, it wasn¡¯t supposed to be fed like some sort of iv drip. It was supposed to make him cordless¡ªdepending on the quality of the core, on average from a day to even a decade of time without having to connect to the walls.


    But Bread didn¡¯t care about any of this. He didn¡¯t ask for this; he didn¡¯t want this. What he wanted was to go outside¡ªsee the city and the beaches that he was promised.


    He could try sneaking out. Right now, Coach wasn¡¯t around. He was on the other side¡ªthe gym area of the building.


    A few minutes without cables couldn¡¯t possibly shut him down. He could fight it. How would a lack of energy manage to stop him? He was more human than that. All he had to do was rush back to bed and plug himself in.


    Bread slid off the bed with as little noise as possible. The hefty cable was plugged directly into his chest, so he grabbed it tightly in his hands and pulled. It slid out without much resistance. Then he paused as if to gauge himself.


    Nothing. He felt the same as he¡¯d always felt.


    He could feel a newfound grin spreading across his face as he tiptoed past all the tools and junk to finally arrive in front of the backdoor¡ªthe same one Val had left through in a hurry last night. And he turned the knob¡ªit squeaked just loud enough for him to tense up¡ªand pushed it open as slowly as he could.


    Sunlight.


    The ultraviolet rays dripped down his neck, splashing into his eyes. He could feel the heat prickling his mechanical back like a light rash. He scratched his arms; it all felt so real. Everything felt so much more touchable. As he walked, he could even feel the slight aches in his joints, the changes in weight that distributed throughout his legs. With this supposedly less human body, he could somehow feel so much more than before.


    It felt so different. Nothing like the simulation; nothing like the world he¡¯d left behind. Was this what it really felt like to be alive?


    The feeling¡ªit was rougher around the edges, not so smooth, but he liked it. All his movements felt like they had some sort of impact. Like there was actual weight to everything he did. It was harder to walk, harder to talk, harder to even grasp which way was up, but it all just felt so much more real. Like he¡¯d opened his eyes for the second time.


    Then everything gave out.


    His hips creaked and groaned. Everything was off balance. The world around him swirled upside-down, and the next thing he knew, he was on the ground.


    A strong thud reverberated through the dirt like a miniature earthquake. Every small tremble could be felt through his fingers. There was a sense of serenity he¡¯d felt when he realized how everything was all connected back to him¡ªthe earth, his fall, his legs, the world around him. But then¡­


    Panic.


    It slowly seeped in, settling deep in his throat like some sort of unwanted lump. There was no feeling in his back. None of that warmth he¡¯d just felt before.


    What?


    He tried to move. He couldn¡¯t.


    No, what¡¯s happening?


    He tried to feel his legs, his arms. Anything! He couldn¡¯t feel them! And there it was again, that feeling¡ªa memory¡­ He wasn¡¯t real. None of this was. What if he was just imagining things? What if this wasn¡¯t actually the real world? Was his mind still here? Was he dreaming? Had he already been reset?


    No!


    He was trapped; he couldn¡¯t get out. He was going to be reset! No, he didn¡¯t want that. He wanted to be free! He wanted to¡ª


    The sun dawned on him, warmth finally flowing back through his body. He could feel it again. Not just the arms. The prickling in his legs. Breathe in¡­ He started to slow himself down. And out¡­ in¡­


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    This wasn¡¯t Simular. He wasn¡¯t trapped anymore. No, this was real. He had to believe it. Dad wasn¡¯t here. It was all real. He was real. He was going to be okay. Val had said so. He was still human¡­


    ¡°Lad?!¡± Coach rushed out of the gym; tools and utensils flew in the air. ¡°What¡¯re you doing here? Ah, now you¡¯ve done it.¡± He grabbed Bread¡¯s legs and pulled.


    No¡­


    Coach started to drag him back. All the way into the abyss.


    ¡°No!¡± He grabbed at the dirt. He clawed his way back towards the sun. He wasn¡¯t going to be trapped again!


    ¡°What are you doing? Stand still! You¡¯ve dislodged your spine!¡±


    ¡°No!¡± There was a flower. A flower the color of the sun, beautifully growing through the cracks between the paved asphalt. He grabbed the stem and held on for dear life. It was going to save him! This flower that looked like the sun he so wished to be a part of. This flower that had pierced through the hard, solid blacktop¡ªit was going to pull him to freedom.


    ¡°Lad! Let go!¡±


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t want to go back!¡±


    But the flower started to tear¡­


    No, don¡¯t die.


    The roots revealed themselves from between the cracks. It wasn¡¯t going to hold for much longer. It was ripping at the stem¡­


    Let it go.


    It wasn¡¯t going to hold much longer. It was going to die¡­


    Let go!


    And then¡ªit snapped.


    ¡°I said LET GO!¡± Coach smacked him across the head. Bread¡¯s eyes rumbled around; his vision blurred. ¡°You can go outside after!¡±


    The flower¡ªit was a dandelion. His records told him so. It had been trapped in the earth, rooted beneath all that asphalt. It had been trapped underneath all that dirt. And it was free now. It was free to go wherever it pleased, and yet¡­


    He gazed at the dying flower in his hands, ripped out from its own underground home. It was going to die. All because of him. All because he didn¡¯t let go¡­


    I¡¯m so sorry¡­


    Was he going to die too? Just like that flower. Maybe he already was. Maybe¡­ His eyes started to feel heavier by the second. What? It took all his might to keep them open. What¡¯s happening? Like he was getting ready to fall asleep, but why? Am I finally¡­ Why did he feel so happy? ¡­going to die? The flower, the dandelion. What was that about¡­ Flower¡­ I need¡­ to sleep¡­


    ¡­


    Dandelion!


    When Bread woke up again, he was back on the bed. The cable was already plugged in securely to his chest. Coach was beside him, tinkering with a bunch of tools. He looked annoyed, muttering something under his breath.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Bread croaked out. It was almost instinctive at this point. It felt like he¡¯d said that phrase so many times now. But just now, there was something else that had itched his mind. What was it that he was thinking about? Something about a dandelion? That flower¡­


    He didn¡¯t want to think about it.


    ¡°Stop talking. Can¡¯t concentrate.¡± Coach moved in closer and started screwing away, twisting and turning at his joints. He hammered a little, then fastened another bolt in place with the most delicate of hands he¡¯d ever seen. He muttered loud enough for Bread to hear, ¡°Just like the lass. Causing so much trouble all the time.¡±


    ¡°I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Stay still.¡±


    Bread stiffened up.


    ¡°Not that still. Loosen up.¡±


    He relaxed his body a little.


    ¡°Good. Now stay like that.¡± After a few more swings, he stopped to admire his work. ¡°Try moving your legs.¡±


    He raised his legs up and down.


    ¡°Good.¡± Coach placed his hand on his shoulder. ¡°Ouch!¡±


    Sparks flew.


    There was a weird taste in his mouth. Then his records immediately took over, and he said it aloud¡ª¡°Blueberries.¡±


    ¡°Blueberries?¡±


    ¡°I taste blueberries.¡± Didn¡¯t this kind of thing happen before? Bread was sure something similar happened just a while ago. When did it happen? Was it yesterday? Something about¡­ Beef?


    ¡°Ah, maybe it¡¯s the smell. Just had them with cereal this morning,¡± Coach said.


    ¡°But I taste it right now.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got funky taste buds, lad.¡± The man put away his tools. ¡°Maybe we¡¯ll have to get that fixed too.¡±


    Bread didn¡¯t really care about that though. Taste wouldn¡¯t suffice as a means to explore the world. There was only one thing currently on his mind¡ª


    ¡°Can I go outside now?¡±


    Coach groaned. ¡°No, but you will. Soon. When Val comes back.¡± He strolled over to the other side and called through the walls, ¡°But don¡¯t even think about getting out of that bed, ya hear?¡±


    Bread wondered if Coach really cared about him. Like Val. All he wanted was go outside¡ªinto that new and unfamiliar territory that he was promised before. The only way for him to see the world, at the moment, was through the small window beside the bed.


    Outside, there were half-eaten slices of what looked to be roast beef dangling out from moldy BLTs, and tangles of rainbow wires sprawled across the empty downtown streets. Plastic shards, broken restaurant signs, and crushed paper cups cluttered the corners of tall, worn-down architecture.


    It was supposed to be trash¡ªcolorless and dull garbage. Nothing about it was pleasant to the eyes, but to him, it all looked like treasure. They were the signs of a new world with new possibilities. A chance to finally be out there instead of in here. And yet, he still couldn¡¯t leave. He was stuck.


    Just like before.

 Let Me Hold Your Hand

    Valerie Briarwood¡­


    The Creator stared at the holographic image of the woman who was supposedly connected to Bread¡¯s kidnapping.


    A Roscoerama champ and also known as Valkyrie¡ª


    ¡°That boxer!¡± It was her! The same one from the match Bread was watching. How could such a thing happen? A coincidence of this caliber? No, this wasn¡¯t a coincidence. Azan had somehow foreseen this. Somehow¡­


    ¡°Did you happen to figure something out, dear?¡± Mrs. Morgan placed a plate full of hash browns, eggs, and sausages his way. It was a complimentary breakfast like he¡¯d hoped for. Of course, it wasn¡¯t delivered in the way that he¡¯d expected it to come.


    ¡°That¡¯s none of your concern, but thank you for the food.¡± He looked over the food. It was well cooked. Above average, he¡¯d say. ¡°How did you manage to cook this without sight?¡±


    ¡°Oh, you get used to it.¡± She bashfully waved his compliment aside. ¡°I cooked this same meal every morning for my son.¡±


    ¡°Your son?¡± He never thought she had a son. Not with the fact that this son of hers hadn¡¯t even come home last night. ¡°Where is he?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you asked!¡± She reached over to one of her cabinets and brought over what looked to be a piece of rounded sheet metal. There were wires and cables jutting out from the sides, holes in various places. ¡°Right here!¡±


    ¡°This?¡± He looked it over. It looked like junk¡ªgarbage you¡¯d find outside the apartment. Why would she¡­ He took a closer look. There was something familiar about it¡ªholes that looked like eye sockets, a nose, mouth. He immediately knew what it was. It was a modified doll synthetic epidermal frame. Also known to common folk as, ¡°A skinplate. How nostalgic.¡±


    ¡°Why, yes! You do know your stuff!¡±


    The lump of scrap that Mrs. Morgan had been holding was a part of a mod doll¡¯s facial frame. From the look of things, a Domestic Household Unit: First Generation model used as general AI replacements for family members, whether existing or not. But the product was beaten up, dented in all the wrong places, and completely rusted over. The entire body was also missing. This was essentially just the top part of the head piece.


    ¡°Aww,¡± she moaned. ¡°Now that I¡¯m holding him, I do miss him dearly.¡±


    ¡°You could just buy another one.¡± He could even give her one as payment for the food and stay. After all, he was one of the few who had directly worked on it. He could easily recreate another.


    The project was supposed to have been his first start-up undertaking if it wasn¡¯t for some obvious betrayals by the very people he¡¯d trusted to help him create the initial concepts of Simular. But he was thankful it hadn¡¯t worked out. He¡¯d met Azan, and the rest had become history. If only Azan was still as understanding as he was in the past.


    ¡°I¡ªWell, I-I thought about it, but¡­¡± Mrs. Morgan paused for a long while. ¡°But that won¡¯t really be him, will it?¡±


    He didn¡¯t take her for the sentimental type. From the way she enthusiastically brought the mod doll up in conversation, he¡¯d expected a less emotionally affectionate response. From her reaction, it sounded more like she was still in the process of grieving.


    ¡°Why does that matter?¡± he asked. He was curious. ¡°You could program the AI to be exactly the same as the old one.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ Well, I can¡¯t do that, Gunther, dear.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s still my son.¡±


    Still my son¡­ That was a phrase he¡¯d often heard when he was young, but it was never something he¡¯d enjoyed hearing.


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    What even was a son to begin with? A blood relation? Purely societal? This old woman called a synthetic piece of scrap her son, but he himself had denounced Bread as his own. What even was the difference between the two? Was there even a difference to begin with?


    Mother had said the same years ago¡­


    ¡­


    ¡°Why?¡± Mother looked him down. ¡°Why would you do such a despicable thing, Gunther?¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t understand.¡± Gunther stared back through the glass. Mother didn¡¯t look so well, but that would only be for now. ¡°I did this for you.¡±


    ¡°You keep saying that, but you¡¯re in jail!¡± She combed through her hair, her fingers trembling with each stroke. ¡°I don¡¯t understand, Gunther. I didn¡¯t raise you like this!¡±


    ¡°Raise me?¡± She truly didn¡¯t seem to understand. ¡°Raising me has nothing to do with this. I¡¯m going through a breakthrough. You¡¯ll see it¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a murderer! You killed innocent people! Don¡¯t you see that?¡±


    ¡°They were nobodies¡­ And I didn¡¯t kill anyone. They simply lacked the necessary survival instincts to survive.¡±


    ¡°Gunther, I¡ª¡± She sighed, letting out a gasp of hot, breathy air. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do. I don¡¯t have the money to bail you out, but even if I did, I-I don¡¯t even know if you deserve it. I just¡­ don¡¯t know anymore.¡±


    ¡°Azan¡¯s got it under control. You don¡¯t need to do a thing¡ª¡±


    ¡°Listen to you! Azan this, Azan that! He¡¯s a bad influence! I¡¯ve been saying that for years and look where it¡¯s landed you!¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s my friend.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re supposed to be my son, Gunther.¡±


    ¡°I know. That¡¯s exactly why.¡±


    ¡°Gunther, you-you have to stop,¡± she stammered. ¡°This is wrong on so many levels. I just can¡¯t imagine my sweet, little boy turning out like¡­ like this!¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡± He pushed her harder. It wouldn¡¯t do her any good to hold in all that frustration. She had more than enough to deal with in her daily life than deal with his own minor mistakes. ¡°Say it, Mother.¡±


    ¡°Like¡­¡± There was a moment of pause¡ªhesitation, a slight wavering in her voice. But she finally said it. ¡°Like a monster¡­¡±


    It almost seemed like Mother was embarrassed. Was it about what he¡¯d done? Or was this about him? If only she knew how much he¡¯d done for her¡­


    The human neural experiments weren¡¯t for naught. It had helped fuel his research; it had helped with everything. It furthered humanity in so many ways that others couldn¡¯t even fathom of pursuing solely because they were bogged down by some incomprehensible code of ethics. Humanity was stagnant because of their so-called emotions¡ªempathy, kindness, respect. What did these things even do for them? Bring success? Hope? A brighter future?


    No, it was all worthless.


    Efficiency was supposed to be the key. If they were to follow all the rules and regulations of the world by the very people who struggled to even understand basic arithmetic, by the time this simulation tech was usable, he¡¯d be long dead, and his mother would be the same.


    ¡°Mother,¡± he called. The glass between them¡ªor rather transparent composite¡ªwas looking more and more like an obstruction. All he had to do was punch through the thin layer. He had the cyber-ups for it; he could show her how far above the law he actually was. ¡°Trust me. I can give you your life back.¡±


    ¡°Gunther, please¡ª¡±


    ¡°If you want to rest, then rest. If you want to enjoy, then enjoy. Why can¡¯t you just accept the money that I send you and live a little? You don¡¯t need to work.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not about the money. And even if it is, I won¡¯t accept something so dirty.¡±


    ¡°You sound spoiled¡ª¡±


    ¡°Watch your mouth! I¡¯m still your mom¡­¡± Her eyes were downcast, most likely worn out from all that rotten, everyday work. There was no joy in her face, no laughter to be seen. It had been that way for years. ¡°No more. You can still save yourself from all this.¡±


    ¡°Why do you even care?¡± The words came out a lot harsher than he¡¯d expected, but the realization didn¡¯t stop his bitterness from seeping through. ¡°Can¡¯t you just be happy for your own sake? Why am I so important to you? Why is it so necessary that you care about me at the cost of your own sanity? You¡¯ve done enough. I¡¯m already twenty-nine. Is it not selfish that you¡¯re still trying to mold me into somebody that I¡¯m not?¡±


    ¡°Because¡­¡± she started. Her expression immediately changed. There was a shift in her demeanor.


    He knew that look. He¡¯d seen it a million times. It was unyielding, determined¡ªa face only seen on victors. It was the look that had cemented the reason for his dreams being the way they were. A look that shouldn¡¯t have belonged on some poor, everyday worker. A look that screamed, ¡°I won¡¯t give up.¡± And she answered¡ª


    ¡°You¡¯re still my son.¡±

 Condoms For Everyone!

    Val took a deep breath and popped on a soundtrack into one ear. Her favorite ethe-beats played in the background as she steadied herself for entry into Gambit Greg¡¯s warehouse.


    ¡°Come in, come in!¡± a voice boomed from inside, startling her out of her self-induced trance.


    Well, guess that¡¯s that. She hadn¡¯t wanted to bring attention to herself, but it seemed like she didn¡¯t really have much of a choice anymore.


    When she walked inside, she saw Gambit Greg sitting atop a makeshift throne of crushed beer cans and cracked bottles like he was role-playing as some kind of king of the landfill. He peered down at Val with aloof eyes. His blank expression never seemed to change.


    As first impressions went, she wouldn¡¯t have expected someone like that to have gained such influence over the years. He was guzzling down some unknown liquid¡ªprobably beer¡ªwith one hand and scratching his round, obtuse belly with his other. Flies flew around the vicinity, and the smell¡ªit was awful. It smelled like intense pisswater and puke mixed together, and she thought she was already used to that kind of thing by now.


    But there was no denying the facts.


    As one of the major players in the landfill industry, Greg now had significant control over their metropolis, Novus Lokris. It was a literal garbage monopoly. Nobody could touch him. Without consequence, probably not even that man, Azan. But otherwise, it was the perfect disguise for a black market overlord. Or rather, it was the perfect justification. And he was, in fact, currently one of the most infamous figures within the underworld. She¡¯d even heard of him way back when she¡¯d started making a name for herself as a prominent thief.


    As Val stood across from the large, burly man, she saw several others below the trash mound who looked to be his bodyguards. One of them looked a little too familiar¡ªthe way he smoked his cigar using that gaping hole on the side of his cheek¡­


    Fuck me. Even after all those years, she¡¯d never forgotten¡ªit was the merc that had chased her out of her home. The guy who started it all.


    On closer inspection, the hole was a little unsettling. It revealed a little too much of his yellowing teeth, and constantly reminded her of Bread¡¯s current disturbingly barren facial features¡ª


    Stop checking him out, Val! She forced her gaze somewhere else. She wasn¡¯t intent on getting herself recognized by a former enemy. Not now. Not when she had her chance to turn everything around and restart.


    ¡°Welcome!¡± Greg roared. His eyes lit up with that over-the-top enthusiasm she¡¯d only seen in dubious marketing schemes. ¡°So you must be Val.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, guess I am,¡± she muttered back.


    ¡°I know why you¡¯re here.¡± He motioned towards the merc with the hole. ¡°Rictor, quick. Bring out the core.¡±


    The man hurried back over with an open briefcase. Inside was a core the size of a human heart. Beautifully crafted, beautifully engineered. It was immaculate¡ªa silvery ball engraved with eccentric, geometric patterns.


    ¡°A perfect, military-grade thermonuclear fusion energy core. You can use it to power your vehicles, your mansions, or even just a private rocket to Mars!¡± Greg leaned in a little closer. ¡°I¡¯ll sell it half off. Ten million. You won¡¯t find a better deal anywhere else. I guarantee it.¡±


    Ten mill?! The fuck was he on about? Hell fucking no! ¡°Right¡­ How about we see some, uh, other options first? You know, just to check them out and stuff.¡±


    ¡°Sure, sure! Anything for Jack¡¯s lass.¡± Greg nodded towards Rictor. ¡°Bring the leftovers. The mid-grade and my favorite!¡±


    The merc brought in two more cores, juggling them in the air like they were some playthings. He held them out for her to see.


    One, most likely the mid-grade core, was less intricate than the military-grade, but looked overall similar. The other, on the contrary, was just a wad of cables. There were split ends everywhere and a bunch of colored wires hanging out like a bird¡¯s nest. It didn¡¯t even look like it could fit into Bread¡¯s chest with all that mess sprawled out like that.


    ¡°The hell is that one?¡± she asked. ¡°A hairball?¡±


    ¡°That one,¡± Greg said, ¡°was one I made myself! It works like a charm, I promise you that. And it¡¯ll cost you just under ten grand.¡±


    ¡°That? That¡¯s ten grand?!¡±


    He bellowed out in laughter. ¡°And the other one¡¯s a hundred!¡±


    ¡°A hundred grand?!¡± Fucking rip-off!


    ¡°Mighty fine deal, eh? Far from the ten mill I asked for earlier.¡± Greg gestured to another bodyguard. The woman brought over a lit cigar. ¡°Mid-grade¡¯ll last a year. The one I made myself¡¯ll last probably¡­ a month? I¡¯ll give you a refund if it doesn¡¯t.¡±


    Hairball was out of the question. She¡¯d never buy that even if it lasted ten years. She could only imagine what it¡¯d feel like to wake up in the morning only to see the absolute chaos sticking out of Bread¡¯s chest every day. She¡¯d probably get OCD just looking at it once, and it wasn¡¯t like she could clean up the wires either like some kind of hairstylist. That¡¯d just end up short circuiting the thing or something, and well, it was probably worse than what Bread had right now.


    The only other option left was the mid-grade, but that would cost her the entire fortune she¡¯d earned from Simular which was, sadly, her entire bank account.


    ¡°So the mid-grade¡­¡± she started. ¡°You¡¯re close with Coach, right? Well, maybe you could¡ª¡±


    ¡°No can do.¡± Greg pointed to a sign. It read ¡®No haggling.¡¯ ¡°I¡¯ve got buyers lined up like sweet rolls. Some even willing to pay more than the market price. Rictor,¡± he called out. ¡°Take it away. It seems our guest doesn¡¯t want it.¡±


    ¡°No, wait!¡± Fuck it. She had no choice. ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll buy.¡±


    ¡°Fantastic!¡± He beamed, showing his grossly yellowed teeth in return. ¡°You¡¯ve made yourself a lifelong partner. Just send the money over and it¡¯s all yours.¡±


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    She reluctantly pulled out her phone and tapped away. If it was for Bread, it¡¯d all be worth it in the end, but she really wished it was just a little bit cheaper. Just a tiny bit. What was she going to tell Coach? That they didn¡¯t have enough to eat now? This entire interaction really rubbed her the wrong way.


    ¡°Move it, Rictor!¡± Greg snapped. ¡°She¡¯s paid.¡±


    Rictor readied himself as if he were going to toss over the core¡ªshe really wished he didn¡¯t¡ªbut then the man stared, core still held loosely in his hand. ¡°So you¡¯re the new stray¡­¡± His eyebrows slowly creased. ¡°Actually, have we met before?¡±


    Shit. ¡°Me? No? Uh, a lot of people tell me that because I¡¯m a pro boxer. You probably saw me online or something.¡±


    ¡°A boxer?¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡ª¡±


    ¡°Rictor!¡± Greg called. ¡°Stop wasting time and get outta here!¡±


    ¡°Sorry, bossman. Just checkin¡¯ up on things.¡± The merc finally handed the core over and quickly moved away.


    ¡°So, anything else?¡± Greg cracked open a cold can of beer and guzzled down. ¡°I got warehouses full of gadgets and gimmicks!¡±


    The veils. That was next on the list. She knew deep down that no veil would be cheap enough with the amount of funds she had remaining, but she asked anyways. ¡°You got any veils in stock?¡±


    ¡°Dermal veils! We¡¯re out! There¡¯s a shipment coming in this afternoon if you want to wait. I¡¯m sure it¡¯ll be worth your time.¡±


    ¡°Shipment?¡± She could feel a smile spreading across her face, but she held it back. There was a slight itch she wanted to scratch. She knew she shouldn¡¯t, but she was feeling a little spiteful today. ¡°You get those every week?¡±


    ¡°Sure we do! How else would we do business?¡±


    ¡°Wow. With all the stuff you¡¯re selling, you probably ship ¡®em in big ass cargo ships, right?¡±


    ¡°Hah! That¡¯ll get you caught in no time. Concealed and cached. That¡¯s our motto.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah¡­ So like trucks? Vans? That your transportation?¡± It couldn¡¯t have been trains. There was no versatility in those. Maybe through the underground? Some kind of subway system?


    ¡°How else?¡± He laughed. ¡°It¡¯s not like planes could land here.¡±


    ¡°Wow, that¡¯s real cool. You¡¯re living the high life.¡± She had what she was looking for. ¡°Well, it¡¯s been nice chatting with you. I¡¯ll come back if there¡¯s anything else. You really got a lot of shit here. Pretty chill business you got going.¡±


    ¡°Of course! I got everything you¡¯ll ever need.¡± Greg pulled out another bottle from behind his throne and cracked it open. ¡°For a price.¡±


    This jank-ass, old man had no idea what was coming for him¡­


    ¡­


    There. Val saw a suspicious van driving towards the landfill. It was one of those large vans that were clad in sleek, highly camouflaged, armored coating. She only saw large corporations use vehicles of this caliber. And considering the direction it was headed, it was pretty clear who¡¯s van it was for.


    Usually, vehicles like these were autonomous. To reduce costs on workers, they would always try to minimize the number of employees they had through any means necessary. But to her, that was just a lucky break. She wouldn¡¯t have to worry about any physical altercations.


    ¡°Just don¡¯t go stealin¡¯ anything from Greg¡­¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡± she whispered to herself. She brushed Coach¡¯s past warnings aside. Greg wouldn¡¯t know what hit him. She¡¯d been a professional for years; she wouldn¡¯t get caught. She¡¯d make this seamless, painless, absolutely evidence-less. But before anything else, she had to intercept it. The easiest way for her to stop a driverless car was to stand in the middle of the road. The safety sensors would activate, and the car would stop. But if they had removed the safety features¡­


    She had a workaround. She always did.


    Using her phone, she holographically projected a realistic-looking, concrete wall across the entire street. Whatever safety sensors they had disabled, it was useless against a barricade. The car was programmed to avoid a devastating crash no matter what. Then she hopped over to the side of the road and waited. The car looked like it was still a few blocks down.


    Just a few more seconds¡­


    It sped close.


    Just a little bit more¡­


    She could see the driver¡¯s seat¡ªempty. The wall should¡¯ve been in visible sight.


    Anytime now¡­


    There was a loud, obnoxious screech. The wheels smoked as the vehicle started to slow. Then, with a final, high-pitched cry, it lurched once before coming to a halt.


    ¡°Yeah, motherfucker!¡± Val cheered. Now she had to work fast. A minute after a car like this had stopped, it would map out an alternate path. And even if she¡¯d somehow stopped it for longer, five minutes, and it would send an emergency alert out.


    She quickly pulled out her inflatable floor jack and placed it under the car. She activated it; the jack grew ballooned in size, efficiently lifting the wheels off the asphalt. Then she removed her phone and the projected wall with it.


    The engine suddenly roared to life and the wheels of the car started turning again, but it didn¡¯t budge from its position. Now that nothing was obstructing its view, no alert was going to be sent out until the GPS system locked on and eventually figured out that it wasn¡¯t actually moving from its location.


    But that didn¡¯t matter. She¡¯d be quick about it.


    Val moved to the back. The trunk was padlocked with semi-sophisticated facial recognition tech, but she wasn¡¯t fazed one bit. Every lock was breakable and this one was no exception. She pulled out the amalgorithm¡ªher favorite tool for decoding security¡ªand held it up to the door lock. It initiated a brute-force facial security algorithm to screen through. Thousands of random faces zipped past in the span of a few seconds. And within a minute, it clicked.


    The door was open.


    The hard part was over. All she needed now was to find those veils¡ªsynthetic epidermal veils. They were basically masks used as both disguises and faces for modified AI dolls like Bread. Usually it was for the former. But that was the least of her problems. When she swung the doors to the trunk open, an alarm immediately blared.


    Shit. That wasn¡¯t part of the plan.


    She quickly clawed her way inside and scoured through all the boxes and containers. She tore open the first box¡ªit was full of condoms. Why Greg sold condoms, she had absolutely no idea. They weren¡¯t even outlawed. You could just buy one at a nearby convenience store. She flung the condoms aside and combed through the others.


    The third one was just another crate full of rare ice wine. Stupid damn alcoholics. The fourth¡ªused phones? What in the fuck? She could tell they were used by the numerous nicks and scratches on the screens. Were these stolen? Why was Greg selling used goods? She shook the thought away; it didn¡¯t matter.


    The ninth chest was actually somewhat exciting. It contained contraband that was prohibited from the public¡ªa collection of dangerous hallucinogens and old, hardback copies of banned books.


    But that wasn¡¯t what she was looking for.


    She opened a few more until she got to the final container¡ªa small, black suitcase crammed into the far back of the trunk. With bated breath, she tore it open¡ª


    Jackpot!


    A single, well-packaged dermal veil stared her back. The word, ¡®Nano-Fibrogen,¡¯ was engraved onto the side.


    She let out a sigh.


    Nano-Fibrogen¡­ It all came back full circle. As the former daughter of a cosmetic industry boss, she even remembered the full name of the company her parents had founded¡ªNature¡¯s Aromatica: Nano-Fibrogen Corporation. Old memories came flooding through, but she knew this wasn¡¯t the time. She was time constrained.


    She promptly snatched it up and ran.


    Behind her, she heard vehicles skidding across the road and people screaming their lungs out, but she was gone before they could catch a glimpse of her. And after a few more minutes of intense cardio, they were completely out of earshot.


    Piece of fucking cake. Val patted herself on the back for a job well done. She was officially back on the grind. With a mid-grade core in her gym bag and a veil in hand, she finally made her way home.

 Identities Stolen

    Val crashed in through the back door.


    ¡°Lass? That you?¡±


    On the bed, there was Bread, looking bewildered as always. Or was it shock? His expressions were so hard to read without any skin on him.


    ¡°Tada!¡± She pulled out the veil for him to see. While she was running over, she tweaked the presets a little so that it was quicker on the implementation. The facial features were perfect. It was exactly what she¡¯d been looking for. ¡°A new face for a new member of our team!¡±


    ¡°Whoa!¡± Bread exclaimed. It was the excited reaction she¡¯d been looking for.


    ¡°Lass?¡± Coach barged in from the other side. He ran over and snatched the veil from her hands. It softly molded around his fingers, drooping down as if it couldn¡¯t withstand the gravity. ¡°Nano-Fibrogen?! Val, tell me right now where you got this from!¡±


    She rolled her eye. ¡°I got it fair and square.¡± If she stole it before it arrived at Greg¡¯s, then it clearly wasn¡¯t Greg¡¯s.


    ¡°How?¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m just smart.¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t a matter of smart¡ª¡±


    ¡°Just drop it! Please.¡±


    Coach shook his head. ¡°All actions have a price. That¡¯s the one thing you should¡¯ve learned as someone who¡¯s lived down under.¡±


    It was always these lectures. Why was he breathing down her back? Why couldn¡¯t Coach just trust her for once? She finally had what she¡¯d wanted. She was finally given another chance to redeem her wrongdoings of the past, but things always got in her way¡ªCoach, Greg, money¡­


    It always came back to the money.


    The rich could wipe their asses with sheets of gold while people like her were struggling to get by. They kidnapped druggies and commoners like choosing produce from a local food market¡ªexperimented on them, tortured them, sold them off while she could barely manage to save a single kid. If she¡¯d had that kind of money, Beady wouldn¡¯t have been¡­


    She choked back the tears.


    As she watched Bread curiously staring at the veil, she could feel that invigorating feeling she¡¯d felt before come surging back. She still had this. She could still turn everything around.


    Bread reached out and touched the edges of the veil; it slid across his fingers, sticking ever so slightly. The substance looked viscous like the grease on her pizza she¡¯d had yesterday.


    ¡°Stop!¡± Coach slapped his hands away. ¡°You¡¯ll get to use it soon enough. Don¡¯t touch it now.¡± He turned his attention back to her. ¡°Dinner¡¯s on the table. At least get some food. We can talk about all this later.¡±


    She waved off his offer. ¡°Gotta go. Still got things to do.¡± She grabbed her gym bag and started packing a different set of tools from the desk.


    ¡°Go where? You just got back.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re running low on funds. You know that.¡±


    ¡°You fallin¡¯ back into your old ways, lass? Let me help¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, stay with Bread. You¡¯re the only one who can fix him.¡±


    ¡°What am I now? Just some stay-at-home repairman?¡± He shook his head. ¡°I thought you quit bein¡¯ a thief.¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s not like there¡¯s a better way.¡± She guided Bread to the bed. ¡°C¡¯mon! Let¡¯s try the new stuff out first.¡±


    ¡°C¡¯mon, my ass.¡± Coach motioned to Bread. ¡°Lie down.¡±


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Bread giddily slid up the mattress.


    Coach carried over the gelatinous material and placed it carefully on top of the boy¡¯s face. It slid down his forehead and neck. The liquidy substance started to mold around the edges of his artificial bone structure, crawling down his eyes and nose, digging deep into the crevices¡­


    Bread suddenly started to choke. He made gurgling sounds as if the material was clogging his throat.


    ¡°Coach! He¡¯s¡ª¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s fine. That¡¯s just how it happens.¡±


    And within seconds, it was over. Bread sat up on the bed, somewhat bewildered but still breathing and alive.


    ¡°Wow¡­¡± The kid looked just like him. At least how she¡¯d envisioned him to look after all these years. ¡°Bead¡ªI mean, Bread. You look great!¡±


    Bread jumped out of bed and made his way over to the small bedside mirror. He looked up and met her gaze¡ª


    ¡°Do you want me to be your brother?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± The sudden comment startled her.


    ¡°I look like Beady, right?¡±


    Her breath caught in her throat.


    ¡°If it makes you happy¡ª¡±


    ¡°No!¡± She took a deep breath. This wasn¡¯t the time for this. ¡°No, you¡¯re Bread. You¡¯re not Beady.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure, Bea¡ªBread.¡± God, why was she struggling so much? It was just a face! She knew what she¡¯d done when she was setting up the presets, but confusing the two was a different matter entirely. She was just curious; she just wanted to test it out. It shouldn¡¯t have led to this. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Bread. You can change the presets if you want. That¡¯s just¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay. I like it!¡± He turned to Coach who¡¯d been staring out the window all this time. ¡°Can I go outside now?¡±


    ¡°You finally done yappin¡¯ away?¡± Coach steered the kid back to bed all while grunting obnoxiously. He always did that when he was annoyed. ¡°Lie down. If you wanna go outside, we need to replace the core too.¡±


    He pulled out the cable that was connected to Bread¡¯s chest and connected it back to another port on the boy¡¯s neck. Then he swiftly dislodged the original core like he was defusing a bomb¡ªit crackled and sparked dangerously¡ªand replaced the empty chest cavity with the new silvery counterpart he¡¯d already taken out of her bag. With a few more twists and bangs, the procedure seemed to have finished. The chest covering over Bread¡¯s freshly installed core radiated fluorescent green.


    But as soon as Coach stood back to admire his work, the lights to the room suddenly dimmed.


    ¡°Coach?¡± she called out.


    It started to flicker.


    ¡°Coach, what the hell¡¯s happening?¡± A bright spark came from the ceiling. It was immediately followed by the sound of shattering glass.


    The room went completely dark. The only light source was from the window. The glow of the moon faintly beamed through.


    ¡°Bread?¡± Val called out.


    ¡°I¡¯m okay!¡± Bread¡¯s chest flashed a few times as if in response.


    Coach coughed a little. ¡°I¡¯m fine too. So glad ya asked.¡± There was a click and a snap before the room was illuminated again. Coach had somehow gotten the emergency lights running.


    ¡°What the hell was that?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Not sure. The lad¡¯s been shocking me left and right, lately. First time he¡¯s completely blown out the bulbs though.¡± He muttered under his breath, ¡°Maybe it¡¯s the cables?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± Bread muttered under his breath.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t the first time?¡± she asked. With that much power, Bread could easily blow out some electronic security system all by himself if he could control it. A thought momentarily ran through her mind¡ª


    He could be a thief.


    ¡°It¡¯s been happening at least once a day.¡± Coach carefully removed the cable from Bread¡¯s neck. It was charred to the wire. ¡°Says he can taste things.¡±


    ¡°I can!¡± the boy cried. ¡°I tasted iron! Well, I think it was iron.¡±


    He tasted iron? What did that even mean? ¡°Do we have to fix it? Like, is it a big issue?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t think so. Look at him.¡± He pointed at Bread bouncing around on the bed. ¡°Seems fine to me.¡±


    ¡°Huh.¡± Bread was so hyper. Was it because of the new core or was he just like this? Well, maybe he was just happier now.


    ¡°You¡¯re free now,¡± Coach called out to him. ¡°Go out; do whatever you want. Don¡¯t bother me anymore.¡±


    Bread gasped. ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°But!¡± He pointed towards the window. ¡°You probably won¡¯t get that far anyway, but don¡¯t ever go to that tall building over there.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Just don¡¯t. No questions asked.¡±


    Val followed Coach¡¯s fingers to a building in the far distance, and she realized immediately what this was about.


    The tall building in the center of Novus Lokris¡ªSimular Inc.¡¯s main office. It was the crown jewel of the city. An elaborately detailed, tastefully embellished masterpiece. Even compared to the other skyscrapers around it, it was degrees more advanced.


    The infrastructure stretched wider than most, farther to the skies than any other. Even amongst other architectures of the world, it was considered a modern engineering marvel, swirling in directions that made it reminiscent of wind more than concrete. There was no true direction, no motive to the design itself except for an almost personified, outstretched yearning to reach for the stars. But her eyes always seemed to fall back to Bread. That boundless energy and those beady, brown eyes¡­


    She had to admit, he was beautiful. In every sense of the word.

 Hostel Service Etiquette

    A mod doll for a son¡­ Something about that skinplate was irritating to the Creator¡¯s eyes. Was it the rust? The knots of cables? Was it the reminder of his past projects and betrayal? No, that didn¡¯t seem right. He didn¡¯t care about those things anymore.


    ¡°Why do you keep that around?¡± Why did he care? Mementos and nostalgia¡ªthey were beneath him.


    ¡°Keep what around, dear?¡± Mrs. Morgan asked.


    ¡°The skinplate. It doesn¡¯t seem like you very much enjoy being reminded of him.¡±


    ¡°Well, of course not! But he¡¯s my son. I can¡¯t just ignore him!¡±


    ¡°I know that, but there¡¯s no obligation for it. Why not just trash it?¡±


    ¡°Trash it? I could never!¡± She hurried over towards his voice, feeling around the place with a new cane she¡¯d found in her bedroom. ¡°Gunther, what¡¯s wrong? Is something the matter?¡±


    ¡°All that skinplate brings are negative emotions.¡± Emotions¡ªsuch uncontrollable aspects of life should be done away with. It was a stain to society as well as a deterrent to progress. ¡°Your son isn¡¯t even alive anymore.¡±


    ¡°Oh, he definitely isn¡¯t!¡± She chuckled.


    That attitude of hers¡­ ¡°I don¡¯t understand you.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to understand, Gunther. That¡¯s just how families work.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not¡ª¡±


    ¡°Shush, shush. No more!¡± She headed back over to the kitchen where she had been preparing some tea. ¡°We¡¯re not here to argue now are we? How about you tell me a little about yourself?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡±


    ¡°Yes, for a change!¡± She brought over the kettle. ¡°You don¡¯t seem like you¡¯re from around here. I can tell!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s none of your concern.¡±


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be like that! Are you here on some important business?¡± She grinned. ¡°You seem the type.¡±


    The Creator stared at the skinplate again; it was as if the skinplate was staring him back. He was suddenly curious. He knew the son was no more, but how? ¡°What happened to your son?¡±


    ¡°My son?¡± The room went quiet. The silence permeated the air as her glassy eyes stared into the void. Then she finally answered, ¡°He¡­ was taken.¡±


    ¡°Taken?¡± That had multiple meanings. The son could¡¯ve been stolen, broken, or perhaps even malfunctioned. He could¡¯ve ended up running straight into an accident. ¡°How exactly was he taken?¡±


    ¡°Why, they suddenly barged in!¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Who were they? Did she mean her son? Or somebody else? Was it a robbery? ¡°What do you mean? Who¡¯s they?¡±


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    ¡°Well, I-I don¡¯t know. They just barged in¡ªI heard some woman speak, and-and¡­ Oh, then I heard him scream¡­ My darling¡­¡±


    They took her son? The Creator could think of multiple reasons, but the most plausible one was probably for selling parts. Mod dolls had an abundance of precious resources. Especially their energy core. It was an expensive, well sought out part by a large number of illegal buyers. But to be so brazen about it that they¡¯d barge into a stranger¡¯s home¡ªthat was quite the anomaly¡­


    Or perhaps not.


    This was no expensive residence. Perhaps the average population did experience moments such as these much more often than he¡¯d thought.


    Whatever the case was, the perpetrators were most likely part of a larger, more prominent group¡ªa group that didn¡¯t fear the law because of their size and standing.


    ¡°And did you report this?¡± He knew the authorities wouldn¡¯t do a thing for someone of such stature, but still, there were always a few good eggs around.


    ¡°Oh, they were no help, but there¡¯s no problem in that! Look!¡± She brought back the skinplate, holding it proudly in her hands. ¡°Some young¡¯uns helped me get this back!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s wonderful.¡± Deplorable. She was satisfied with just this? A being she called her beloved son, and yet, she¡¯d never gone the extra mile to search for more? For any of these scrap pirates and their whereabouts? Evidences of their wrongdoings?


    The Creator didn¡¯t believe in justice. In this world full of corruption, following rules only got you so far. That was why he had to work for it. If there was something he wanted, he had to earn it himself. If there was someone who¡¯d wronged him, he would punish them himself. Otherwise, he¡¯d have been trampled long ago by those who were just like him¡ªthose who were looking to gain power for their own, personal gains.


    The skinplate was all the more irritating to look at. It was a constant reminder of what he didn¡¯t want to become¡ªa complacent individual who lacked any drive. If he resolved to do something, he¡¯d do it.


    There were no exceptions.


    ¡°So!¡± Mrs. Morgan said. ¡°I haven¡¯t forgotten what I¡¯d asked earlier. Tell me more about why you¡¯re here, darling!¡±


    She was back to her old self. So easily changed by emotions¡ªthat was also something he¡¯d never let happen to him.


    ¡°You seem like you¡¯re looking for something. Or is it someone?¡±


    But the Creator had to admit, she had a good sense of intuition. ¡°I am looking for someone at the moment.¡±


    ¡°Oh, do tell! Who?¡±


    ¡°A child.¡± It wasn¡¯t like telling her would do him any harm. Conversation for conversation¡¯s sake, he supposed, but small talk was never his forte.


    ¡°Really? Your child?¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter who¡¯s child.¡± He¡¯d find him soon enough. Unlike her, he would never stop, and he¡¯d already thought of exacting punishment on the one who¡¯d taken what was rightfully his.


    ¡°Well, this child seems to matter a lot more than you¡¯re letting on,¡± she remarked. ¡°Are they important to you?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not important.¡± Only Mother was.


    ¡°He¡¯s not?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not.¡±


    ¡°Then why¡¯re you searching for him, dear?¡±


    ¡°I just need him for something.¡± All these probing questions. He really should¡¯ve found another hotel to stay at. She sounded just like¡­


    Mother¡­


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter, dear?¡±


    ¡°Nothing¡¯s the matter.¡± Yet another reminder as to why he was out and about. He¡¯d left Simular for one reason and one reason only¡ªto get his mother back.


    All he needed now was Bread. That was priority number one.

 The Legendary Battle for Kneaded Custody

    Val stared at the boxing bag in the corner. The last time she¡¯d touched that was before she¡¯d found Bread. If she hadn¡¯t lost¡­


    ¡°Lass!¡± Coach called from the back. ¡°Did ya take a floor jack with ya when you went to Greg¡¯s?¡±


    ¡°Floor jack?¡± Fuck! Had she left that behind? It was fine. She never left any fingerprints on her equipment. She was a professional. ¡°No? Why the hell would I take that with me?¡±


    ¡°Then do you have it with ya?¡±


    ¡°No?¡±


    ¡°Greg¡¯s been askin¡¯ around, sayin¡¯ he¡¯s found something of yours.¡±


    ¡°The hell?¡± Fuck him! Greg was clearly fishing for her. She wouldn¡¯t slip up like that. She wasn¡¯t that easy. ¡°Tell him it¡¯s not mine! Who the fuck brings a floor jack to a shitty landfill? I probably lost it somewhere. I don¡¯t know! Just tell him it¡¯s not¡ª¡±


    There was a sudden knock at the door.


    ¡°We¡¯re closed!¡± she yelled.


    But the knocking continued.


    ¡°Fuck, what now?!¡± She yelled towards the back. ¡°Coach! There¡¯s somebody at the front! They¡¯re knocking the fuck out of our door!¡±


    ¡°Then go check it out!¡± he yelled back. ¡°I¡¯m busy sendin¡¯ Greg a message! You know how antsy he gets when he doesn¡¯t get a reply!¡±


    God. Such a fucking hassle. She dragged her feet towards the door.


    Another knock. Thrice this time.


    ¡°I¡¯m coming! Be a little more patient, okay?! Jesus fucking Christ.¡± What kind of messed up day was today? Couldn¡¯t she just get some rest for once? She¡¯d been stealing crap all night just to make ends meet.


    Why couldn¡¯t the world just leave her the fuck alone?


    ¡°What do you want?¡± She begrudgingly pushed the door open. A well-built man in an all-black suit stared back. He looked extremely wealthy. Absolutely out of her league in every way possible. ¡°Oh, fuck.¡±


    ¡°Valerie Briarwood. Would that be you?¡±


    Again with the last name? How were people finding it out? Was it recorded somewhere really goddamn public? It wasn¡¯t like she was flaunting it. She¡¯d never do that.


    ¡°Are you Valerie Briarwood?¡± he asked again.


    ¡°Yeah, what¡¯s it to you?¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s the boy?¡±


    ¡°Boy?¡± Shit, is he talking about Bread? This guy definitely had something to do with Simular. He had that smell. She was sure of it. Why was he here? Wasn¡¯t that Azan guy supposed to deal with everything?


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    ¡°You¡¯ve logged into Simular recently, yes?¡±


    ¡°How recent we talking about?¡± Should she answer truthfully? She had a feeling getting on this guy¡¯s bad side was definitely a death sentence. The dude was literally stacked in cash¡ªa one-of-a-kind vintage painite watch, a tritium-infused display brooch, and those red diamond cufflinks! She knew what pricey looked like, and it didn¡¯t take a thief to recognize that.


    Nobody in the city intentionally walked around flaunting this kind of wealth unless they had something to back it up. Otherwise, they¡¯d be target practice for the local gangs. But this man was brimming with confidence. She could tell by the way he stood; there was no sign of weakness to his form.


    This conversation had to tread with extreme care.


    ¡°I assume that means a yes.¡± The man voiced a long, tired sigh. ¡°You seem distracted. Could you pay attention, please?¡±


    ¡°What do you want? I don¡¯t have anything.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just looking for information about a missing boy.¡±


    She was right. He was looking for Bread.


    ¡°Have you seen a boy during your visit to the developers¡¯ headquarters? From your Roscoerama win?¡±


    ¡°At the headquarters?¡± He even knew about the win? This guy was dangerous for sure. ¡°You mean that Azan guy? He showed me a bucket on the tour.¡±


    ¡°No, younger.¡±


    ¡°Uh, I¡¯ve seen a bunch of kids during the tournament.¡±


    ¡°Have you seen a boy while you were at the headquarters? He¡¯s about four or five feet tall.¡± The man showed her with his hands. ¡°Around this height.¡±


    Val shook her head. ¡°No, all I remember is that stupid bucket.¡±


    The man sighed again.


    ¡°Who is it, lass?¡± Coach called from the back.


    Shut up, Coach!


    ¡°Is somebody else back there?¡± the man asked.


    ¡°Coach. My boxing coach.¡± She motioned towards the sandbags. ¡°We¡¯re a boxing gym, after all.¡±


    ¡°Can I talk to him?¡±


    ¡°No? Why?¡±


    ¡°Lass?¡± Coach walked up behind her.


    ¡°Coach!¡± She silently mouthed back a bunch of profanities. Hopefully, he got the message. ¡°This, uh, gentleman here wants to know if we¡¯ve seen a little boy during our very short and uneventful session in Simular.¡±


    ¡°Oh, no we haven¡¯t, sir.¡± Coach forced an uncomfortable grin. It was his signature expression he made, and it was so fucking suspicious.


    The man nodded. Then his gaze turned more stern. ¡°Where is the boy?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± she asked. ¡°I just told you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Where is he?¡±


    ¡°I told you, he¡¯s not here!¡± This guy was kind of pissing her off now. ¡°Who do you fucking think¡ª¡±


    Coach butted in, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, sir. We haven¡¯t seen any boys yet.¡± He let out a hearty chuckle. ¡°If there were any, I¡¯d be glad to welcome them to my boxing course. We need some cash, ya see.¡±


    ¡°If you do have the boy,¡± the man said, ¡°you¡¯d be in possession of private property. Remember that.¡±


    ¡°What the fuck did you just say?¡± Did he just insinuate that Bread was some kind of property? ¡°Say that to my face agai¡ª¡±


    ¡°Lass!¡± Coach yelled. ¡°Enough.¡±


    ¡°Coach, he just¡ª¡±


    ¡°Enough.¡± He turned towards the man. ¡°I think you¡¯ve overstayed your welcome, sir. Can ya leave?¡±


    The man visibly backed off just a little. ¡°I see. Perhaps you weren¡¯t involved, after all. My apologies.¡± He started to walk away from the door. ¡°Have a nice day.¡±


    ¡°Coach?¡± a higher-pitched voice rang out from the workshop in the back.


    Bread! Val caught her breath.


    Coach floundered towards the back. His attempts to make it not so obvious were having the opposite effect.


    The man stopped in his tracks, briefly turning back around.


    Val jumped in front of the door. ¡°Leave. Please.¡± Beads of sweat rolled down the sides of her cheeks. Smile, she told herself. Look natural. ¡°Today¡¯s not a good day for us.¡±


    The man raised a brow, but after a long, almost standoffish while, he finally turned away and left.


    Val slammed the door shut. Coach stared back with ragged breaths as Bread managed to squeeze his head out from behind the corner. She quickly scanned the vicinity one more time. No sign of him. Nothing. The man was gone like the wind.


    Finally, she breathed. And she let out a deep sigh of relief.

 Welcome to the Concrete Menagerie

    Bread wanted to go out. Not just anywhere. He wanted to go somewhere new! Like a beach or the city. Somewhere. Just anywhere else than here!


    All he saw was dirt. Dirt, asphalt, cement, junk. Whatever was out there on the other side of the window, it was either rusting or decomposing. After looking at the same background for days, he wanted a change of pace. Something to light a new interest in him. He looked over at Val and asked¡ª


    ¡°Can I go outside?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, just go out back.¡± Val munched away on a thinly sliced avocado pizza. ¡°Outside. Bright and sunny. Hot and humid. Yuck.¡± She continued watching a boxing match on her phone without ever batting an eye.


    ¡°No, I want to go outside outside!¡±


    ¡°Outside outside?¡± She raised a brow.


    ¡°Yeah! I want to go somewhere new!¡±


    ¡°New, huh?¡± She wiped her mouth clean with her free hand. ¡°Coach, is there anything fun happening around here today?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Coach poked his head out from his workshop. It looked like he was welding something. He had a face shield on. ¡°I didn¡¯t hear ya!¡±


    ¡°I said, is there any fun place for the kid to go?!¡± she yelled.


    ¡°Oh, well why didn¡¯t ya say so?¡±


    ¡°I¡ªforget it. Just tell me what you know.¡±


    ¡°Heard there¡¯s a traveling carnival in town for the next four days. Why don¡¯t ya take the lad out on a little field trip?¡±


    ¡°Yay!¡± Bread cheered.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you coming with?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Me? Ah, I¡¯m too old for that.¡±


    ¡°We should all go!¡± Bread urged. ¡°It¡¯ll be fun!¡± He jumped up in the air from all the excitement. That pent up boredom and frustration was going to be no more! He had a body, he was in the real world, and now, he was going to be free to explore!


    Val sighed. ¡°Oh, youthful energy. How I don¡¯t miss it at all.¡±


    ¡°Alright, fine. I¡¯ll come,¡± Coach answered. ¡°Just after I finish this¡­¡± He went back to his workshop; sparks flew from beneath the door.


    ¡°How long will he take?¡±


    ¡°Oh, probably just a few hours.¡± She ruffled his hair with her greasy hands. It was kind of icky, but he liked it. ¡°We¡¯ll get there. Night probably looks a lot better anyways. And less sticky.¡± She chomped down on another slice before her eyes fell back to her phone.


    ¡­


    Bread never had the chance to ride the attractions at the carnival. He fainted on the spot after having ridden the Ferris wheel. The three of them sat around an empty bench and watched the fireworks bursting into a million dandelion flames.


    ¡°The lad¡¯s got motion sickness,¡± Coach said. ¡°I ain¡¯t even sure how, but I¡¯ll say that body of mine is darn realistic!¡±


    ¡°Shut up, Coach.¡± Val shifted her attention. ¡°Are you okay, Bread? You feeling any better?¡±


    He nodded. The strangers around him had bright, vibrant grins decorating their faces. They all looked so happy¡­


    But was he happy? Was this what he¡¯d wanted? He could feel a tingling in his chest like a constant electric shock surging through his body. It was similar to that feeling he¡¯d had when he¡¯d seen Val. When he¡¯d seen her on screen for the first time¡ªhis heart had thumped hard; he¡¯d felt it jump up and down like a rocket.


    Was this the same? Was he really happy?


    Kids his age ran across the grassy fields, their parents following along behind. They laughed and laughed. The world was full of laughs. Their moms would hold them up, twirling them around, smiling with them. And their dads¡­ Their dads¡­


    Dad?


    No! Bread slapped himself awake. This wasn¡¯t the time for that! He had to be happy; he had to have fun! He hadn¡¯t even ridden the popular zero gravity roller coaster ride! He wouldn¡¯t be satisfied until he¡¯d experienced everything! He promptly popped up from his seat. He wasn¡¯t going to stand around like this. But after taking a few bold steps, he started to see twos of everything. He felt so dizzy¡­


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    ¡°Whoa.¡± Val caught him before he smacked face-first into the mulchy earth. She pulled him back against the bench. ¡°Slow down there, kiddo.¡±


    ¡°Lad¡¯s determined.¡± Coach let out a hearty laugh. ¡°Maybe with a larger body, I could make you into a better boxer than Val!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, right¡ªI mean, well, I¡¯m not saying you can¡¯t, but you won¡¯t beat me that easily!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s your ego talking, lass. That¡¯s why you lost to Long Arms.¡±


    ¡°Wha¡ªwhere did that come from?¡± Her expression lit ablaze. ¡°It was a joke! Can you please stop bringing that up?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just giving you advice for later, Val. Get rid of that ego of yours and be wary of your opponent. Every boxer you face is a threat whether they¡¯re a champ or a chump.¡±


    She groaned. Her gaze instead fell to Bread. ¡°Okay, how ¡®bout we try the petting zoo over at the tents first? Then we can see if you¡¯re ready for any of the rides.¡±


    He liked that idea. He could experience the best of both worlds!


    Coach hopped off the bench. ¡°You lot can do what you want. I¡¯m watching the meerkats. They make me feel so tall.¡± He then strolled off into the dark.


    ¡°Well? Shall we?¡± She held out her arm with that familiar, awkward smile she¡¯d made when he¡¯d first met her.


    Bread gingerly grabbed her hand.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t we go check out the lions?¡± she said. ¡°Heard they¡¯re nearly extinct.¡±


    ¡­


    ¡°They¡¯re docile creatures,¡± the zookeeper said. ¡°Especially the Nemean lion that we¡¯ve successfully recreated through documentations of old lore and fantasy! We¡¯ve made sure that he was well modified, so you¡¯re all welcome to touch him!¡± She said this all while feeding a large chunk of meat to the scary looking lion. It ripped through the meat like it was cardboard.


    Do lions come from dandelions?


    The thought unexpectedly crossed Bread¡¯s mind. His inner records disagreed, but the name was even embedded inside. That should¡¯ve meant they were somehow related. They were both kind of yellow, had large, furry manes, and looked like the sun when seen from the front. But it didn¡¯t feel right enough. Dandelions reminded him more of this feeling of brightness and happiness while the lion seemed to be a little more on the scarier side.


    ¡°Come closer, everyone! He¡¯s safe to touch! We¡¯ve got a collar on him just like the others!¡±


    A small girl trotted over to the back of the lion. She curiously stared at its butt as if it were more interesting than the face.


    But then she pulled at its tail.


    An ear-piercing roar echoed out¡ªso loud the earth beneath them trembled. Everyone quickly backed away from the lion in terror, and the girl fell back on the grass, eyes wide with what looked to be pure terror.


    The lion rammed itself into the zookeeper, knocking her off her feet. The collar immediately broke. Then it turned towards the girl. Its sharp teeth were bared, dripping saliva like melted butter. A low growl gurgled within its throat, and as it prepared to pounce on his fresh snack, Bread¡¯s instincts kicked into overdrive.


    His mind blanked; he didn¡¯t know why he did it, but he jumped between the girl and the lion. As the large creature leaped onto Bread, the two went tumbling to the ground, its teeth tangling with his synthetic arms.


    ¡°Bread!¡± He saw Val running. She dashed in and landed a strong punch to the lion¡¯s snout, but it easily struck her aside with a single slap of its colossal paw.


    The large beast had him pinned down, its attention now undivided. Saliva poured onto his face as its hot breath steamed up the air with whiffs of old, putrid blood. Nostrils flared, hovering just inches about his face. It peered down as if in contempt, and as its teeth edged closer to his neck¡ª


    Sparks.


    Sparks flew from his damaged arms, sputtering out in fractal webs. Static discharge filled the air. He could feel the change in the atmosphere. Something was different. He could feel things, taste things. He could see something in the far distance¡­


    Suddenly, he tasted iron¡ªmeaty, chewy, bloody. No, it was harder, more solid. He saw bars. Iron bars between him and freedom. He tried to chew through, but he couldn¡¯t. He was trapped, cramped inside a little cage. He clawed at the lock; he tried to get out, but nothing worked. He was stuck. His stomach growled and gurgled; his neck ached. He could see scars on his furry chest, tons and tons of blood on his paws. It hurt everywhere. He wanted to get out. No, he needed to get out. He needed to get out now! He¡ª


    Bread snapped back.


    He blinked a few times. The lion was nearby, and the tent was still there above him. What was that? It had all felt like a dream.


    The lion pounced again, but this time, electric currents randomly exploded out from his fingers. Bread didn¡¯t know what was happening anymore. The lion was thrown back from the force, blowing half the tent away with it. Everyone was sprinting away in panic. Watching the beast struggling to get back up, Bread suddenly realized that he wasn¡¯t afraid of it anymore.


    He saw the lion again in all its glory. He could see the ribs showing through, the gashes on its chest decorating its sides, and he knew then and there¡ªthose visions weren¡¯t his own. They were the lion¡¯s.


    They were its memories.


    ¡°I can help you¡­¡± He started crawling towards the lion, pulling at the grass, clawing at anything that could help him get closer. That feeling of loneliness and fear he¡¯d felt during that short tussle¡ªthat wasn¡¯t from him either. ¡°I can¡ª¡± But somebody started pulling him back.


    No, stop¡­


    He could see the lion pulling farther and farther away¡ªhis friend. He wanted to be there for it. He wanted to comfort it. He wanted to give that scared cat a hug¡ªa warm embrace deep from within his heart. He knew it would help. He knew what it felt like. He knew because he understood the lion better than anyone¡­


    They were one and the same.

 Scammed, Hammed, and Clammed

    Was he doing the right thing?


    The Creator couldn¡¯t help but wonder. All this time, he¡¯d been chasing this dream of being someone his mother could be proud of, and yet, it had always felt like something was missing. Like he wasn¡¯t seeing quite clearly yet.


    Enough.


    What was he doing questioning himself? He had to stay resolute. Who else would do that for him if not for himself? All these emotions trying to dissuade him from his goals¡ªhe¡¯d had them under control all this time, all before that boy had entered his life.


    He¡¯d find the boy, and he¡¯d revive Mother.


    The visit to that boxer woman had given him much needed insight. He knew she was hiding the boy. He¡¯d finally confirmed with his own eyes when he¡¯d seen them walk into the carnival together¡ªher, Jack, and that unnaturally modified doll that followed suit.


    It was surely Bread.


    ¡°That¡¯ll be twenty-five, sir!¡± the ticketer asked.


    ¡°Make it quick.¡± The Creator was finally at the front of the line. He gave the young employee his card.


    ¡°Thank you!¡± He finished the transaction but then continued, ¡°Could I possibly interest you in a bundle¡ª¡±


    ¡°Give me my card.¡±


    ¡°R-right.¡± The ticketer handed back his card. ¡°Please enjoy your stay!¡±


    He was finally inside. All this unnecessary waiting and anticipation¡ªif this was Simular, there wouldn¡¯t be any of this waiting around. It¡¯d be quick, fast, efficient. Why wasn¡¯t the real world ever better? Of course, he knew the answer to that¡ª


    Because I¡¯m the one who made Simular.


    In the distance, he thought he saw a familiar face¡ªBread. As he moved through the crowd, closing in a step at a time, a figure rushed out of nowhere, cutting between him and the supposed boy.


    ¡°Heyya! How¡¯re ya doin¡¯ today?¡± A carnival clown had gotten in the way. The man had an ominous mask on; the Creator could barely make out a face.


    ¡°Get out of the way.¡±


    ¡°Aww, is someone in a bad mood?!¡± He squeaked his air horn obnoxiously. ¡°Maybe I can help you feel better!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have time¡ª¡±


    ¡°Here!¡± The clown handed him a ball of cotton candy. ¡°It¡¯s out-of-this-world tasty!¡±


    ¡°Alright.¡± He shook his head at the childish performance. ¡°Thank you. Now, if you¡¯ll excuse me¡ª¡±


    ¡°Nuh-uh!¡± The clown had the guts to point at the cotton candy in his hand. ¡°That¡¯s not free! Are you stealing?!¡± He held out his hand and gestured for a card.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    A scam. How original. The Creator tried to move past, but the clown immediately got in his way.


    ¡°Hey, asshole,¡± the clown whispered. ¡°I¡¯m tryin¡¯ to work here. Pay the fuck up or I¡¯ll make a ruckus.¡±


    ¡°Is that a threat?¡± Truly, the audacity of this stranger.


    ¡°Fine, have it your way.¡± The clown clapped his hands and started yelling over the crowds of people around them, ¡°Okay, okay! You want to steal in front of all these children? Are you not ashamed?!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s enough¡ª¡±


    ¡°We have here a thief!¡± he yelled. A crowd started forming around them. People started throwing a bunch of insults. ¡°A greedy thief at that!¡±


    The Creator¡¯d had enough. He started to move past the clown¡ª


    ¡°Aww, and now you¡¯re running away! What a grumpy, old man! You¡¯re old enough to be someone¡¯s dad! What kind of example are you setting for these little goofers, hmm? Okay, okay. I¡¯ll let you have that one for free just because I¡¯m such a kind clown unlike¡ª¡±


    Someone¡¯s dad¡­


    A surge of emotions flooded through. He grabbed the clown by the collar and held him up in the air. His thin legs dangling precariously. Then the Creator started his cyber-up activation sequence¡ª


    ¡°System: initiate Raijin Blood.¡±


    ¡°W-what are you doing?¡± The clown¡¯s mask fell off, revealing a scrawny, middle-aged man. ¡°I-I can call security!¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± His arms started steaming, glowing a deep red. The air around him heated up like it was the middle of summer. ¡°But there¡¯ll be nothing left of you by that point.¡±


    ¡°Wait, wait! I-I¡¯ll drop it! You can have the candy, everything! Please, I¡¯m sorry! I-I won¡¯t bother you again!¡±


    He dropped the clown. The man flopped to the ground, floundering about like a fish out of water. He was looking older by the second. Much older than himself. How could this man have the audacity to call someone younger than him, old?


    The clown shuffled away in the dark, and the crowd dispersed with him. It was as if they¡¯d never been there to begin with. The mask that had been abandoned on the ground stared back as if beckoning to him.


    This could be a good disguise.


    He picked it up and placed it over his face. Perhaps it was for the best that he went unrecognized. It was more efficient that way. If the mod doll was, in fact, Bread, the boy might actually run if he ever saw him. With all the things that had been said, the Creator didn¡¯t expect any other response.


    And as if on cue, an ear-piercing roar broke through the crowd of noise. It echoed across the carnival fields with enough ferocity to burst eardrums if he¡¯d been any closer.


    So he ran towards the noise. He just had a hunch.


    ¡­


    At the far edge of the field, near the canvas tents, the Creator saw the doll¡ªthe one that was with that woman¡ªsitting alone on a bench outside. People were screaming, hollering, running around like headless chickens, but the doll sat there with a blank expression on his face. Its arms were sparking, ripped to shreds. If this were Bread¡­


    He rushed over.


    The moment he arrived in front of the boy, he knelt down and examined the arms more closely. They were sparking but still functional. He looked all over¡ªthe head, energy core, legs. He examined every part of the body¡ªevery small gap between each piece, every small fold in material. They were all functional. The energy core seemed to be slightly higher charge than what should¡¯ve been normal, but it didn¡¯t seem like it was causing any real damage.


    ¡°H-hello?¡± The boy stared. ¡°Who are you?¡±


    This was the first time¡ªfirst time after he¡¯d yelled out all those regrettable words. This was the first time in so long that he¡¯d heard the boy speak, and weirdly enough, he felt a wave of relief wash over him. This was Bread. He knew this was Bread. He just knew. After so long, he¡¯d finally found him¡ªalive, safe, within arms reach.


    Thank you¡­


    He didn¡¯t know who or what he was thanking; it was just out of instinct. But finally, he had found what he¡¯d once previously lost.

 It’s Complicated

    Bread was pulled away from the disastrous scene.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Val sat him down on a nearby bench. Her shirt was slashed, and there was so much blood spreading through the fabric. ¡°Are you hurt?¡±


    Bread shook his head.


    She then pulled out her phone and swiped a few times over the screen. ¡°Where the hell are you? What? Meerkats? That¡¯s not the point! I need you to come over quick!¡± She paced around him erratically. Her arms were crossed tightly together. ¡°What? You don¡¯t know where we are? Can¡¯t you just figure it out somehow? Huh? You¡¯re not a software kinda guy? The fuck does that mean?! Okay, fine. I¡¯ll go find the fucking cat¡ª¡±


    ¡°I-I¡¯m so sorry,¡± the zookeeper hurried over. She had already tied the lion in place with some hefty-looking chains. ¡°This shouldn¡¯t have happened¡ª¡±


    ¡°Fuck.¡± Val put away her phone. She looked the zookeeper in the eye. ¡°Well, it did. Didn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Could we do anything for you? M-maybe give you a discount? Or-or coupons! I can give you¡ª¡±


    ¡°You can leave us the fuck alone.¡± She tossed over three carnival entrance tickets. ¡°Better fucking refund the tickets.¡±


    ¡°O-of course! No, we¡¯ll do that right away.¡± The zookeeper picked them up from the ground and then scurried away.


    Val let out a sharp breath. ¡°Wow, okay¡­ I¡¯ll going to go find Coach.¡± She glanced at her injuries. ¡°And maybe something to stop the bleeding. Can you stay here for just a bit?¡±


    Bread nodded.


    ¡°Shout if you¡¯re in trouble. I¡¯m sure the staff will respond.¡±


    ¡°Will¡­¡± He watched the zookeeper trying her best to reform the dispersing crowd. The lion was suddenly nowhere to be seen. ¡°Will the lion be okay?¡±


    ¡°The lion? Guess so? Don¡¯t worry about that. I¡¯ll be back quick, alright?¡± Val gave a quick wink before taking off. She blitzed through the amalgamation of bodies, dashing past a new group of onlookers that had formed just outside the petting zoo tent. Within seconds, she was gone.


    Bread looked at his own injuries. His arms were clawed, but they were intact. He could still feel an ebbing pain where they were gashed. Wires were pulled out, and pieces of his synthetic skin hung on by threads of material. It was weird how he could still feel stuff in this non-biological body of his. According to his records, nerve technology shouldn¡¯t have been this advanced yet.


    And that electric shock. How was he able to experience all that? It was like he¡¯d been inside the lion¡¯s head. He could feel everything. He could taste everything. It was like he was still back in the simulation. As if parts of reality were still so unreal¡­


    A masked man bursted out from the crowd.


    Bread broke out of his inner monologue. It was weird that he¡¯d noticed. The way the man moved, it looked so out of place.


    The man stomped his way over, slamming strangers away with incredibly intense aggression.


    Bread froze on the spot.


    The man stopped just inches away from him. He knelt down to one knee and bore him down with a horrible mask on his face. And for a while, there was only silence.


    But the more Bread watched, the less threatening the stranger seemed to be. He started to notice more details¡ªkempt hair in an all-black suit, a stick of cotton candy awkwardly held in one hand.


    ¡°H-hello?¡± the boy tried to ask. ¡°Who are you?¡± But there was no answer. It looked like the man was examining parts of the synthetic skin that had been torn off, and for another while longer, the silence continued, until¡ª


    ¡°Come with me,¡± the man said.


    ¡°W-what?¡±


    ¡°Come with me,¡± he repeated.


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    ¡°N-no, I can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    Why? The man was a stranger. Why would he just follow someone out like that? Common sense told him that following strangers was no-no number one. It was surely written somewhere in his records.


    But then the man handed over the ball of cotton candy.


    Bread looked at him then back at the cotton candy in his hand, wondering what all this was supposed to be about.


    ¡°Take it.¡±


    Was it common sense to take candy from a stranger?


    ¡°It¡¯s safe.¡± The man pulled off a piece and placed it underneath his mask. The mask moved up and down as if he were chewing. Then he swallowed, shown by the way his Adam¡¯s apple moved. He tried handing the candy over again. ¡°It¡¯s nothing bad.¡±


    Bread hesitantly took it from the man¡¯s hand. He didn¡¯t know why this stranger was handing this over, but the taste of cotton candy¡­ He was curious. Would it taste the same as how he¡¯d imagined? Sweet? Soft and fluffy?


    He took a bite. And it was, in fact, heaven.


    ¡°Do you like it here?¡± The masked man took a seat beside him. ¡°Better than¡­ Better than anywhere else?¡±


    Bread nodded. The cotton fluff was delicious! Of course he liked it here.


    ¡°You don¡¯t think the moon¡¯s too bright?¡±


    ¡°The moon? No?¡± He stared up at the full moon in the sky. He could imagine himself soaring through the clouds, watching the celestial body light a path far into the distance. The surface of the moon¡ªhe wondered how it¡¯d be if he were actually there? In space. Bouncing around in low gravity. How amazing would that be?


    ¡°Right. And what of this carnival? I thought you didn¡¯t¡ªwell, do you really like all this? This loud, rather obnoxious place?¡±


    He nodded. Everyone was happy here! Everyone was smiling. Not at the moment though. Right now, they were all scrambling around the broken tent.


    ¡°And the company?¡±


    Company?


    ¡°The¡­ boxer. Do you enjoy the time you spend with her?¡±


    ¡°I think so?¡± Had he mentioned Val to this man before? How did he know she was a boxer? ¡°How did you¡ª¡±


    ¡°What did you do to get that?¡± The man pointed at his mangled arms.


    ¡°This?¡± That was obvious. ¡°I tried to save a lion.¡±


    The edges of the man¡¯s mask jumped with every chuckle he made. ¡°How very brave of you.¡± He paused to look up at the sky. Then he asked, ¡°Do you¡­ miss your parents?¡±


    ¡°Parents?¡± Dad¡­ Was it really okay to miss Dad? Wasn¡¯t it all fake? Val had once mentioned that it was all Stockholm syndrome. Fake feelings, fake emotions. All fake.


    Just like me¡­


    He shook his head free from the loud thoughts that were buzzing inside. He didn¡¯t know what to feel anymore. What was right? What was wrong? What was he supposed to actually feel?


    His records told him nothing.


    ¡°I see¡­¡±


    Bread could suddenly tell by the way the man moved his head¡ªthat slight shaking of his head, that slumped posture. The man was feeling sad.


    The strange man raised his head again. He sighed deeply before asking, ¡°Are you at least happy?¡±


    Happy?


    ¡°Satisfied?¡±


    Bread didn¡¯t understand. He started to have new thoughts¡ªwhy was this random person asking all these questions? Why was he so interested? Who was he?


    ¡°Well, are you having fun?¡±


    Fun? Something about this person felt so familiar. The way he kept asking questions, the way he talked, the sadness that seemed to be seeping out from the way he moved¡­


    ¡°Are you enjoying this place? More than Simular?¡±


    Simular? He nodded. It felt like he really did matter in the grand scheme of things. Everything felt more real¡ªthe food, people, the random dandelions he¡¯d found on the side of streets, even himself. And he really liked that feeling.


    ¡°I understand.¡± The masked stranger got up from his seat. He brushed off what little dust had settled on his suit. It didn¡¯t even seem like there was anything to begin with. ¡°Take care of yourself, Bread.¡±


    Bread? Had he ever told the strange man what his name was?


    The man then started to leave.


    Instinctively, Bread reached out. He tried to grab him by the sleeve. Something about this man was odd. He didn¡¯t feel like a stranger. But before he could confirm the feeling, static snapped back as if in retaliation¡ª


    Flavor splashed into his mouth. Flavors he¡¯d never tasted before. Something bitter. Like chewing on leaves. Then smells of eggs, pancakes. Visions¡ªvisions of himself back in the white room, of soup, paintings, a story of death¡­


    Why were these memories coming back now?


    And there was that voice again, yelling at him in the background. It sounded so familiar. Like he¡¯d heard it before. He could almost remember it from somewhere¡­


    ¡°Dad?¡±


    The visions cleared, but nobody was there. He looked around. The man was gone¡ªdisappeared without a trace. But the cotton candy was still in his hand.


    ¡°Bread!¡± Another familiar voice. It was Val, and Coach was just behind her. ¡°I came back as fast as possible.¡± She stared at the half-eaten cotton candy looking almost as confused as he was. ¡°Where did you get that?¡±


    ¡°It was free,¡± he replied. And now, it kind of tasted bad.

 Weedy Supremacy

    ¡°What am I doing?¡± the Creator whispered under his breath. He couldn¡¯t even understand his own actions.


    Why had he left? The boy was right there in front of him. Why had he left him there? Did he not tell himself he¡¯d do whatever it took to achieve his goals? Was he not the same Creator he was before?


    But it had all felt so wrong.


    Why? His plans were failing, faltering before it had even started. All because of his emotions. All because he had empathized like the weakling he was. Was he wrong in doing so? Why was he feeling all so frazzled?


    ¡°What is it that I¡¯m doing wrong?¡± He pulled out a photo of Mother. In it, she was smiling that gentle expression he hadn¡¯t seen her make in decades. ¡°All I did was live for you. I brought us out of poverty; I built everything from the ground up. Everything I did was for you, and yet, I¡¯m still suffering. Why? Why is it that I¡¯m still not good enough for you?¡±


    Even before her eventual death, he¡¯d never once believed that he¡¯d connected with Mother on a deeper level. He¡¯d never once understood what was going on inside her mind. After giving it his all, the only thing he¡¯d received were thoughtless, emotionless answers that he could never truly understand¡­


    ¡­


    ¡°Mother?¡± Gunther called out. ¡°Why do you keep staring out that door like that?¡±


    She had placed a chair in front of the patio doors of his expansive mansion he¡¯d finally managed to buy for the family. There were several floors personalized to her specific interests¡ªan entire rooftop solarium full of expensive plant life, a greenhouse consisting of rare, exotic flora a short distance from the backyard, and even an extravagant flower bed near her bedroom.


    He¡¯d spread them specifically throughout the mansion because he knew Mother liked looking at flowers, but every day, he found her staring out the patio doors at the well-trimmed but dull-looking lawn. There was nothing there except grass and fences. Even looking out another window would¡¯ve shown a charming, picturesque cityscape. As much as he knew she wasn¡¯t the type to enjoy such sceneries, it should¡¯ve been much more enticing than looking at plain, old grass.


    ¡°I like it,¡± she said. ¡°They¡¯re beautiful. Isn¡¯t that enough?¡± Her voice was soft, almost like she didn¡¯t even care.


    ¡°Why? There¡¯s plenty of flowers to see over on the other side. I have solariums, greenhouses¡ª¡±


    ¡°I like the dandelions, Gunther.¡±


    ¡°Dandelions?¡± Those common weeds? She liked dandelions of all things? He¡¯d been ordering his gardener to specifically pull them out all this time, and somehow, that was the flower she enjoyed watching? ¡°Of all the things, you enjoy looking at dandelions? I don¡¯t understand, Mother¡ª¡±


    ¡°Gunther,¡± she interrupted. There was a sternness to her voice that wasn¡¯t present before. ¡°When did you start calling me, Mother?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± What did she mean by that? ¡°You¡¯ve always been my mother, Mother. What¡¯s so wrong about¡ª¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t mean it like that.¡± She turned to meet his gaze. Her expression seemed to show worry. Or was it annoyance? ¡°Why did you stop calling me, Mom?¡±


    ¡°What? What do you mean by that?¡± He¡¯d never stopped calling her Mother. Ever. What was she talking about?


    ¡°Mom. You called me, Mom, didn¡¯t you? In the past.¡±


    ¡°In the past?¡± Was she alluding to the trivialities between ¡®mom¡¯ and mother¡¯? It was more of a maturity thing for him. Why would that be of any importance to her? ¡°What does that even have to do with flowers?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not about the¡ªyou just¡ª¡± She turned her back to him and stared out the patio doors. Her shoulders seemed to slump just slightly. ¡°No, it¡¯s fine.¡±


    Gunther couldn¡¯t understand her reaction. Did he say something wrong? All he¡¯d tried to do was make her feel better. Perhaps even make her feel more at ease in this new home. But why did it feel like something was wrong? What had he done that would elicit such a negative reaction? Was it because of his experiments? Was this all because of that again?


    ¡°Mother, is it because of the experiments¡ª¡±


    ¡°Gunther.¡± She looked him dead in the eyes. It was an expression she¡¯d always made when she wanted to drop the conversation. ¡°It¡¯s fine. You¡¯re late for work. Go.¡±


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    ¡°Right¡­¡±


    He didn¡¯t understand her. Not one bit.


    ¡­


    The Creator sat on the couch and washed his worries away with the now familiar taste of cheap tea. In the background, Mrs. Morgan was humming to a song playing through an antique radio while knitting what she had called a ¡®covering¡¯ for her son¡¯s skinplate. It seemed like she was enjoying her time well.


    ¡°So!¡± she said. ¡°What happened to the boy? I heard you going out the other day.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s fine.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯ve found him! But you haven¡¯t brought him back?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need him.¡± Mother¡¯s engram wasn¡¯t going anywhere. It wasn¡¯t like he needed Bread now. Perhaps he could let the boy enjoy life just a bit longer.


    ¡°Are you sure, dear?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure.¡± He took another sip of tea and stared at a vase full of artificial flowers in the corner of the kitchen counter. It reminded him of a certain flower¡­


    ¡°What happened that you decided on that?¡±


    ¡°Nothing happened.¡±


    ¡°Oh, something must¡¯ve¡­ Well¡­¡± She quietly stopped what she¡¯d been doing and placed her needle and yarn down to the side. Then she pulled off her bracelet. ¡°Do you know who gave me this bracelet?¡±


    It was the same one he¡¯d found on the ground¡ªthe one Mrs. Morgan seemed to have been completely panicked about when she couldn¡¯t find it. ¡°No, I don¡¯t believe I do.¡±


    ¡°This was from my son.¡±


    ¡°The doll?¡±


    ¡°My son.¡±


    ¡°Right. Your son.¡±


    She continued, ¡°He gave this to me as a birthday gift. Said I was the greatest mom he could ever ask for.¡±


    The greatest mother¡­ There was a time he¡¯d thought the same. Mother was, in fact, the greatest. She was his hero¡ªthe singular person he could look up to and respect. She was someone he could never truly reach.


    ¡°But Gunther? How could I have been a good mom if I couldn¡¯t even protect him?¡± Mrs. Morgan started to tear up. ¡°I don¡¯t deserve this precious gift. I don¡¯t even deserve to be crying like this.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± The Creator wasn¡¯t comfortable with these situations. He didn¡¯t know what to say, so he just muttered back something similar to what Azan had once said at his mother¡¯s funeral. ¡°I¡¯m sure you did your best. He¡¯d understand.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, dear.¡± She stood up and made her way to the skinplate that had been repositioned above a drawer. And instead of putting it back on, she placed the bracelet gently next to what remained of her son. ¡°I don¡¯t know why, but you remind me of my son.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± That was far-fetched. But considering that she couldn¡¯t see, perhaps he really did resemble her son in some way.


    ¡°So I want to help you.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to¡ª¡±


    ¡°But I want to, Gunther. Whenever you feel comfortable, talk to me. I¡¯m willing to listen to whatever¡¯s on your mind.¡± She walked back to where her needling tools were and grinned that signature toothy grin of hers. ¡°And in no way am I just interested in the gossip!¡±


    There were so many things, so many people he just couldn¡¯t understand. Why did this random old lady care so much about him? What was it that made him similar to her son? He wasn¡¯t even a mod doll.


    The Creator noticed the vase of flowers again. Something about it was so irritating to his eyes. Like that skinplate, like his emotions, like Mother¡­ They were all just remnants of his past, always bringing up these confusing memories he could never truly decipher. They were always the same. They were always about¡ª


    People.


    Of all the things in the world, people were the most complex puzzles he¡¯d ever truly had the opportunity to solve. And he had yet to solve even one. Not even himself. The more he lived, the more he realized how simplistically straightforward scientific development and technology really was compared to the greatest enigmas of life. They were always beyond his own grasps of understanding¡­


    But he suddenly had a thought¡ª


    If he couldn¡¯t understand people, all he had to do was find somebody who could. A person who could give him some more insight, more pieces to these puzzles.


    He glanced over at the lone figure, still leaned in towards the direction of his voice, eager to hear what he had to say. For once, he didn¡¯t hate that she seemed to care so much about him. For once, he wasn¡¯t irritated.


    ¡°Mrs. Morgan?¡± he called.


    ¡°Hmm?¡± She grinned. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Could I ask you a question?¡±


    ¡°Of course, dear. Go for it!¡±


    There were so many questions he wanted answered, so many answers that seemed to elude him. He wanted to know everything. But there was one that seemed to permeate through his entire being¡ªa thought he¡¯d always had when thinking of Mother. He wanted to know¡­


    ¡°What do you think of dandelions?¡±

 Where’s Your Resume?

    Back at the workshop, Coach placed a few scraps of metal onto Bread¡¯s arms and started welding away. Each and every spark caused him to wince.


    ¡°Why does it hurt?¡± Bread asked. He¡¯d thought about it before, but he still couldn¡¯t understand. It wasn¡¯t even skin. Just like the warmth of the sun, he was feeling everything from heat to agonizing pain. Biologically, it didn¡¯t make sense. There were no nerve endings in metal; that kind of tech shouldn¡¯t have been possible yet. Were his records somehow outdated?


    ¡°Honestly, I don¡¯t even know what to say to that, lad.¡±


    ¡°Not important,¡± Val cut in. ¡°Bread, how did you do that? You know? When you shocked the lion?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­¡± That spark, that weird taste in his mouth¡ªit had all happened before. It was just like that time when he had shocked Coach. He could taste blueberries, beef jerky. And he saw those visions as if he were the lion. It felt like he was actually there feeling all those things, hurting all over.


    He didn¡¯t understand. Was it some part of his new body that was making it all happen? But which part? His head? Fingers? Core?


    ¡°Can you control it?¡± she asked.


    He shook his head.


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s the new core? No, that doesn¡¯t make sense. Coach, you said that something like this happened to you before, right?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re done.¡± Coach removed all of his tools from him. ¡°I don¡¯t know, lass. I don¡¯t really know what¡¯s goin¡¯ on with his body anymore. It¡¯s my handiwork, but all I did was piece some scraps together.¡±


    Bread glanced at his arms. They were the same as before except for a few new scratches and patches. He¡¯d had them for a while now, these arms. He was used to his new body, but sometimes, it just felt so foreign to him.


    Coach grabbed Bread¡¯s hands to inspect his patchwork.


    Bread started to feel a familiar tingling sensation. ¡°Coach?¡± he called. Then a sudden surge of energy. ¡°Wait, no¡ª¡± But it was too late. A burst of electricity coiled out from within his core. It wrapped around Coach¡¯s hands, then shot its way up his arms.


    Almost immediately, Coach collapsed onto the floor.


    ¡°Coach!¡± Val rushed to his side. She shook him around, but there was no response. And then¡ª


    Bread started to taste¡­ ice cream? The smell¡ªit smelled like earth and rain, scents of smoky cinders. He saw fireworks¡ªflashes of blinding vibrance. Meerkats pranced around, spraying pebbles and sand all over his face. Then he saw Val rushing towards him. Her shirt was torn to shreds, blood gushing out her sides¡ª


    ¡°W-what?!¡± Coach yelled.


    Bread broke out of his trance.


    ¡°I¡¯m up! I¡¯m up!¡± Coach jumped to his feet. He bobbed his head around, looking like he was ready to knock somebody out. ¡°Where¡¯s the fight at?!¡±


    ¡°This!¡± Val exclaimed. She had a big grin smeared across her face. ¡°I¡¯m talking about this! This is exactly what I meant!¡±


    ¡­


    ¡°Okay.¡± Val brought out an assortment of locks from her bag. It had been a few hours since she¡¯d gone out. ¡°Smart locks, electronic locks. I got a bunch of ¡®em ¡®cause¡ªyou know, my side gig.¡±


    It was past midnight. Bread really wanted to sleep.


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    ¡°Try it. You¡¯ll eventually have to learn to fend for yourself, Bread.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure about this, lass?¡± Coach sat behind and watched, still recovering from the shock. ¡°Ain¡¯t it too young for him?¡±


    ¡°Look what happened to him today! What if that kind of shit happens again? We have to get him prepared.¡± She turned away from Coach. ¡°C¡¯mon, Bread. Try it out.¡± She handed over a lock. It looked like a traditional keypad. ¡°Just¡­ fry it or something. Like short circuit it.¡±


    He stared at the digital contraption. Did she want him to electrocute it? He didn¡¯t even know where all that energy had come from. His records told him that these types of electrical explosions he was producing shouldn¡¯t have been possible without a significant power source, and he remembered hearing that his core was mid-grade. Was that really enough? Hadn¡¯t Coach mentioned that there was a grade above it? A military-grade?


    Val stared at him with intensity. Her fists were balled; she was still bleeding through the bandages around her stomach.


    No, he couldn¡¯t let her down. He had to at least try.


    Okay. He placed his hands on the keypad and closed his eyes. It took every bit of strength to fight off the sleep. Then he tried to concentrate. Please work. He didn¡¯t really know how else to do it. That tingling in his arms¡ªhe just had to recreate that feeling. Please, just work!


    Nothing.


    Please! He clenched his teeth and tightened his grip. The synthetic ligaments in his arms compressed and stretched, but¡­ nothing.


    Why didn¡¯t it work? How had he done it before?


    Before? It was instinctive before. Like the lion, Coach. It was all done naturally without him knowing. Naturally¡­ He started to relax his arms just a little. He took a deep breath and exhaled. Calm down. And just concentrate¡­ For a split second, he thought he¡¯d felt something¡ªa twitch. His chest shuddered, and the tips of his fingers went numb. No, it had a different sort of dull sensation, a slight itch¡­


    Before it completely disappeared, he willed this feeling further down into his fingers, down into the keypad, and slowly, the feeling swelled. It felt like ice cubes were sliding through his chest and forearms. Then a spark flared up, encompassing the lock in a blinding flash. And then¡ª


    Symbols.


    Words, numbers, letters¡ªso much flooded into his mind like a stream of cold, wintry rain. Everything about the lock, he immediately understood. He could see all of its inner workings¡ªthe circuitry, the online database for DNA recognitions, even the applications used for software updates. He could even determine the physical components¡ªthe smooth rotors, jagged deadbolts, numerous maze-like magnetic pins, and the metal cylinder that held everything together.


    Then he saw the system connect to a local security system, then regional, then state. State¡­ He couldn¡¯t decipher the next¡ªhis mind¡ªsomething was wrong. He didn¡¯t understand¡ªlines, a bunch of lines¡ªnumbers, symbols he couldn¡¯t recognize¡ª


    The lights blew out.


    ¡°Wow, a short circuit.¡± Val whistled. ¡°Really just fried the whole thing.¡±


    Bread dropped the lock onto the floor. His chest heaved; it felt like he couldn¡¯t breathe.


    ¡°Bread, you okay?¡± Val reached over. ¡°What happened?¡±


    He finally started to catch his breath.


    ¡°Lass, you¡¯re pushin¡¯ him too hard.¡±


    ¡°Shut up! No, I¡¯m not!¡± she yelled back. ¡°Bread, I know you can do this. Look! You burnt the thing!¡± She placed the smoking lock in his line of sight.


    He nodded. Everything was okay.


    ¡°Nice.¡± Val started packing her bags. ¡°Bread, you¡¯re coming with me. We¡¯re going to test some limits.¡± She jogged towards the door, motioning for him to follow.


    ¡°W-where¡­¡± He was still out of breath. It was so tiring. How had he done this electrocution thing instinctively all this time?


    ¡°Are you really taking him out, lass?¡± Coach pushed himself to his feet but immediately fell back. It didn¡¯t look like he had fully recovered. ¡°Isn¡¯t this too much for the boy?¡±


    But what was Coach referring to?


    ¡°Dawn¡¯s almost up. Perfect time for some practice.¡± Val had that signature fiery look on her face. Her eye looked like it was sparkling under the dim ceiling light.


    ¡°Lass¡ª¡±


    She ignored Coach. Instead, her eyes focused intently on him. ¡°Bread?¡± she called out. There was a big grin on her face. ¡°It¡¯s time for some job-shadowing.¡±

 Level 1 Job Advancement

    They huddled behind a large, parked truck in broad daylight. The target was an old, one bedroom apartment in the back-alleys of Novus Lokris.


    Apartment number 109.


    Val had heard the grandma who lived there had gotten a new bodyguard who was always absent during the mornings. But the fact that she had one meant there was a high likelihood of valuables. And coincidentally, this was an uncongested area in the corner of the city; it was the perfect set-up for Bread¡¯s first mini-heist.


    She bobbed and weaved through the maze of cars and finally got to the front door. From there, she could make out an electronic, semi-mid quality lock. It stood out from the rest which were mostly basic mortise locks.


    ¡°Bread,¡± she whispered. ¡°Come here.¡±


    He quietly made his way over.


    ¡°Open it.¡±


    ¡°Is this really okay?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. Nobody¡¯s getting hurt, are they?¡±


    Bread sighed. He gently grasped the lock and closed his eyes. The metal around his fingers started sputtering with sparks, but after a few seconds, Bread looked over. His nervousness was visible through his wavering gaze.


    ¡°What?¡± she whispered.


    ¡°It¡¯s not working.¡±


    ¡°Can you try again?¡±


    The boy¡¯s hands hovered over the lock. His fingers visibly trembled.


    ¡°Okay, stop.¡± Maybe Coach was right. Clearly, the kid wasn¡¯t in the right headspace. ¡°Move back.¡±


    Bread did as he was told.


    ¡°Stay here and be ready to run, okay?¡± She put on her gloves. Even if this wasn¡¯t part of her plan, she wasn¡¯t going to pass on this golden opportunity. It was time for some old-fashioned lockpicking.


    From her bag, she pulled out her old tension wrench and short hook pick. Then she got to work. As electronic as they were, mid quality locks and below were still more mechanical than electronic. It was especially true for this lock because there was still a physical keyhole present. All she usually had to do then was to pick it.


    With the wrench in place, she inserted the pick and started to wiggle the tip. The first pin didn¡¯t click, so she pushed the pick a bit further in and moved onto the next pin. Same thing¡ªno click. She pushed it further down.


    There was finally a click.


    She repeated the process until she¡¯d pushed it in all the way. Then she pulled it back one pin at a time and did the same thing all over again, wiggling the pick up and down, until the final pin clicked at position one. The entire mechanism beeped, and the light on the electronic screen turned green.


    It was unlocked.


    Hell yeah! It was always so satisfying unlocking these things. Even without any loot involved, she got a kick out of it every time.


    She slowly turned the handle and slipped inside. It was dark, but she could just barely make out the outlines of objects. The fact that no lights were on meant that the bodyguard was most likely not home. Just like what her broker friend had told her. This was the golden hour. The grandma was asleep, and the bodyguard wasn¡¯t present.


    She quickly scanned the area. Tiptoeing across the floor, she made her way to the first thing on her list¡ªthe freezer.


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    People always hid their valuables in freezers. It didn¡¯t really make sense to her. There were online articles warning about this very thing decades ago, but it always happened. There was always a chance that something of value was in the freezer.


    She pulled the freezer door open. Nothing. It was fine though. There were other places to look. Next on the list were the drawers¡ª


    A sparkle in the corner of her eye.


    There was a small object on the top. She took a closer look¡ªa broken skinplate for mod dolls? Why the hell was trash like that nestled so decoratively on top of a drawer? Stupid. What a waste¡ª


    Then she saw it.


    A bracelet of beautifully inlaid diamonds were placed right next to the skinplate. She already knew by the shine and the design. This was no ordinary bracelet.


    The diamonds themselves weren¡¯t important; those were a dime a dozen with all the excessive synthetics out there. And the general appearance wasn¡¯t all that spectacular, but it was the history and the band itself that really mattered. Made from a combination of all the platinum group metals in existence, it was the 2099 limited edition century model uniquely designed by a famous cybernetic cosmetics and jewelry company. A classic case of don¡¯t judge a book by its covers.


    She never expected a grandma living in a crappy, old apartment to have something of this kind of value. It was a good thing one of her buddies tipped her off on the info about the new bodyguard. But as she moved closer, the hairs on her neck rose¡­


    ¡°Is somebody there? Gunther? Are you back?¡±


    Fuck, she¡¯s awake? Val quickly swiped the bracelet off the drawer and pocketed it.


    ¡°Oh, must be my age. Now I¡¯m hearing things that aren¡¯t even there.¡± The grandma had gotten out of her bed and was making her way towards the fridge.


    Shit, shit, shit! The grandma was closing in. If she turned, she¡¯d see her!


    Val quickly jumped over a table that had been placed between her and the front door. Her feet slammed against the leg, echoing through the apartment with a resounding thud.


    Fuck! She grimaced. Stupid fucking table! Fuck, that hurt!


    ¡°H-hello? Who was that?¡± The grandma waved her hands around wildly. It was as if she hadn¡¯t even seen her. ¡°Is anybody there? Gunther? Is that you?¡±


    She was there mostly in plain sight. It was dark, but it wasn¡¯t that dark. Something about the way she moved, it felt off.


    ¡°Gunther?¡± the granny called. ¡°Please tell me it¡¯s you.¡±


    Val wanted to test something out. She slowly stood up, fully revealing herself.


    The grandma didn¡¯t seem to notice.


    Val waved her hands at the stumbling figure.


    No response.


    Wow. Granny was blind. She¡¯d really made a fool of herself thinking this old woman could actually see. A heaviness over her shoulder lifted almost immediately.


    ¡°What? My bracelet!¡±


    Fuck. The heaviness returned.


    The grandma hobbled to the front door with a kitchen knife in hand faster than Val could even grab the handle, and she swung with all her might.


    Val dodged to the side. She was surprised the granny¡¯s hips didn¡¯t give out with that big swing of hers.


    ¡°Where are you?! I know you¡¯re here, you-you thief!¡± The old woman stood in front of the door and continued swinging her knife around dangerously. ¡°I won¡¯t let you take my bracelet! You won¡¯t make a fool of me this time!¡±


    Now what? She didn¡¯t want to tackle her to the floor, but it seemed like that was the only viable option she had, and she definitely wasn¡¯t going to leave the bracelet behind. It was probably worth a pretty penny. Fuck it. Now or never.


    Using her Razen, Val timed the swings of the granny¡¯s arms and slammed her down to the floor when her knife hand swung to the opposite side. The woman went down with a groan, but Val didn¡¯t have time to worry about her. She quickly stepped over the fallen figure and barged out the front door. Bread was there, staring her back. His eyes went towards the fallen figure behind her.


    ¡°C¡¯mon!¡± Val pulled him away from the scene.


    ¡°W-what about her?¡± Bread asked. ¡°Why is she crying?¡±


    ¡°Ignore her!¡± She started to run.


    The grandma yelled from afar, ¡°Please! Anything but the bracelet! That was my son¡¯s! You can have anything else, please¡­¡±


    The voice dissipated as they got farther away, but she could still hear the old woman¡¯s screams echoing across the city. Until they were back home, they weren¡¯t in the clear.


    Bread yelled and pulled at her arm. He didn¡¯t seem all that happy about the situation, but she¡¯d deal with that later. For now, she ignored it. She ignored everything. All that mattered was that they¡¯d have food on the table for a few more weeks. And Bread needed this. He¡¯d have to get used to it sooner or later to survive.


    Thieving was still her livelihood as well as her pride. Nobody¡ªnot even Bread¡ªwould take that away from her.

 The Makings of a True Con Artist

    ¡°M-my bracelet. Oh, Gunther. They stole my bracelet!¡±


    ¡°Mrs. Morgan. Please, calm down and tell me what happened.¡± The Creator had come back to a disaster of a situation. He¡¯d heard the gist of it¡ªyet another break-in. How was that even possible? He¡¯d checked all the other apartments nearby, and none of them had been broken into. It was only here.


    ¡°They stole it! My son¡¯s¡ªoh, but why?¡± She grabbed onto the skinplate and pulled it closer to her chest. ¡°I¡¯m sorry! I¡¯m so sorry, deary.¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you get replacements? For your eyes?¡± Optical tech was on the rise. It wasn¡¯t at all difficult to replace them. ¡°I can also help set up a few security measures so that this kind of thing doesn¡¯t happen again.¡±


    ¡°No, it doesn¡¯t matter anymore! The bracelet¡¯s gone!¡± She went ominously silent, nodding to herself as if she were making up her mind on something important. Then she limped her way to her closet. Her leg still hadn¡¯t fully healed.


    ¡°Mrs. Morgan?¡± Perhaps first on the list was a visit to the doctor¡¯s. ¡°I can help¡ª¡±


    She pulled something out from the depths. ¡°No, I¡¯ll find that thief myself! I¡¯ll make them regret stealing from me!¡±


    A shotgun? Where did she even¡­ Wasn¡¯t she blind? How was she going to aim the thing? Or better yet find a runaway thief? It was the worst idea he¡¯d heard today. ¡°Wait, perhaps you should reconsider¡ª¡±


    There was a loud knock at the front.


    ¡°Oh, just what I needed.¡± She knocked over a bunch of objects, trying to make her way to the front door. ¡°Another reason to leave the house.¡±


    ¡°Where are you even going? Stop.¡± The Creator guided her back to the couch and sat her down. ¡°You¡¯re being too rash.¡±


    ¡°No, no, I¡¯m not. You don¡¯t know how it feels!¡± She started to get back up. ¡°I¡¯ve lost something that can¡¯t be bought back!¡±


    ¡°Listen.¡± He held her down. ¡°I do know how that feels.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re lying, dear. You don¡¯t have to¡ª¡±


    ¡°Mrs. Morgan,¡± he continued. ¡°I can¡¯t tell you everything, but the boy I¡¯m trying to find is someone important to my late mother.¡±


    ¡°Your mother¡­?¡± She started to visibly calm down. Her arms fell to her side. ¡°Is that really true?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯ve lost something¡ªno, someone I can never get back, so I¡¯d like to believe that I do know.¡± He took a seat beside her. ¡°You¡¯ve given me a place to stay, and you¡¯ve helped me express my annoyances throughout all this. This time, let me help¡ª¡±


    There was another loud knock at the door.


    ¡°Gunther, I¡­ I want to hear more of this, but, well, maybe I should at least open the door? We can talk after that¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯ll get that. Just rest. You¡¯ve already gone through enough today.¡± He pushed himself off the comfort of the couch and grudgingly made his way to the door. Whoever it was had better have a good reason for all this. He half expected the bracelet thief when he opened the door, but instead¡ª


    Some bratty looking kid stood outside the apartment. He had graffiti-like tattoos and weird body modifications all over his arms and legs. There was a shotgun¡ªby the looks, a crude-quality M5-Destroya¡ªshoved halfway into his pants and an oversized, bloody cleaver held in his grip like he was cosplaying some kind of part-time butcher at a local meat packing plant.


    He couldn¡¯t help but shake his head. What was this for? Halloween? Of all the possibilities, he had to waste time on this.


    ¡°Huh? Who¡¯re you? Where¡¯s the granny?¡±


    ¡°Sorry, wrong place.¡± He started to close the door, but stopped. ¡°Actually, you didn¡¯t perhaps¡ªno, what am I saying? Of course you didn¡¯t steal that. Not looking like that.¡± He slammed the door shut.


    ¡°Who was it, Gunther?¡±


    ¡°Just some nobody.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure¡ª¡±


    Several more angry knocks.


    Mrs. Morgan got up. ¡°Maybe I should take the door after all.¡±


    ¡°No, just sit down. Please. I¡¯ve got it under control.¡± What now? What did this prepubescent kid want from him now? No, that¡¯s not right. He looked a bit older than that. Perhaps in his teens? ¡°I¡¯ll be right back.¡±


    She sighed. ¡°If you insist, dear.¡±


    The Creator swung open the door. His patience was wearing thinner by the second. ¡°What do you want? Just tell me what you¡¯re after.¡±


    ¡°Tell you what I¡¯m after?¡± He looked baffled. ¡°You just shat on my drip, old man! What do you think I¡¯m after?¡±


    ¡°Old¡­ man?¡± His nose twitched. Not enough for anyone to notice. Old man¡­ This was the second time this week that someone had called him old. Why? He had a dedicated skincare routine as much as most people wouldn¡¯t have expected it. He looked far younger than his age, and that was an objective fact.


    Is it the suit?


    The Creator loosened his tie a smidge and stepped outside, making sure to close the door behind him. Whatever happened after this moment, he didn¡¯t want to involve Mrs. Morgan in it.


    He looked the teen over¡ªred laser sight implants, low quality endurance amplifiers, roughly screwed on semi-mid grade tension bars. Even from a basic examination, he wasn¡¯t much of a threat, but the important thing was that this teenager somehow knew about Mrs. Morgan.


    Why?


    ¡°Whatever, old man. That¡¯s past shit. Where¡¯s the granny? You the new bouncer or something?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d do well to watch your tone.¡±


    The teen looked him down once and snickered. ¡°A nouveau like you? What you gonna do? Report me to the cops?¡± He leaned in a little, tightening his grip on his cleaver. His smirk never left his face. ¡°Are you threatening me, old man? With what? Your business cards?¡±


    The Creator took a step closer.


    The teen steadied his cleaver in front of him. ¡°What¡¯re you doing, old man? Back off. Don¡¯t try anything funny.¡±


    He already knew the teen wouldn¡¯t win against him in a physical brawl. He had defense systems implanted all over his body that would activate autonomously when detecting a threat. There would be no evidence left if that ever happened. No blood, nothing. Everything would be gone, incinerated without a trace. It would be so easy and stress free¡­


    No, he wouldn¡¯t do it.


    ¡°You deaf, old man? Move back!¡±


    But one more casualty wouldn¡¯t make a difference, would it? He¡¯d experienced plenty before. What was stopping him now?


    No, he couldn¡¯t. He was weak; he couldn¡¯t bring himself to do it anymore. Emotions continued getting in the way. The image of Mother haunted him, telling him how much of a monster he was. He couldn¡¯t let it go. He couldn¡¯t harm. Not anymore¡­


    Back when he was younger, he¡¯d always admired certain infamous individuals¡ªthose who had crossed the line. Those who had practiced unethical procedures without worry of punishment. He¡¯d admired them with all his heart.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    If not for laws and regulations, medical practices would¡¯ve advanced so much further along. That was what he¡¯d always believed. Instead of using animals as replacements, instead of banning the procedures of human cloning, instead banning any harm to individuals, if it were possible to freely practice on people, in the long run, it would¡¯ve saved more lives at the cost of a select few. And this had already been proven to work throughout history. It was fact. But most never seemed to acknowledge it. They didn¡¯t want to. To them, it was far too cruel of a moment in history.


    To him, for creating a new life for Mother to live, it was far too perfect. Perfect for creating his world¡ªa place where all the senses came to life, where nobody could tell the difference between fantasy and reality. A place he¡¯d eventually come to call, Simular.


    So he¡¯d done just that. He¡¯d started toying with life¡ªwhat ignorant fools had always called, precious.


    The easy part had been doing it all in secret. With enough bribery, connections, and monetary force, there was nothing that could¡¯ve stopped him from achieving what he¡¯d set out to do. And eventually, he¡¯d gained access to an illegal network of humans. From then on, he¡¯d conducted numerous tests ranging from simple confirmation of already known neuroscientific research to what many called inhumane acts of brutality.


    Of course, word had gotten out somehow. Rumors flew; it was inevitable. But humans¡ªthey were such contemptible, unrespectable beings. They couldn¡¯t even uphold what they¡¯d deemed immoral once they had seen the results of his labor.


    The moment he¡¯d successfully created Simular, suddenly, nobody seemed to care anymore about these rumors of his. Suddenly, he was the renowned, award-winning, famous Creator that everyone knew. And he¡¯d have continued with his research if it weren¡¯t for Mother.


    Mother had been the only one to uphold her beliefs. She had been the only one to die for it. The one person he¡¯d wished to save had died the one way he couldn¡¯t predict¡­


    She¡¯d been right. He was despicable. He¡¯d thought he¡¯d been completely desensitized to it all, but it didn¡¯t seem like it was so. He was weak now. Emotionally volatile, out of control, confused¡ªweak. He couldn¡¯t even bring himself to do anything to this worthless thug in front of him. How far he¡¯d fallen¡­


    ¡°Is something the matter, Gunther?¡± A muffled voice called from inside the apartment. ¡°Should I come out too?¡±


    ¡°No! Stay inside,¡± the Creator yelled through the walls. He took a deep breath. It didn¡¯t matter what he felt now. He¡¯d already lost Bread, he¡¯d half given up on his goals, but one thing he¡¯d decided to do was repay the kindness he¡¯d been given. It was calming, this place. He didn¡¯t expect such a decrepit apartment complex to feel so welcoming, but if it was with Mrs. Morgan¡­


    He wasn¡¯t going to let any harm get to her.


    ¡°Oh?¡± the teen responded. ¡°So she is here. Get out of my way!¡± The teen tried to push his way through, but the Creator easily held him back. ¡°What¡¯s your problem, man? Why¡¯re you stoppin¡¯ me?¡±


    ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s it to you?¡±


    ¡°I can call the authorities.¡±


    The teen laughed. ¡°Try it. I dare you. They won¡¯t come. They know better than to mess with us.¡±


    With us? It wasn¡¯t just the boy? Was he a part of some gang? There was a unique engraving on the boy¡¯s metal-plated chest¡ªsome kind of reptile on a hoverbike. Where had he seen that before¡­


    ¡°Get out of my way.¡± The teen tried to push through again.


    The Creator grabbed the boy¡¯s arm and held tightly. He wasn¡¯t going to let chaos fall on the one place in the real world he could finally relax.


    ¡°Let go!¡± The teen squirmed. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with you?!¡±


    ¡°What do you want from her?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not the boss of me!¡± He pulled at his arm with all his might, but the grip held in place. The look on his face made it clear that he was starting to realize the gravity of the situation. ¡°I-it¡¯s just money, okay? She owes us some coin, that¡¯s all!¡±


    The Creator finally let him go. ¡°The reason. What is it?¡±


    ¡°Who cares, man?¡± The teen pulled himself away, massaging his wrists. ¡°Just ask her yourself.¡±


    ¡°Tell me why.¡± He grabbed the boy¡¯s arm again and squeezed.


    ¡°Ow! Alright, I get it! I¡¯ll tell you!¡± The teen pulled away. ¡°Geez. She just needs to pay up for hiring us. Happy?¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s ¡®we¡¯?¡±


    He pointed to the engraving on his chest. ¡°Taipan Riders.¡± He grinned. ¡°Heard of us? We¡¯re pretty famous nowadays.¡±


    Taipan Riders. He knew he¡¯d seen that engraving before. They were one of the more prominent gangs in the city. From local news¡ªmostly for small robberies and the occasional ruckus. But what wasn¡¯t public information was the fact that they were one of the largest drug traffickers of the Lokris Underground. Experimental serums, neural stimulants, even illegal performance enhancers to name a few. They were the distributors of the most sought after black market deals available. He only knew this because he¡¯d dealt with the lot during his time trying to find connections for his experiments. They weren¡¯t to be messed with by common folk. Especially not someone like Mrs. Morgan.


    ¡°Why¡¯d she hire the Taipan Riders?¡± the Creator asked. This entire situation was getting out of hand. Why did Mrs. Morgan have connections with the black market?


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I just joined!¡±


    ¡°Wait here.¡± He hurried back inside, making sure to close the door behind him. ¡°Mrs. Morgan?¡± She was on the couch, fidgeting with the skinplate in her hands. ¡°Did you hire a gang for something?¡±


    ¡°What? Heavens no!¡±


    ¡°Apparently, you owe money for hiring them?¡±


    ¡°Oh, those boys are back!¡± She started rummaging through a cabinet. ¡°Oh, no. What do I do, Gunther? I-I don¡¯t have enough for this month.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care about that.¡± He didn¡¯t understand. Why them? Police were incompetent. He knew that, but why them? ¡°What did you hire them for?¡±


    ¡°Oh! Why, they¡¯re the ones who found me this!¡± She held up her son¡¯s skinplate in the air like some sort of prized possession. ¡°And they found it for me within hours! Even the police couldn¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°Why?!¡± The Creator slammed his fist on the wall. It shook just enough for the room to go quiet. ¡°Why did you hire them?¡±


    ¡°W-what¡¯s the matter, dear?¡±


    ¡°Do you not have any idea what you¡¯ve gotten yourself into? Do you walk around town being friendly with every single human you come into contact with?¡± He couldn¡¯t believe it. It was like she¡¯d been using her blindness like it was some sort of excuse to be making all these bad decisions. ¡°They¡¯re dangerous, Mrs. Morgan! I¡¯m dangerous!¡±


    ¡°What? N-no.¡± She stammered. ¡°No, you¡¯re not¡ª¡±


    ¡°I killed people! Just like what those idiots out there have been doing!¡±


    She went silent.


    ¡°Do you not understand the gravity of this situation? Are you sure that skinplate is even your son¡ª¡±


    ¡°It is!¡± she cried. ¡°I-I¡¯m sure of it! I know! It¡¯s just¡­ I thought I¡¯d know¡­¡±


    ¡°Do you¡±¡ªhis voice grew softer¡ª¡°even know for certain if they weren¡¯t the same group who stole your son in the first place?¡± The skinplate was the cheapest part of a mod doll. By using Mrs. Morgan¡¯s grief against her, the same scrap pirates would¡¯ve earned even more through being hired to find her son. Why couldn¡¯t she see that? If they¡¯d known about her blindness prior, then it was such an obvious scam.


    ¡°N-no. They were different people¡­¡±


    ¡°How do you know that?¡± He didn¡¯t know why he felt so frustrated¡ªwhy every word she¡¯d uttered made him so tense with all these negative emotions. ¡°You can¡¯t even see!¡±


    ¡°Gunther, I¡ª¡±


    ¡°How do you even know if they weren¡¯t the ones who stole your bracelet this morning?¡± The incompetence of this woman¡ªit wasn¡¯t like she was any different. She was like every other individual living in Novus Lokris. Why did he care so much about all this? Why now?


    He was so weak.


    ¡°Gunther,¡± she called. ¡°W-who¡­ did you kill?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Of all the things, she¡¯d focused on that. ¡°I won¡¯t kill you, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re worried about¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s okay. I¡¯m okay.¡± She breathed in deep before continuing, ¡°I don¡¯t regret my decisions, Gunther. I¡¯ll keep paying them. It¡¯s my responsibility I do that. Even if they were the ones to¡­¡±


    He could tell she was holding back her tears. ¡°You don¡¯t have to try so hard¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m okay,¡± she interrupted. ¡°But you. You¡¯re¡­ not okay. I can tell. Why did you kill them, Gunther?¡±


    Why was she asking these questions?


    ¡°Gunther¡ª¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± The teen slammed at the door. The annoying voice only added more fuel to his frustrations. ¡°How long are you gonna be in there? I don¡¯t got all day!¡±


    The Creator stomped out, slammed the door behind him again. He grabbed the teen by the collar and pulled him off the ground.


    ¡°Fuck! Let go, man!¡± The teen¡¯s feet dangled. He tried to squirm out but the hold was tight. He swung his cleaver down at the Creator¡¯s arm only for the metal to snap in two. His eyes grew wide. He scrambled to pull out his gun. With shaking hands, he shot at the Creator¡¯s chest. The pellets bounced off like rubber balls. ¡°W-what? What the hell are you?!¡±


    He brought the young boy closer.


    ¡°Fuck!¡± The teen dropped his weapons. ¡°W-wait! Don¡¯t kill me! If you kill me, they¡¯ll all come. How ¡®bout we make a deal? I¡¯ll tell them not to mess with you! I-I promise! Just¡ªjust let me go!¡±


    Mother, Bread, and now this. Whatever was happening to his life, he didn¡¯t like it. It felt like everything was getting out of hand. Like he was losing control over the life he¡¯d always thought he had under control. All these emotions getting in his way, making him weaker and weaker. All these problems that started flying around him like flies¡­


    ¡°Whatever she owes¡±¡ªthe Creator motioned towards apartment number 109¡ª¡°it better be zero.¡± He finally dropped the boy. ¡°Don¡¯t come back.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, got it!¡± The teen scrambled to his feet and ran out into the rural streets. And he kept running without a single glance back.


    For once, he wanted some peace and quiet. He wanted to give up, observe the skies, watch the summer sun blind his eyes for a while longer before heading back to his routine¡ªto Simular, to life prior to all this.


    For once, he just wanted the world to leave him alone.

 Steal My Joy Away

    ¡°Why did you do that?¡± Bread¡¯s mind was in shambles. What was this emotion he was feeling? It wasn¡¯t like any from before. He was burning inside, face hot with heat. ¡°You hurt her!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not answering stupid questions.¡± Val shoved him aside and stepped into Coach¡¯s gym.


    She pushed me! His nostrils flared. How could she act so cold? ¡°She was crying! You said nobody would get hurt!¡±


    ¡°I never hurt anyone.¡±


    ¡°But she was¡ª¡± He could feel tears streaming down, swirling together with the heat from his face. ¡°She was crying!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a therapist, Bread!¡± she lashed out. ¡°You want me to console them or something?¡±


    As he watched her stomp away, he realized what this feeling was¡ªanger. That was the emotion he had felt. He couldn¡¯t understand why she was acting like this. Why did she have to hurt somebody like that? He didn¡¯t like stealing; it didn¡¯t feel good at all. His records were right. Stealing was bad. He hated this feeling¡­


    ¡°What happened?¡± Coach rushed out of the workshop. A bunch of precision tools clattered to the concrete floor, but he didn¡¯t even seem to notice. ¡°Are you both fine?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re fine.¡± Val held up the diamond embedded bracelet. It sparkled and shined under the bright, morning sun. ¡°Got a decent haul today.¡±


    Bread tried to snatch the bracelet from her hands.


    ¡°What¡¯re you doing?¡± She snapped her arm back.


    ¡°I¡¯m taking it back.¡± He tried to reach for it again. ¡°To where it belongs.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not taking jack shit back.¡± She held the bracelet higher this time. It was far out of his reach.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Why? Because I said so.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± Coach interrupted. He stood between them and tried to create some distance. ¡°Calm down, both of you.¡±


    ¡°Why can¡¯t you go back to boxing?!¡± Bread yelled over Coach.


    ¡°You think I have a choice? You think I¡¯m stealing because I want to?¡± Val shook her head. ¡°I did it because I had to. There¡¯s no other reason why.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re hurting people!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care if I¡¯m hurting people! I hurt people when I box too! What? You think everyone¡¯s living like saints? Helping each other out like it¡¯s some kind of charity? Don¡¯t be ridiculous.¡±


    It hurt so much. He hated this feeling. He felt helpless, lost. He felt hurt. But what he hated more was the feeling he¡¯d get when hurting someone else. He¡¯d rather hurt himself, sacrifice himself. It hurt less. They were happy, and he was too. Why couldn¡¯t that just be the way things were? Why couldn¡¯t everyone just be happy?


    ¡°Val!¡± Coach yelled.


    ¡°What? I¡¯m just telling the truth!¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s just¡ª¡±


    ¡°I liked it better when you boxed!¡± Bread cried. ¡°You were smiling more. You-you looked happier!¡±


    ¡°Happier?¡± Val¡¯s nose immediately contorted at the mention of that word. She looked furious. He¡¯d never seen her like that before. ¡°I can¡¯t afford to be happy! If I had the money to survive on my own without hurting anyone, I would! I gladly would! But I don¡¯t even have that luxury! I don¡¯t¡ªif¡ªif I had money, Beady would¡­¡± Her voice trembled. She took a deep breath. Her next words felt ice cold. ¡°If I had money, I wouldn¡¯t even need you.¡±


    Wouldn¡¯t need me¡­ All the strength in his voice, all that emotion, left him. ¡°Am I,¡± he whispered, ¡°just Beady¡¯s replacement?¡± He could feel his heart beat, the sound echoing through the silence that followed. Please, he begged. Please say no¡­


    ¡°Yeah! You are! What¡¯re you going to do about it? Huh?¡±


    The air felt like sandpaper. It was suddenly harder to breathe, harder to think. Like he was drowning underwater, feeling those murky waves fill up his eyes and ears. Why was he even doing this? Just to feel like he was real? He was never going to be real; he was born in a simulation. He couldn¡¯t help it anymore. He let out his anger¡ª


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°At least Dad didn¡¯t replace me!¡±


    ¡°Then go back to your fucking dad!¡± she cried. ¡°You were supposed to be my second chance! I thought I could fix my mistakes, but now I know I can¡¯t! Because you¡¯re not even real!¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± And he was crying again. He was alone again. Everywhere he went, they were all the same. He tried to help, make them feel better because that was what he¡¯d wanted in return. He wanted to feel better too, but it never felt like he was being given back the same. Only scraps. Like he¡¯d been robbed¡­


    Nobody cared about him.


    ¡°Just an immature fucking baby!¡± Val stepped in closer with every word. ¡°Do you know how hard it is to survive out here? You can¡¯t even feed yourself, but you¡¯re telling me not to steal? What do you think those stupid words will do? Make me feel better? Hah! What a fucking joke!¡±


    ¡°Lass,¡± Coach called out.


    ¡°I let you into my life and this is how you repay me? You¡¯re just a pathetic fucking mod doll. What makes you think you have the right to tell me what to do?!¡±


    Bread curled up into a ball and closed his eyes, hoping that everything would just disappear like it did when he¡¯d first left Simular. He didn¡¯t like it here. That frozen forest he¡¯d seen in that white room, he missed it.


    ¡°Lass, enough! Knock it off!¡± Coach¡¯s voice boomed through the empty gym. He pulled Bread closer. ¡°It¡¯s alright, lad.¡±


    He buried his head into Coach¡¯s shoulders. It was warm¡ªwarmer than what he¡¯d expected from someone who he thought didn¡¯t care for him.


    ¡°Take a walk.¡± He could hear Coach saying. ¡°And come back when you¡¯re cooled off.¡±


    ¡°He needs to learn! How¡¯s he going to survive if we¡¯re not there? I have another heist planned¡ª¡±


    ¡°Take. A. Walk.¡±


    ¡°Wait, I¡­ Bread¡­¡±


    Bread could hear Val¡¯s voice grow softer, but he didn¡¯t dare look back. He wanted nothing to do with her. Nothing.


    ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m sorry¡­¡±


    There were footsteps. Then nothing. And in the emptiness, he only heard his dry, uneven breaths and the voices in his head constantly repeating what she¡¯d said, constantly telling him again and again¡ª


    That he didn¡¯t belong here.


    ¡­


    ¡°Sit. You like those flowers, don¡¯t ya?¡± Coach pointed over at the dandelions firmly growing atop some raised flowerbeds. He sat at the edge of the building, legs dangling in the air.


    Coach had brought him to the roof of his gym. Bread didn¡¯t even know that there was a way up to the roof. He didn¡¯t expect there to be so much greenery either. There were rows of planter boxes filled to the brim with plants. Vegetables of different varieties lined what should¡¯ve been empty concrete. There were strips of wildflowers spread all across, sprouting between the clumps of dirt.


    The sun was falling. It stained the sky overhead deep red, and the warmth prickled his skin in ripples. If he could, he wanted to pluck the sun out of the sky and rest it on his hands, warming up whatever made up his artificial self.


    ¡°Not even Val knows about this place. Lass ain¡¯t too bright when it comes to her surroundings. Funny, eh?¡±


    They sat comfortably on plastic beach chairs with a single parasol shading them from the glaring light. It was breathtaking the way the city sparkled from the rooftop. And as the sun fell, more lights started to dot the urban landscape in the distance.


    ¡°Beautiful, ain¡¯t it?¡±


    Bread nodded.


    ¡°A lotta people give up on themselves¡ªsee all their flaws and decide to never change. But I ain¡¯t most people, ya hear? I always wanted to be better. And I can sense that kinda energy in others.¡± Coach pulled out a bag of jerky¡ªit was turkey this time. ¡°Val¡¯s like that, and you too. I ain¡¯t one to tell you how to live your life, but maybe I can give you some advice.¡±


    He didn¡¯t get what Coach was saying, but he liked this. Coach, the atmosphere, dandelions. It was all perfect.


    ¡°Don¡¯t give up on yourself, Bread.¡±


    Give up? ¡°What¡­ do you mean, Coach?¡±


    ¡°Ya don¡¯t have to be Beady.¡±


    I don¡¯t have to be Beady?


    ¡°Just be yourself. There¡¯s nothing to be ashamed of, lad.¡±


    Be myself? He didn¡¯t get it. He didn¡¯t know why, but something about what Coach had said triggered something in his eyes. Everything blurred; his nose itched.


    Coach pulled him in closer. ¡°I don¡¯t want you goin¡¯ down the wrong path. You¡¯re both good kids, I know. But the lass is sufferin¡¯ too. She¡¯s been through a lot.¡±


    ¡°What¡­ happened to Beady?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s, well¡­ He¡¯s gone to a better place.¡±


    ¡°Did he die?¡±


    ¡°Ah, well¡­¡±


    Bread could tell by Coach¡¯s expression. Beady had died.


    The concept of death. He had to admit, it was still a hard thing to fully grasp. How bad would it feel? Would it be similar to not belonging? To feel like being lost? He only remembered what Dad had said once¡­


    ¡°Death is inevitable.¡±


    ¡°From what I¡¯ve heard, seemed like it was the faulty childcare system at work,¡± Coach muttered. Then he grunted with what felt like a tinge of spite. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t be surprised if he¡¯d been sold to some corporate¡ªnevermind.¡±


    But if he couldn¡¯t be Beady, then what was he? ¡°Does Val care? About me?¡±


    Coach laughed. ¡°¡®Course she does! She¡¯s doing this because she thinks you¡¯re family, lad. She¡¯s better than you think. Give her a chance.¡±


    He fell silent.


    ¡°You¡¯re¡ªwell, it¡¯s complicated, ain¡¯t it? I don¡¯t want you losing your kindness, Bread. That¡¯s what makes you different from the rest of us. The world¡¯s harsh, but don¡¯t let the world define who you want to be. And!¡± He went on, ¡°We¡¯re all family now whether ya like it or not, but what you do with Val? That ain¡¯t up to me.¡±


    ¡°But I don¡¯t know what to do¡­¡±


    ¡°Ya got heart, lad. Just follow it.¡±


    Heart¡­ The sun sank deeper under the horizon; more lights spread across the city. Bread took a moment to enjoy the quiet. Right after the loud, afternoon cars passed through the streets, right before the world in front of his eyes was eventually engulfed by a million miniature suns¡­


    They were family¡ªCoach, Val, him. He belonged here. Even though Coach had told him to be himself, just this once, he vowed to make Val happy. She deserved a second chance. She deserved it more than himself.


    His own happiness could wait.

 Mysteries of Murder

    ¡°Well, you¡¯re awfully late to leave today.¡± Mrs. Morgan poured the Creator a steamy portion of tea. Beads of water formed around the edges of his mug.


    ¡°I¡¯m taking a break.¡± The Creator dragged the mug over. It jostled across the table but thankfully didn¡¯t spill. The heat, however, warmed his palms a little too much. ¡°And I¡¯ve been meaning to ask¡­¡±


    ¡°Go on!¡±


    ¡°Would it be a bother if I stayed a while longer?¡± He didn¡¯t want to admit it, but the place was, in fact, quite comforting. ¡°I believe I¡­ enjoy the company.¡±


    ¡°Why, of course, dear!¡± She didn¡¯t even hesitate. ¡°Stay, stay!¡±


    ¡°Am I really not a bother?¡±


    ¡°If you were, I¡¯d have kicked you out the moment you set foot!¡± She let out a light chuckle. ¡°So are you finished with finding that boy of yours?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure he¡¯s alright.¡± If he¡¯s with her.


    ¡°Well, why don¡¯t you bring him in?¡± She beamed. Her smile complemented the tea¡¯s hot intensity. ¡°I¡¯ve got just enough space for another guest!¡±


    Aurora Morgan¡­ Her name had been engraved into that bracelet of hers. Wasn¡¯t it important? Why hadn¡¯t she talked about it since? ¡°We should find that bracelet of yours first. I could buy you a replica with the same engravings. It wouldn¡¯t be that difficult¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d rather not.¡± She waved the comment aside. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that. I¡¯m over it. And it won¡¯t be the same anyway.¡±


    ¡°I suppose that¡¯s true.¡± Just like the skinplate. He took a sip. The liquid slid down his throat, almost burning a hole through his esophagus. He coughed up the rest. ¡°Tea¡¯s quite hot,¡± he managed to get out. The heat lingered in his stomach.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure.¡± She reached out to touch her son¡¯s skinplate. Her hands drifted across the corroded surface for a while. He could see her expression dull as if a shadow had been cast over her. ¡°I may have brewed it for far too long¡­¡±


    ¡°I can try and track the thief¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, no.¡± She brushed it all away. ¡°It¡¯s really alright. Now, a stranger shouldn¡¯t be your priority, Gunther. I¡¯m sure you still have business to attend to instead of helping me.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. Honestly. Your bracelet is more important than my own business.¡± The Creator took a careful sip of his tea this time and added, ¡°And you¡¯re no stranger. Not anymore.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Gunther.¡± Her face brightened up once more. There was an almost resolute demeanor to her expression. ¡°Stubborn as a mule I say. My son was just like you.¡±


    She brought out a small safe from inside the closet, and with delicate hands, gently placed the skinplate inside. Then she closed the lid and locked it tight before shoving the entire container back under all that mess of old cotton and linen.


    ¡°You¡¯re putting that away?¡± All those clothes inside¡ªthey looked to be mostly worn out and torn. Perhaps he could buy her some coats for the coming winter.


    ¡°I think it¡¯s time I move on. It¡¯s been far too long.¡± Her face lifted, and her eyes grew wider by the second. ¡°And there¡¯s still more for these old eyes to see.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re blind.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you know what I mean.¡±


    The Creator watched her stand in front of the closet, hands silently folded together as if in prayer. It seemed as if she¡¯d meant what she¡¯d said. Perhaps she truly was putting her son to rest after all that had happened¡­


    A screeching noise abruptly sounded in the distance.


    What was that? He was sure he¡¯d heard something. It sounded like it had come from outside. ¡°Mrs. Morgan?¡±


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    ¡°Hmm? What¡ª¡±


    A sudden distorted, amplified voice scratched against the apartment walls. The building shook¡ªtrembled like a category three earthquake.


    ¡°Better prepare your funeral rites!¡± the voice shrieked out. ¡°It¡¯s high time you pay us back, Aurora Morgan!¡±


    What now? The Creator stood up from the couch. Why was it that every time he was preparing to rest, something always seemed to happen.


    ¡°Th-that voice!¡± Mrs. Morgan turned toward the noise. Fright was written all over her face. ¡°That¡¯s the voice I heard when they broke in! M-my son! She stole my son! I¡¯m sure of it!¡±


    ¡°Mrs. Morgan, Stay here.¡± The Creator grabbed his jacket and tie. He downed the rest of his tea¡ªit was still hot. He didn¡¯t know why he¡¯d done that¡ªand headed for the door.


    ¡°Come out, come out!¡± the warped voice mocked again. ¡°Or I¡¯ll blow up the entire complex!¡±


    ¡°No, Gunther.¡± She rummaged around that closet of hers again. He knew what she was looking for. ¡°I need to¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t. I¡¯ve got it under control.¡± He placed his hands gently on her shoulders. She was tense; her fingers were already wrapped halfway around the barrel of the shotgun.


    ¡°Gunther.¡± She turned around. ¡°I¡ª¡±


    ¡°I told you before. You¡¯re no stranger.¡±


    Her hands started to tremble; tears formed just under her eyes. ¡°A-are you sure about this? You¡¯ll be okay?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± He consoled her. ¡°Do I look¡ªwell, do I seem like I¡¯d go down that easily?¡±


    ¡°But why are you doing so much for me?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just repaying my debt.¡± The Creator couldn¡¯t help it. He could feel a chuckle bubbling up inside. Of all things, he hadn¡¯t expected to help out some old stranger he¡¯d met along the roadside. If it were him from before, he probably wouldn¡¯t have. But after meeting Bread, Mrs. Morgan, he¡¯d come to accept what he¡¯d always feared. He¡¯d changed. There was no denying that.


    He walked out, making sure to close the door behind him, and the first thing that greeted his eyes was the teen. The same teen from before. He¡¯d told him not to come back, hadn¡¯t he? Why was it that nobody ever listened?


    The teen huddled behind a woman with that same snake symbol from before imprinted on her biker vest¡ªTaipan Riders, he recalled. She looked to be the leader of the pack. Around her were a mass of grungy individuals all armed to the teeth. Most with knives. Some with firearms of various size.


    ¡°It¡¯s him!¡± the teen tattled. ¡°That¡¯s the old guy I was talking about!¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re the new bodyguard everyone¡¯s been talkin¡¯ about?¡± There was a brief pause in her movement. She leaned in just a bit.


    He could tell by the way her eyes twitched. She had just scanned him with an optical cyber-up.


    Her lips slowly stretched into a wide grin. ¡°Well, lookie here. Scored bigger than a tub of Nano-Fibro gels! So what¡¯s the creator of Simular doing out here in the boonies?¡±


    ¡°H-he¡¯s the Creator? Like the Creator?!¡±


    ¡°Shut your trap.¡± She smacked the teen across the back of his head. ¡°Don¡¯t interrupt an adult conversation.¡±


    The Creator peered up at the sun floating motionlessly above his eyes. It was so bright, so blindingly bright. If only he could lower the intensity¡­ He stared back at the supposed leader. She was still grinning from ear to ear, seemingly satisfied about her newfound revelation, but he had a revelation of his own¡ª


    ¡°Were you the pirates who scrapped her son?¡±


    ¡°Hah!¡± the woman cried. ¡°Did she finally figure that out? What a stupid woman.¡±


    A feeling of melancholy mixed with his sense of pride in figuring the murder mystery out. It was uncomfortable, pathetic. But he¡¯d done similar for less. It was only because this had involved Mrs. Morgan that he cared, was it not? If it were anybody else, would he have felt the same? No, he was no hero. They were doing the same, him and this gang¡ªmaking money, pursuing their goals, trying to survive. But why couldn¡¯t he put it past him. Mrs. Morgan had already done that. She¡¯d already packed up the skinplate inside her closet. But why did he still feel so uncomfortable?


    ¡°You know who I am,¡± the Creator called out. ¡°If this is about money, we can settle this peacefully.¡± If they could just leave him and Mrs. Morgan alone, he assumed the feeling would ease. This place had given him much more than what he¡¯d bargained for. He wanted to spend some more time here in peace.


    ¡°Peaceful? The Creator being peaceful?¡± She bellowed out in laughter. ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll tell you what. Give me a percentage of your shares. Then we¡¯ve got ourselves a deal!¡±


    ¡°Shares? Really?¡± The woman could¡¯ve asked for far more in cold, hard cash, but she had greedily requested something even he had no control over. ¡°Buy it yourself. You don¡¯t need me for that.¡±


    ¡°No, no. I don¡¯t think you get it. I¡¯m not here to buy anything.¡± She raised the barrel of her pistol and pointed it straight towards the sky. ¡°This isn¡¯t a request.¡± She pulled the trigger. A resounding pop echoed through the air.


    Suddenly, there was a bloodcurdling roar followed by vibrations in the earth. It sounded like steps. Large, heavy steps. The ground trembled with each thump. Nearby car alarms went off, trees were felled, and behind a street of oncoming traffic, he saw it¡ªa monstrous, hulking figure running towards him at full speed, smashing everything in its sight.


    ¡°The Taipan Riders!¡±¡ªthe woman started to yell with an overwhelming intensity. She raised her fist in the air¡ª¡°will get paid today! And we will, without a doubt, prevail!¡± Then she brought it down with a hard smack onto the unwary teen¡¯s back. ¡°Now, get out there and fight!¡±


    ¡°Ow! What the hell, boss?!¡±

 Power Overwhelming

    ¡°Goliath!¡± The Taipan Riders leader waved at the now docile creature. It stopped in its tracks beside her. ¡°I¡¯m sure you don¡¯t want to fight my little pet. Just send me a portion of your company shares. Make me a part of your little crew, and I¡¯ll make sure you have an army at your disposal.¡±


    The creature was large¡ªdeformed but humanoid in nature. It had visible limbs and a face that looked like it had been partially melted off, and considering its receptiveness to voice commands, it seemed to possess some form of intelligence. Its naked body was covered in bright, multi-colored tubes and torn cables. Almost like it had just escaped from some sort of laboratory of unethical practices.


    ¡°What have you done to it?¡± the Creator asked.


    ¡°Drugs!¡± she answered back. A mischievous grin formed. ¡°What do you think these were from? Candy? It was from lots and lots of drugs! Oh, it was so fun feeding my sweetie pie!¡±


    What a lunatic.


    ¡°Nobody else has the fuckin¡¯ guts to do it! They got stupid rules to follow, you know?¡± She laughed. ¡°My head researcher was miffed about the whole thing, sayin¡¯ shit like, ¡®Oh, but the code of ethics!¡¯ Who the fuck cares?! Why¡¯d you come to a gang if you had ethics involved?! I obviously killed him.¡±


    Rules to follow¡­ Those familiar words¡­ Damn it! Why was he comparing his own words to hers? They were clearly in different context; she was nothing like him. He¡¯d done his research far more efficiently, and it was better.


    He wasn¡¯t anything like her.


    ¡°So? Down for the deal?¡± the leader said. She started almost sensually rubbing the creature¡¯s arms. ¡°C¡¯mon! Just fifty-one percent. That¡¯s it. Better than being smashed into pulp by my little sweetie pie, eh?¡±


    ¡°And why would I do that?¡± Fifty-one percent was basically the entire company. She was asking for the whole damn thing.


    ¡°Okay. Don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t try.¡± She shrugged him off before shooting two times into the air. ¡°Taipan Riders! We¡¯re murderin¡¯ today!¡± And with a third shot, her army of goons readied themselves at the forefront¡­


    But one grunt stood, quivering. Far in the back. He seemed frightened.


    ¡°B-boss, I don¡¯t know if I can do this.¡± The tip of his blade trembled just the same. His legs wobbled, and his head shook with every word spoken. ¡°H-he¡¯s the Creator! W-we can¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°What?!¡± the leader yelled. She sounded intensely agitated. Without warning, she pulled up her gun and shot the man straight in the chest. ¡°What a fuckin¡¯ waste.¡±


    Waste¡­?


    The grunt fell to his knees, holding his chest tightly as the blood spewed. His head rested to the side; his gaze fell to the Creator, and he started to mouth to him of all people¡­


    ¡°Help.¡±


    On instinct alone, the Creator twitched. Just enough to stop himself. Then the leader shot twice more into the man.


    The body laid unmoving on the ground, arm still bloodied and outstretched. The Creator didn¡¯t know why, but something about it was unpleasant. He¡¯d seen so many die before him. Why was this in particular any different?


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡± the leader remarked. ¡°They¡¯re nobodies. They should be thankful I¡¯m even cuttin¡¯ them a deal. I¡¯m not payin¡¯ for someone who doesn¡¯t work for it.¡±


    Nobodies¡­ He¡¯d once said that very word to describe his own experimental test subjects. They had been people just like these grunts¡ªdrug addicts, psych ward patients, orphans, all those low lives of society. He¡¯d once thought they were just nobodies too¡ªuseless if not given purpose, useful when used for his research¡­


    Did he still think that?


    ¡°Plus,¡± the leader continued, ¡°it¡¯s a waste of resources if they¡¯re not pullin¡¯ their weight¡ªwhy the hell am I tellin¡¯ you this? You¡¯ve done the same shit, Mr. Creator!¡±


    He had, hadn¡¯t he? Back in the old days. Was he like this before too? When he¡¯d been¡­ colder, when he¡¯d lacked the empathy and remorse to care. He wondered¡ª


    ¡°Do you feel remorse for all that you¡¯ve done?¡±


    ¡°Remorse? Remorse my ass!¡± she cried out. ¡°What kind of elitist bullshit is that? You guys do the same fuckin¡¯ thing, but you ask me if I feel remorse? Hell fuckin¡¯ no! My family¡¯s eating good ¡®cause of this!¡±


    Family¡­ Mother. She¡¯d always brought up the fact that his test subjects were human, innocent. That they had families of their own. She¡¯d yelled that he was destroying peoples¡¯ lives even though they were all but unwanted. They were worthless. They were nobodies like¡­


    Like her son¡­


    Mrs. Morgan¡¯s son. The skinplate. The one these people had killed, scrapped for parts. If they had done that to Bread¡­ The Creator felt an intense anguish suddenly wash over him. He immediately knew what it was.


    Empathy.


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    To have become so weak that he could empathize. He¡¯d made sure not to feel such emotions because it would hinder him from his goals. It would weaken him. He¡¯d done it for so long, he¡¯d almost forgotten what it felt like. But now, he was doing it voluntarily¡ªto finally understand Mother. But was this enough to be worthy of her praise? To have her finally acknowledge him as her son?


    He wasn¡¯t entirely sure.


    And why Bread? Why had Bread of all people made him feel this way? They weren¡¯t blood-related. The boy was a stranger¡ªnot even human. An NPC, AI. Why would he of all people¡­


    The sound of gunshots released him from his nightmares.


    ¡°No more talk!¡± the leader yelled, her smoking gun in hand. All her grunts lined up and readied themselves. ¡°You won¡¯t distract us any longer! We fight until death do us part!¡±


    They cheered at their leader¡¯s words, raising all sorts of weapons into the air¡ªheat sabers and electric batons to simple-looking rifles and mid-ranged throwing discs. Most likely all stolen goods. Some had knives and spiked baseball bats with what looked to be homemade modifications, and a number of them had crudely fitted combat cybernetics that were just barely long enough to cover their elbows.


    His thoughts would have to wait. Right now, he had to focus on the battlefield. With the crude level of technology and lack of sophistication these grunts had, he wondered why they were so certain of their success. Where did all that confidence come from? What were they even fighting for? Of course, he already knew the answer to that¡ª


    Money. Just like any other.


    The Creator sighed. There was no point to this. They wouldn¡¯t even stand a chance. But as they charged in, it didn¡¯t seem like he had all that much of a choice in the matter. He only promised himself that he wouldn¡¯t kill; it¡¯d only get messier if he did.


    ¡°System: initiate Raijin Blood.¡± He smashed his fists together to wake up his dormant body. Glowing, red-hot ichor started coursing through his modified veins, steaming up from the surface of his skin in wisps of gray. His heart started to beat like drums¡­


    The giant Goliath was first to arrive. The creature rushed in, wires still dragging across the surface of the parking lot.


    The Creator slammed his feet into the ground below, cracking the asphalt underneath. Then he cemented his legs and got into a proper stance to take the weight of the heavy beast. And with open arms, he took the full brunt of the force.


    The impact fractured the earth below, but his legs held firm. Then, with a powerful shove, he redirected the creature away. It crashed into a neighboring building and slumped to the ground.


    ¡°No, sweetie!¡± the leader yelled. She rushed towards the fallen figure.


    For a creature that size, Goliath seemed quite fragile. But this was just the beginning. There were still a few dozen goons left remaining.


    The first one ran in with a heat sword in her hand. She swung wide into the Creator¡¯s shoulders, but it bounced off, instead burning his suit in the process.


    ¡°Damn it.¡± He quickly knocked her out. ¡°That was limited edition.¡±


    Another one dashed in with brass knuckles¡ªa weapon outdated by a century.


    The Creator pulled back his cyber-enhanced fist, shaking his head at his opponent¡¯s unfortunate weapon choice. He then landed a solid punch square in the attacker¡¯s jaw. The grunt went shooting through the air in a beautiful parabolic arc.


    Next, a group of individuals circled around him like hungry vultures. They held long, carbon fiber spears sparking at the ends with fizzling, hot electricity. It reminded him of the historical attack patterns of the phalanx. Except this one wasn¡¯t as coordinated.


    As they pressed closer, the Creator could feel the pressure they were trying to emanate, but to his highly modified skin, their spears were toothpicks. They prodded and poked at his sides, but most of the shock just flickered out, dissipating into flashes of miniature fireworks.


    He slapped a spear out of one¡¯s hands and swung it around in a perfect, circular motion. The group was effortlessly swatted away and dispersed like a bunch of electrocuted flies. Most fell to the ground, spasming out of control.


    The final stragglers pulled out their guns and discs. They dashed in all sides, taking turns hiding behind cover. Stray bullets bounced through the battlefield with no discretion for friend or foe, and the shots rang out in tiny tintinnabulations. Some even ricocheted off scattered tin cans around the block. The few that landed, immediately rebounded. None of it could pierce through his reinforced skin.


    A few grenades were also thrown in his direction, but he swiftly caught them out of the air and threw them back. Explosions of that caliber would only further break down the foundations of the apartment complex.


    Mrs. Morgan suddenly poked her head out of her apartment. ¡°Are you alright, dear? Is it over yet¡ª¡±


    A bullet lodged itself into her door, barely missing her vitals.


    ¡°Oh my. What was that?¡±


    ¡°No! Back you go!¡± He rushed over and shoved her inside. Then he slammed the door closed. ¡°Apologies for the rough handling, but please stay inside!¡±


    A rumbling noise entered his ears from his left.


    ¡°Yeah, you got this sweetie!¡± It was the leader. ¡°Throw that at him! Right there!¡± She instructed the now revitalized Goliath towards his direction.


    The creature had grabbed a sizable chunk of concrete wreckage from the building it had initially crashed into. The rubble was larger than Goliath. It heaved the piece up above its shoulders and locked eyes with him. Then it hurled the block of concrete over.


    He couldn¡¯t dodge it. Apartment 109 was behind him. He had to block it. Somehow. Could he do it? No, he had to. There was no other option. He slammed his arms together and put up a solid guard. Then he placed one leg in front of the other, and pushed both feet deep into the earth below. The ground crumbled away from his strength.


    And then he braced for impact.


    The enormous rock landed heavy on his arms. It was massive, but nothing he couldn¡¯t hold back. He clenched his teeth and held firm. Nothing was getting past him. Not even the debris. And the pressure eventually started to ebb.


    Then there was a roar¡ªa ferocious battle cry. Another strong force slammed into the other end of the concrete boulder. It pushed him back even further, breaking apart the ground like mush. With every roar, he felt bursts of strength blasting him back closer and closer to the door. His legs started to slip, and the asphalt felt more like sand.


    But he held on. And the rubble finally started to crack.


    A line stretched down the middle, forming a rift. Then it split in half, revealing an angry but fatigued Goliath behind. It glared back with murderous intent, but it didn¡¯t move. No, it couldn¡¯t. He could tell. The shortness of breath and its trembling legs¡­


    It was over. They were both exhausted.


    ¡°What are you idiots doing? Fight!¡± the leader yelled. She tried to rile up her fallen grunts. ¡°Don¡¯t give him any rest!¡±


    The Creator shook his head. What was her plan? To use him as a hostage? Azan wouldn¡¯t bat an eye. None of this would work; it wouldn¡¯t go her way.


    ¡°You,¡± he called out. His breathing was ragged but manageable. He¡¯d be fully recovered in a few minutes. ¡°Do you truly believe you could win?¡±


    ¡°I always get what I want.¡± The leader stomped over, seemingly having realized his fatigue. She pulled out another gun from inside her vest and aimed it at his head. ¡°Or I¡¯ll die fuckin¡¯ trying.¡±


    Then she pulled the trigger.

 Sparks From the Afterlife

    An electrifying net had sprayed out from the end of the leader¡¯s gun. It had tightly wrapped around the Creator, exposing only his head and neck.


    He knew what this was¡ªa paralysis net. It was meant to capture individuals through electrocution. To him, it didn¡¯t really have any effect, but the net itself was hardy enough to withstand his weakened attempts of escape.


    ¡°Why are you trying so hard?¡± The situation didn¡¯t phase him one bit. It¡¯d take more than this to bring him down.


    ¡°Because I have a family to feed!¡± she cried. ¡°I¡¯m sure you can¡¯t relate.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure I can.¡±


    ¡°Oh really? Then pay up!¡±


    ¡°Drug trafficking should suffice, should it not?¡± It was simpler and most likely easier. Why would they risk their steady business for him?


    ¡°Sweetie¡¯s got a few extra treats. That¡¯s all. Now pay up!¡± She pulled out yet another gun from inside her vest. ¡°This one¡¯s real. I won¡¯t ask twice, nouveau. I don¡¯t give a shit about what happens to you. Pay up if you still want a life. I can spend that kind of money better than you ever could.¡±


    He looked the weapon over. ¡°That gun can¡¯t kill me.¡±


    There was a loud bang and a flash of the muzzle. But as expected, the bullet didn¡¯t pierce through.


    ¡°Like I said.¡±


    She pulled out a little device and held it up for him to see¡ªa data breach drive.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t suggest that,¡± the Creator replied. He already knew what she was up to. She was planning on extracting information from him through the connection port on his neck.


    ¡°And why¡¯s that? Because you¡¯ll lose your secrets to a lowly punk like me?¡± She let out an unexpected cackle. Then she hovered the device over his neck port, readying to plug it in. ¡°Should¡¯ve surrendered sooner.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m serious. You¡¯ll die.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t bluffing. There were various anti-malware and protection software installed in his neural operating system. Any form of viral or rogue programs were to be eradicated immediately, and if severe enough, his most destructive failsafe would activate¡ª


    Raijin Drums.


    Available on a month to month basis, it was an exorbitant premium subscription module for those within the upper echelons of society. When activated, a satellite would shoot down an artificially generated bolt of lightning at the site of the user, executing all who were within vicinity. Only the user¡ªusually physically enhanced to the point of near-perfect electrical nullification¡ªwould survive.


    But the leader ignored his words and proceeded. She positioned his neck so that the port was visible, held the device securely in her grasp, and started to plug it in. And the moment the device was fully locked in place¡ª


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    A flash of light. Then a deafening boom. The earth shook like a million explosions. And within seconds¡­


    It was over.


    The Creator pulled the damaged net off from his body. It tore away without much resistance. The air around him fizzled, and there was a quiet hissing noise in the background. Everywhere around him smelled of burnt plastic.


    He sighed. Nobody ever seemed to listen to his warnings.


    The rest of the Taipan Riders grunts stood watching from the sidelines, speechless and unmoving. For a few long, unending seconds, no words were spoken. Not from him. Not from anyone who had seen what had happened.


    The Creator gazed over at the body of the leader, burnt to crisps and still as stone. She wasn¡¯t breathing; her heart had stopped. He already knew she was dead before it even hit. The preliminary trials for Raijin Drums always resulted in a ninety-nine percent mortality rate. And there were almost no exceptions to that rule.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± The teen who had initially reported him to the leader started gathering the crowd of disheveled, onlooking goons. He walked out of the parking lot, shoulders slumped like the rest. ¡°Taipan Riders out¡­¡±


    The ones who could still walk scurried along with him. They never turned back, tired and intent on following their new leader. There was no remorse for the fallen, no tears wept for the dead. Only Goliath remained, hunched, peering down at its now deceased owner.


    He could see it¡ªdeep, underlying sorrow. As water welled up in its eyes, pouring over like miniature tidal waves, he could truly see the heartfelt emotions not visible in the others. It had knelt beside the deceased figure with one hand resting over her head, holding tightly to what remained of her.


    How ironic. Somehow, with all that he¡¯d been thinking, he thought he could relate to this creature that didn¡¯t seem all that human. But perhaps it was more human than him, considering that Mother had once called him a monster.


    He wondered, contrary to the norm, if the creature had truly been treated well. In any similar circumstance, it would¡¯ve been assumed that experiments like these were done with greed and malice in mind, but in the creature¡¯s expression, there was a solemn sincerity, conviction. There were intelligence behind those eyes.


    ¡°Go.¡± He motioned for the beast to leave. Before the authorities arrived. ¡°Take her with you if you wish.¡±


    Goliath looked up one last time. There were only tears¡ªwet and heavy tears that swamped the earth below. It caressed her deceased body for a brief second longer before leaping away with what remained of her in its arms.


    Hopefully, to somewhere far away.


    The sun didn¡¯t look too bright anymore. He was getting used to it now. After all, this was no different from Simular. Everyone was still fighting to survive, struggling to find their own destinies within this gap in time between life and death.


    In the end, being at the top was no different from those groveling at the bottom. They were all puny humans in the grand scheme of life. They were all cursed to feel, have emotions. They were all the same like himself¡ªa commonality, a nobody. Like¡­


    His eyes widened.


    Like a dandelion¡­


    Perhaps Mother had merely wanted a simple life devoid of such lavish luxuries. Perhaps she truly was happier before. Back when they were still scrounging for food, back in that old, decrepit home of his¡­


    The destruction of the apartment complex around him seemed all the more pitiful to his eyes. He¡¯d taken away so many lives, ruined all that he¡¯d had in the past. For what? Money? Validation? None of that mattered when the one person you loved so dearly was dead. And all this time, all he needed to do was take a step back, take some time to understand her.


    Perhaps, like the leader of the Taipan Riders, he too needed to atone. Like the leader, perhaps he, the almighty Creator, deserved death too.

 The Stormiest of Storms, Sleepiest of Slumbers

    An explosion sounded.


    ¡°Fuck!¡± Val fell off the couch. My fucking beauty sleep! Her ears were ringing, and her head ached from yesterday. What the hell was that sound? Thunder? That loud? It sounded like it had struck the roof.


    She stumbled her way over to one of the windows at the front and groggily pushed the curtains to the side¡ªit wasn¡¯t raining. It wasn¡¯t dark either; it was actually pretty sunny. The fuck? She pulled out her phone, squinting to check for the news.


    A gang war? The reporters weren¡¯t even really sure what it was, but the streets behind them were in utter chaos. People screaming, crumbling buildings, exploded water pipes. But where was everyone else? Was she really the only one to have woken up from this? She searched around only to remember¡ª


    Right.


    Coach was probably still out on his super early, crack-of-dawn exercise run. And Bread? Well¡­ It was probably best that she didn¡¯t know. Plus, a gang war usually happened every once a month anyways. It wasn¡¯t really anything special. Sleep, on the other hand, was much more important for her skin. She couldn¡¯t afford pricey skincare. Au naturel had to do for now. But as she headed back for the comfy embrace of the couch, her eyes suddenly lit up with a crazy idea¡ª


    The Grand Heist!


    This was perfect! A chance of a lifetime! She had learned of a place for a potential heist a few weeks back. If successful, the payout was going to be fucking psychotic! She wouldn¡¯t have to worry about money for months!


    She¡¯d initially planned on taking Bread after the first little heist, but that didn¡¯t really pan out the way she¡¯d planned. Without his ability, this heist should¡¯ve been impossible. She¡¯d never actually intended to carry it out, but with all the chaos running rampant from the gang war drawing all the authorities away, even if she did make a mistake, it would take a sliver longer for them to make it over.


    The heist location was described as a mansion known for its lack of human security¡ªno guards or any kind of hired guns. At first glance, it seemed too good to be true¡ªa literal walk in the park. But that was because the place had made a name for itself as the impenetrable fortress of Novus Lokris. It contained the most technologically-advanced, deadly, cutting-edge security system one could ever get their hands on.


    Simply put, human security was considered inferior. Compared to all the autonomous drones, chemical detectors, and advanced biometrics, a biological human¡ªhowever cybernetically advanced¡ªcouldn¡¯t compete. And at that kind of level, surveillance cams were just a given.


    Bread wasn¡¯t exactly perfect for the job though. He could probably overload a small portion of the security, but back-ups still existed. A smart system like that wouldn¡¯t go down that easily. But if she could attach multiple communication blockers and signal displacers in tandem with Bread¡¯s electrical surge, she could, at the very least, redirect all the security bots and drones towards another part of the mansion. And the fact that the mansion was huge would backfire since it would take that much longer for all those machines to return.


    But Bread was now a no-go. He probably hated her.


    She wasn¡¯t intent on giving up though. With or without him, she was going to make this work. She wanted the money. No, she needed it. And this gang war?


    It was the perfect storm.


    The residents themselves were a different story. She almost felt bad for them. It was apparently owned by some rich guy who was never home for his wife and kid. But as bad as their family situation was, it wasn¡¯t her problem. She was going to take the one thing they valued most¡ªtheir family heirloom.


    It was a first edition book by a famous author she¡¯d never heard of. Apparently, the residents were direct descendants.


    She snatched up her phone, put on her handy-dandy fingerprint encryption gloves, and lightly packed a few things into her bag that she thought would be useful¡ªflashlight, decoder, lockpicks, miniature toolkit, and a bunch of other goodies. Then she was off. She quickly made her way towards the front door only to be stopped by a familiar face¡­


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Bread.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± she said. She feigned nonchalance and brushed his stares away. ¡°You¡¯re not stopping me.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°You know?¡± What did he know? ¡°I don¡¯t¡­ know what that means.¡±


    ¡°I want to help.¡±


    Help? After that big ass fight? What was he planning? ¡°What do you mean, help? You¡¯re really not here to stop me?¡±


    ¡°You were right. I was wrong.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re¡ªI thought¡­¡± She stumbled through her words. ¡°Okay¡­?¡±


    ¡°Take me with you.¡± He pointed at her bag, eyes looking determined as hell. ¡°I know you¡¯re going somewhere again.¡±


    What the fuck was happening? Was Bread always like this? Did he usually change his mind this quickly? No, she was sure he was a bit more stubborn than that. He was the kid who couldn¡¯t shut up about going outside to see new stuff. He couldn¡¯t even forget about that promise she¡¯d made with him inside Simular. He didn¡¯t act like this before. Did something fry his internal memory?


    What was he thinking?


    ¡­


    She couldn¡¯t say no.


    They positioned themselves in front of the luxurious gate of the mansion, hiding within the blind spot of the cameras. Val turned to Bread¡ª


    ¡°Can I trust you?¡±


    Bread nodded.


    ¡°Do you promise?¡±


    He nodded again.


    ¡°Okay.¡± She could test his resolve later. What mattered more was the heist. She had to investigate the area as best she could before she went in.


    The place was decorated in fancy, golden pillars and marble, seemingly influenced by ancient Greek architecture, but there was still an air of modernity behind the material choices and the building techniques. It had a lot of entrances and glass panels for enhanced stylistic flair, and the place was completely isolated from the public eye, gated away like an entire rich, private community.


    ¡°Can you shut it down through that?¡± She gestured towards the gate keypad.


    Bread nodded. He placed his hands on the keypad, and immediately, sparks started flying off the metal.


    While Bread worked on that, she¡¯d focus on diverting the signals. She pulled out all her equipment that was going to be put to use¡ªblockers, displacers, some wrenches¡ª


    ¡°Done!¡±


    ¡°What?¡± He was done? Already? ¡°What do you mean, done?¡±


    Bread pushed the front gate. It slid open without a hitch.


    Wasn¡¯t there supposed to be an alarm going off for that? A simple short circuit shouldn¡¯t have been able to completely shut everything off. And it wouldn¡¯t have taken this quick either. ¡°How¡­ did you do this?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll come back on in ten minutes,¡± he said. ¡°I made the system reboot.¡±


    ¡°The entire thing?¡±


    He nodded.


    ¡°You¡­¡± What the fuck? She couldn¡¯t stop grinning. This kid had just turned off one of the most sophisticated security systems on the planet in the blink of an eye! ¡°We¡¯ll talk about this later. Stay here.¡±


    ¡°What? I can¡¯t come?¡±


    ¡°No. Too dangerous.¡±


    Bread pouted. It didn¡¯t seem like he liked that answer, but it had to do for now. This wasn¡¯t the time to argue.


    She put away all her tools and made her way inside. Bread was right. All the interior lights had turned off, the security cams were dark¡ªliterally everything had shut down. How was that even possible? For such sophisticated systems like these, parts of the security should¡¯ve been split apart so as to defend against attacks that could access the entire electrical system. This would only be possible if someone could navigate through the software and manually reconnect all the disjointed sections. Was he somehow diving deeper into the system? But that should¡¯ve required hours of work and years of experience¡­


    Whatever. Not important.


    She finally arrived just outside a thin glass window pane. It was already slightly ajar, so she jumped inside¡ªa kitchen. Hundreds of pots, pans, and utensils dangled from the ceiling, but she quickly moved past all that. The heirloom was on the fourteenth floor. She had to be quick. The residents must¡¯ve already realized something had gone wrong when all the electricity went out.


    She made her way into a hallway. To her left, there was a staircase going up. She pulled out her phone to pinpoint the location she had mapped out previously using info she had bought from her old data broker. Then she started to climb. With each and every step, she gained more and more momentum. She was going to succeed, make enough to sustain their lives. All she needed was that book.


    ¡­


    Fuck, I¡¯m rusty. It took an eternity to climb a single floor. Why the hell was it so spaced out? No, now wasn¡¯t the time to be complaining. She was halfway there. Just a few more flights. But then, she heard an echo from below¡ª


    A loud, solid thud.

 Vying For Attention

    Bread was bored. Really bored. He¡¯d been kicking at loose rocks, thinking that would help satiate his unending boredom. Why was he always pushed to the side? Did Val not trust him? Well, it did make sense. The last time they had gone together, he¡¯d made a big fuss about what she¡¯d done.


    He couldn¡¯t help it. She¡¯d hurt somebody. But was he really okay with it now? If that had happened again, what was he supposed to do? Let her hurt someone so that she could be happy?


    He just hoped no one was home.


    But he was still bored. He wanted to see new things, experience new things, have fun! He looked up at the mansion. It was huge. He wondered what it looked like from the inside. Was it just as large and amazing? He looked around; nobody was there. Just flowers and a faulty water fountain that seemed to struggle to spit out water. Val wouldn¡¯t mind if he explored just a little, would she?


    Bread sneaked in and made his way towards the window Val had jumped through. On the way, he looked around the yard. It was so pretty! There were colorful plants and flowers he¡¯d only seen in his records, ponds full of fish and colorful, orange bushes. The only other place he could see nature like this was in Coach¡¯s garden. It was just asphalt and concrete everywhere else.


    He finally arrived in front of the small opening. It was barely large enough to fit an adult human. Placing one leg up on the windowsill, he managed to climb inside. His leg got caught by the edge. He pulled hard; it broke free, and he slammed into the countertop inside. Utensils clattered to the floor.


    He caught his breath.


    Silence.


    He let out a sigh. It was dark, and the pans clinked together like awful wind chimes. From a nearby hallway, light dimly spilled into the kitchen. He made his way towards the source, poking his head out into the empty corridors. To his left was a staircase, but to his right¡­


    Light. It was seeping out from behind two doors.


    Bread wondered what was there. Maybe Val was secretly hacking into a big safe with all those cool gadgets he¡¯d seen her pack into her bag! At least that¡¯s what he imagined. He didn¡¯t really have any good visual examples of what thieves did stored in his records. But as he got closer, he heard voices¡ªunfamiliar voices¡­


    ¡°Mommy.¡± The voice was high-pitched. Higher than his. ¡°When¡¯s Daddy coming home?¡±


    ¡°Soon, sweetheart. Soon.¡± The second voice was more soft-spoken, gentler. ¡°He promised. I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll be back anytime.¡±


    ¡°I thought he was coming Monday?¡±


    ¡°I thought so too, but maybe he¡¯s a little busy.¡±


    Bread peeked through the opening between the two doors. There were two figures¡ªa woman with a little girl smaller than him sitting to her side. Next to them, a screen of a fake fire pit flickered on and off. It was weirdly kind of calming. Like it was actually releasing some form of warmth.


    The two figures sat on the carpeted floor, watching the fire burn quietly. They softly rocked back and forth, head leaned on each others¡¯ shoulders.


    Something about the scene made Bread feel different. The bubbliness he had just a few seconds ago disappeared. And in its place, there was another feeling¡ªthis familiar feeling he¡¯d felt before. This longing, this yearning that slowly filled his mind.


    Somehow he knew this was what family was supposed to look like. What Coach had mentioned before of them being a family¡­ Were they actually? Was Val really his family? These two strangers in front of him looked so close, comfortable. They were like a garden of flowers¡ªlike dandelions¡ªconnected with the earth, the sun, with all these warm and fuzzy feelings he felt inside. They were everything he wished for. Everything he wished he could¡¯ve had.


    Dad¡­


    Dad reminded him more of this. A family, belonging. He missed Dad. He knew he shouldn¡¯t, but he missed him. With Dad, he didn¡¯t have to be anybody else. He didn¡¯t have to be Beady; he didn¡¯t even have to make anyone happy. All Dad wanted was him. For research, but still. He didn¡¯t have to be anyone different.


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    Maybe¡­


    He reached a little further.


    Maybe I can still¡­


    Just so he could be closer. Like this family in front of him.


    Maybe I can still be a part of that¡­


    He slipped¡ªcrashed onto the carpeted floor.


    ¡°What was that?¡± The same soft voice sounded, but it was nervous, more anxious. ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡±


    ¡°M-mommy?¡±


    They locked eyes¡ªBread and the girl. Then the mom. He stared for what seemed like an eternity. The mom¡¯s gaze transformed. Her face contorted into what seemed like fear.


    Then they both screamed at him.


    ¡°Who are you?!¡± It was the mom again. ¡°How did you get in?!¡± She pulled out what looked to be her phone and held it threateningly above her shoulders. She started pressing on the screen. ¡°Securi¡ª¡±


    Something whooshed past him¡ªa figure faster than wind. In quick succession, the figure then knocked the mom to the floor.


    It was Val.


    She slapped the phone out of the mom¡¯s hand and tightened her arm around the woman¡¯s neck and pulled. There were scents of something burnt. Val¡¯s legs fumed smoke; parts of her pants were singed.


    The girl looked between him and Val, terror trickling down her face. The mom tried to yell, but no voice escaped. She started aggressively pointing at the phone on the floor, making eye contact with the crying girl.


    ¡°Bread!¡± Val yelled. She nodded towards the little girl.


    ¡°W-what?¡± he stammered back.


    ¡°Zap her! Get her quiet!¡± She gestured to the rogue phone beside her feet. She kicked it over closer to him. ¡°The alarms are instant! Stop her from getting to it!¡±


    ¡°Zap her?¡± The thing he¡¯d used on Coach? The girl wasn¡¯t even moving right now. ¡°I-I can¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°You can.¡± She glared daggers. ¡°Do it! Just zap her! Either we get hurt or them! Please! You promised to help!¡±


    He couldn¡¯t. How could he do that to someone? How could he hurt the girl? No, he couldn¡¯t. He couldn¡¯t do that.


    ¡°Bread!¡±


    ¡°But she¡¯s not even¡ª¡±


    The girl ran towards the phone; her hands outstretched, reaching closer with every small step.


    ¡°Bread!¡± Val screamed. ¡°Now!¡±


    ¡°I¡ª¡± No, he had to. He¡¯d promised. He¡¯d promised he¡¯d help. For Val, he wouldn¡¯t be deadweight. Not anymore. He¡¯d promised to make her happy.


    He jumped between the phone and the girl.


    The girl fell backward, trying her best to avoid him. She started backing away on all fours, crawling until she hit the white, marble wall behind her. The mom screamed through Val¡¯s hands. It looked like she was slowly choking; her face was turning purple.


    Bread ignored everything else. He slowly made his way over.


    The girl covered her ears, cowering in the corner. Her fearful eyes¡­ It reminded him of when he was with Dad. When he was yelling, screaming at the top of his lungs. And her trembling body¡­ He was like that too. Just like that. Scared, crying¡­ The same white walls encompassing his eyes¡­


    He shook away the thoughts.


    ¡°I-it won¡¯t hurt,¡± he told the girl. Gently, he knelt down and placed his hands on her shoulders. ¡°T-this will be quick. I promise.¡±


    ¡°Bread, hurry it up!¡± Val¡¯s voice was strained. He could hear the mom¡¯s muffled screams in the background.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ so sorry.¡± He had no choice. He had to do it. Closing his eyes, Bread concentrated¡ªlet the electricity pass through his body, let it slide down his arms like hot, freezing ice cubes¡­


    Then the girl screamed. And with it, images flooded through¡ª


    He saw a slideshow of figures. A teddy bear, Mommy, and the back of some well-dressed man. The suit was blue? Pink? The colors blurred, changing constantly with every moment.


    Daddy? He couldn¡¯t see the man¡¯s face. Then he started to feel something. It felt like needles stabbing at his chest¡ªa familiar, longing feeling mixed with¡­ frustration? Anger? And there was something else¡ªan intense yearning welling up inside, a hunger, craving. For attention. For that suited man to looked his way, to hug him, to smile at him¡­


    When Bread finally opened his eyes, the girl was resting in his arms, unconscious but still breathing.


    The memories kept playing in his mind. It wasn¡¯t his. It was hers¡ªher emotions, her suffering. But it kept reminding him of Dad. He hated it. He hated all of it. He didn¡¯t like when he hurt people, when he looked through their thoughts like he were snooping around. It didn¡¯t feel right. He didn¡¯t like stealing, sneaking, or hacking. He didn¡¯t like trying to be somebody he wasn¡¯t, so why was he doing all this?


    He didn¡¯t get it. Was making Val happy what he really wanted? Was it worth it? Could he belong if he made her happy? Could he really have what these strangers had? A family?


    For just a moment, Bread imagined himself going back to that suffocating, white room. He imagined what it¡¯d felt like to be yelled at, constantly hurt by Dad¡¯s words. He didn¡¯t like it at all, but¡­


    At least in there, he didn¡¯t have to do any of this. He didn¡¯t have to hurt anyone. At least in there, he¡¯d be locked up, confined. He wouldn¡¯t be free like what he¡¯d always wanted. He wouldn¡¯t be free to fly the skies or watch the clouds, but¡­


    But Dad would be there.


    He¡¯d have a family, and he¡¯d be free to be himself. And if he were to really be reset¡ªhave his memories erased¡ªhe could forget about all this ever happening. He didn¡¯t need to be free; he didn¡¯t need to be real. If he could belong without it hurting so much¡­


    Maybe he¡¯d rather go back.

 Washed Up

    The seconds after Bread had zapped the girl, the mom bit Val in the hand. Loud screams and grunts immediately followed before everything ended in chaos. And she had to make the difficult decision to leave behind the book.


    She ran. Out the window with Bread in her arms.


    The heist had failed. Fucking miserably. Never in her life had she failed a heist. After all that work, her once-in-a-lifetime chance¡ªgone. All because Bread hadn''t listened.


    Why couldn¡¯t he just¡­ She glanced down at Bread. His body sloshed back and forth within her arms, completely limp, eyes glazed over and faced out into the distance. Fuck.


    It wasn¡¯t his fault. She should just leave it at that. He was young. That was it. He¡¯d done as he was told¡ªshut down the security and zapped the girl unconscious. No, he¡¯d gone far and beyond. She¡¯d never expected him to shut everything down like that. Instead of being all pissy about something she couldn¡¯t change, she decided to brush it all aside.


    As frustrated as she was, she knew there was always a next time.


    ¡­


    Is that smoke?


    The closer they got to the gym, the more it tasted like ash in the air. Dark clouds billowed above, shadowing the already gloomy slums of their neighborhood. It wasn¡¯t industrial smoke; there was no chemical aftertaste.


    Her steps quickened. She shuffled through the sparse darkness of familiar alleyways, still lugging Bread around her waist like a grocery bag. The dry heat choked at her throat. And as the passage finally opened up¡ª


    A conflagration.


    ¡°Coach?!¡± The gym was on fire. ¡°What the fuck?¡± When she got closer, she saw a lone figure sitting on the front steps of the gym, smoking old, antique cigars out of his mouth. It was a figure who looked nothing like Coach.


    ¡°Val?¡± Bread squeaked.


    She dropped Bread and all her belongings at the entrance of the alley. Then she knelt down and locked eyes¡ª


    ¡°Keep these safe. Don¡¯t. Come. Out. Understood?¡±


    Bread wasn¡¯t even watching. His eyes drifted to the inferno.


    ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± She shifted his face back over. ¡°Stay here. Everything¡¯ll be fine.¡± Then she hurried over to the front entrance of the gym. To the place that had been home¡­


    ¡°Ah, Valerie Briarwood. Here at last.¡± The man on the steps took off his hat. ¡°Rictor Thorns at your service.¡±


    ¡°Rictor?¡± She knew that name from somewhere. That face too. And the hole in his cheek¡­ Shit, the merc! She remembered that face from Gambit Greg¡¯s. It was unmistakable. Shit, shit, shit. What did he want?


    ¡°I knew I saw you from somewhere, sweetcakes. Real smooth talker, aren¡¯t you?¡± He brushed the accumulated soot off his pants and groaned his way to his feet. ¡°You¡¯ve escaped me once already. Won¡¯t happen again.¡±


    ¡°Did you light the place?¡± She should¡¯ve killed this guy when she¡¯d first met him back when she¡¯d ran from her shack. ¡°Where¡¯s Coach?¡±


    The guy ignored her. ¡°See, we didn¡¯t think you were really that moronic. Asking Greg about the van and then stealin¡¯ from right under our noses? Brave. That¡¯s extremely brave.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t steal jack shit.¡± Was he here because of that? No, that shouldn¡¯t have been the case. She¡¯d left no traces behind.


    ¡°Where¡¯s the veil?¡± He threw over a bag. The contents spilled out onto the ground.


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    Shit! Her inflatable floor jack. It was bent weirdly, broken into multiple pieces, but it was hers. Unmistakably hers. She knew she¡¯d forgotten it the day after, but it wasn¡¯t supposed to be anything special. How could anyone tell if it really was hers? There was no proof.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure he can die any moment now.¡± He gestured towards the burning building. ¡°Carbon monoxide poisoning¡¯s no joking matter.¡±


    ¡°Bitch! You don¡¯t have fucking proof! That¡¯s not mine!¡± Carbon monoxide poisoning? He was kidding, right? Coach had nothing to do with this! Would they really kill him for her mistakes? Greg was on good terms with him!


    ¡°You make it sound like you know what that is.¡± He motioned towards the scattered parts on the ground. ¡°I haven¡¯t even told you anything.¡±


    Fuck! He was fishing for evidence! Fuck! She was going to have to double down. ¡°Oh, I get it. You don¡¯t even actually know who it was. It¡¯s obviously a fucking floor jack! Are you fucking kidding me? It¡¯s got that famous company logo and everything! You¡¯re not even trying! You¡¯re literally blind¡ª¡±


    ¡°Look, sweetcakes. I don¡¯t give a flying fuck who¡¯s it is. Someone¡¯s gonna pay for what they¡¯d done to Greg. Just blame it on ol¡¯ lady luck that it¡¯s you guys, alright?¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re just going to drag a bunch of innocent people into your stupid drama?! Just because you¡¯re all so stupid you can¡¯t figure out who stole from you?¡±


    ¡°Innocent¡¯s pretty shallow of a word now, innit? Comin¡¯ from a black market arms dealer and a thief.¡±


    ¡°I quit that shit, and Coach did too! Didn¡¯t I fucking tell you that I¡¯m a boxer? I¡¯m not a thief! I don¡¯t steal shit anymore.¡± She pointed at the broken scraps. ¡°That can¡¯t be mine!¡±


    ¡°A boxer, huh?¡± He smoked his cigars before spitting them all out onto the ground. Then he pulled up his hands. ¡°Well, let¡¯s see if that¡¯s true.¡±


    ¡°The fuck you doing? I don¡¯t have time for this.¡± She needed to get to Coach. She took a step towards the gym, but he mirrored her, blocking her path forward.


    ¡°C¡¯mon.¡± The guy started swaying side to side with exaggerated motion. ¡°Time for a short, little bout, sweetcakes.¡±


    ¡°Move.¡± He was mocking her. She wouldn¡¯t fall for those taunts.


    ¡°Make me.¡± He motioned for her to attack. ¡°A professional boxer can¡¯t even take on a single, unarmed bounty hunter?¡± He smirked. ¡°I promise. No guns, no knives. Just these raw, cyber-enhanced fists. You win, I let you all go. Otherwise, I¡¯m just going to assume you ain¡¯t shit.¡±


    ¡°Bitch¡­¡±


    ¡­


    It wasn¡¯t even a slugfest. It was more of a slogfest.


    She should¡¯ve gotten her eye fixed already. The moment he¡¯d realized her left eye was inoperable, he started to attack from her blind spots. She couldn¡¯t dodge anything. She couldn¡¯t even see where it was all coming from.


    Fuck, I don¡¯t have time for this!


    He was small fry! If she had her eye fixed by now, he wouldn¡¯t even stand a chance! He¡¯d be on the floor, knocked out cold. She swore if he¡¯d done anything to Coach¡­


    No, don¡¯t think about that now. Ego. She had to rid herself of her ego. Just like what Coach had told her before. She took a deep breath. Calm down, shake it off, follow his rhythm¡­ One eye or two, it didn¡¯t matter. She had to win. Fight until her dying breath. Small fry or not, everything was a threat. Be cautious but not nervous¡­


    The merc rushed in again. He ducked to her left.


    This time, she predicted his moves. She swung without hesitation. Imagined his face at the level of her chest. And with a hard thwack¡ª


    ¡°Ah, son of a bitch!¡± The merc came back into view. ¡°That fucking hurts!¡± His nose was bleeding profusely.


    A wide grin spread across her face, knowing that Coach¡¯s advice weren¡¯t told in vain. She swiftly backed up and positioned for the next barrage of punches.


    ¡°You¡¯re dead.¡± The merc reached into his jacket. He started to pull something out¡ªshiny, black, almost too familiar¡­


    A gun.


    Shit, that fucking liar! Her eyes grew wide. She could tell what he was going to do. It was just like before. But she couldn¡¯t move. She was exhausted. She could see it coming, but she couldn¡¯t move.


    The gun slowly lifted.


    Move.


    Her joints locked. Her legs didn¡¯t listen. Just like before. Just like when she¡¯d lost to Long Arms¡­


    Fuck. Move!


    Her body jolted.


    MOVE!


    One by one, her limbs started to stir. They were just a few feet apart. She¡¯d close the distance, hit the gun away before he shot it. She¡¯d make it in time!


    Just a little further¡­


    Her arms reached out; her muscles strained. Everything seemed like it was running in slow motion.


    Just a bit more¡­


    The gun was there, still climbing up with the movement of his hand. It was getting closer to her head, passing her stomach, inches below her heart¡­


    She wasn¡¯t going to make it.


    A smile started to spread across the merc¡¯s face. The gun was almost to her neck; it was still ascending, inching ever so close. She saw his finger move, the pressure pulling the trigger back. It was aimed at her forehead. It was going to fire. It was¡ª


    ¡°No!¡±

 Wings of Valor

    Bread sprinted. As fast as his mechanical legs could take him. He wasn¡¯t going to wait around some building and watch what was about to unfold. What was he? A coward? No, he wasn¡¯t going to let her die!


    ¡°No!¡± He jumped, reached out with outstretched arms. Then a shot echoed through the air, louder than the roaring flames before him.


    ¡°Bread?!¡±


    That was Val¡¯s voice. He tumbled with the man, but he didn¡¯t dare let go of the hand with the gun. Bread quickly looked her way. Blood. Just around her cheeks. Was it hers? Had he been too late?


    ¡°Fuck!¡± The man grabbed Bread¡¯s shoulder and pulled. ¡°Get off of me!¡±


    ¡°No!¡± He held on.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯ll fucking show you.¡± He reached into his jacket. There was a glint of metal. A hilt, guard. Then a swish of a blade.


    A knife!


    It was almost free. Almost out of his jacket¡­


    Danger. That was the only word zooming through Bread¡¯s mind when he felt it¡ªthe ice cubes. A familiar burning sensation formed inside his chest, slid down his arms. An electric arc snaked out from the tips of his fingers, dancing like jagged, ocean waves. He could feel his hair rise at the ends¡­


    ¡°You¡¯ll f¡ª¡±


    Then it snapped¡ªbit into the man¡¯s arms. His knees gave out, and he started to fall. Bread started to fall with him. And then he started to see¡­


    ¡­


    ¡°How¡¯ve you been, Blackjack?¡± He lit his cigars one by one and placed them inside the hole in his cheek. Then he sat across from the little man. The table was flipped to the side. The legs had already been broken off, splintered at the joints.


    ¡°Rictor¡­¡±


    ¡°Or is it, Coach?¡± He inhaled deeply. The smoke tasted all too sweet. Authentic. Not like any of that vapor shit. ¡°That your new job now, innit? A boxing coach.¡±


    ¡°So what if it is?¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you too old to be playing around with these runts?¡± He smirked. The old man still believed in those childish dreams of his. He could¡¯ve just cyber-upped at this point. He had the money before, and now, he was just wasting it on helping out some orphaned kids. ¡°What happened to your heyday? You were the best arms dealer we had.¡±


    ¡°Too darn old for that now.¡±


    ¡°Nobody leaves that kinda business scot-free. Not unless someone like Greg¡¯s got your back.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯re you trying to say?¡±


    ¡°Greg¡¯s mad. You don¡¯t wanna see him when he¡¯s like that, do you?¡± He shook his head at the thought. Greg when he was angry? He¡¯d never survive that. ¡°This can end in two ways. Where¡¯s Valerie Briarwood?¡±


    ¡°Who?¡± The man looked away.


    ¡°You¡¯re a shit liar, Blackjack.¡± The gaze of a guilty man¡ªhe knew what that looked like. He pulled out his gun. His most prized possession¡ªSmoke ¡®n Ladders. Such a hot design. ¡°Tell me or I shoot your leg.¡± He took another deep breath of the wispy smoke. ¡°You got a favorite? I¡¯ll save that one for later.¡±


    Stolen novel; please report.


    ¡°She¡¯s an adult. I don¡¯t need to know where she¡ª¡±


    He shot his left.


    ¡°Agh!¡± Blackjack fell off his chair.


    ¡°Lemme say it again. Greg¡¯s pissed. So where¡¯s the girl?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡±


    ¡°Wrong answer.¡± He shot the other leg. Blackjack yelled out in pain. ¡°There goes your favorite. That was your favorite, right?¡± He grinned. ¡°Okay, how ¡®bout a different question. Heard you took in a stray again. A mod doll at that. Is that where the veil went?¡±


    ¡°Leave him¡ª¡± Blackjack groaned as he propped himself upright. He leaned back against the wall. ¡°Leave him out of this.¡±


    ¡°Why? He¡¯s not special. Probably just another poor, scrapped¡ª¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s family!¡±


    ¡°Family? A doll? That really more important than your life?¡± He aimed the gun at Blackjack¡¯s forehead. Right between the eyes. ¡°Tell me one thing I don¡¯t know, and I¡¯ll let you off the hook. I¡¯ll tell Greg you ran. For old time¡¯s sake.¡±


    Blackjack grunted. ¡°What a poor deal.¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°Best I got.¡±


    ¡°Haven¡¯t I taught you better, Rictor?¡±


    He scoffed. ¡°You taught me nothing.¡± Just fleeting memories of a time when he was immature and volatile¡­


    ¡°I taught you not to follow scum like Greg.¡±


    ¡°Hah! He¡¯ll have your head if he heard that.¡±


    ¡°I thought you as family back in the day¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t try and pull at my heartstrings, old man.¡± It was too late for that. ¡°Taking me in and teaching me how to commit crimes isn¡¯t livin¡¯ like family. You¡¯re the one who made me like this.¡±


    ¡°That was the only way I knew how to live back then.¡±


    ¡°Every choice has a price.¡± Rictor stood up and walked a little closer. His gun was still pointed at the man¡¯s forehead. ¡°That¡¯s what Greg taught me, and he¡¯s been doing far better than you.¡±


    ¡°Every choice has a price¡­¡± Blackjack smiled. His chest heaved with each word. ¡°You¡¯re right, but I won¡¯t make that same mistake twice. I ain¡¯t running this time.¡±


    His arm twitched. Was he nervous? That didn¡¯t make sense. He¡¯d killed more before. This wasn¡¯t anything new. Just old personal ties. Those never lasted. Not in this business.


    ¡°You have a choice too, Rictor.¡±


    No, he didn¡¯t. He never had enough money for that. ¡°Seriously, what¡¯s so much better about them, anyway? You won¡¯t die for me, but you¡¯ll die for them?¡±


    ¡°Jealous?¡± He chuckled. ¡°Ya ran off and killed somebody. There¡¯s a reason they ain¡¯t scum like you.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t push your luck, Jack. I¡¯m the one with the gun.¡± He steadied his aim, finger still on the trigger. ¡°Say that again. Better this time. What reason?¡±


    ¡°I know this ain¡¯t the real you, Rictor.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know me! You left me to rot!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°Sorry?¡± He froze. For a second, he wanted it all back. That time they¡¯d spent together¡­ But then he pulled himself out of it. ¡°Sorry doesn¡¯t cut it anymore.¡±


    ¡°Rictor¡ª¡±


    ¡°This is my last warning.¡± His hand shook just a little. ¡°Answer the question. What reason?¡±


    Blackjack¡¯s sharp gaze cut through his nerves. The man stared up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. Then he locked eyes before he finally said¡ª


    ¡±They got heart.¡±


    A shot rang out in the distance.

 Tethered to the Abyss

    Val looked over at the fallen merc. And then to Bread. He wasn¡¯t moving either. Neither of them were.


    What was going on?


    ¡°Bread?¡± she called out. ¡°Bread? You there?¡± She knelt down to take a closer look¡ªhis eyes were open, empty and lifeless, mouth agape as if frozen in time. How was she supposed to tell if he was okay? He didn¡¯t have a heart. He had no beat! What was she supposed to do?


    But then the kid¡¯s fingers twitched. He started to stir. Color finally returned to his eyes, and with it, droplets of tears. Lots and lots of tears¡­


    ¡°Bread?¡±


    After a brief glance, he looked away.


    ¡°What?¡± she asked. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± He looked ghastly as if he¡¯d just seen a ghost, but the tears betrayed him. Water endlessly poured down his cheeks. Something had happened, but what? Between the time she¡¯d left him to now, what could¡¯ve happened in that time?


    ¡°Coach,¡± he started. ¡°He¡¯s¡ª¡±


    ¡°Shit! Coach!¡± That¡¯s right! She¡¯d almost forgotten. Rictor wasn¡¯t important. She needed to find Coach fast!


    She sprinted towards the burning gym, tripping over piles of rocks and asphalt that had probably loosened up during all the commotion. She almost tripped over her own feet. Through the window, she didn¡¯t like what she saw. Walls were aflame; the ceiling was melting away, collapsing from the unbearable heat.


    It was an inferno.


    She got to the door and pulled. Locked. She patted herself down. My key! Then she remembered. She had left them inside. Fuck! Why was it locked in the first place? Wait¡ª


    ¡°Bread! Help me open this! It¡¯s locked!¡±


    ¡°Coach. He¡¯s¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m getting to him! Can you please come over and help?¡± Why was he dawdling so much? ¡°Bread! Now¡¯s not the time to be crying!¡±


    Bread slowly pushed himself off the ground.


    ¡°Can you hurry it up?!¡± She couldn¡¯t take it. It was taking him ages. Okay, fine! I¡¯ll do this myself. She walked a few steps back. Then, with a running start, she slammed her shoulder into the door.


    Pain shot up her shoulder, but she ignored it. The door had bent at the edges, but the force wasn¡¯t enough. She stepped back again. This time, she pulled her right hand back. And when she dashed in, she threw the strongest cross punch she could throw. Steam gushed out from her arms as her pow packs activated. Her fist slammed into the hard metal surface, and the door finally crashed over with a thud.


    ¡°Coach!¡± She barged in. ¡°Coach, are you there?¡± She looked around. Nothing. She ran over towards the workshop, and¡ª


    A body.


    A familiar body on the bed.


    ¡°Coach?¡±


    The edges of the frame were starting to burn. Red covered the pillow.


    ¡°Coach¡­¡±


    Her voice quivered. She gently reached over and lifted his face. A large wound on his forehead. A large hole¡­


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    No¡­


    His pupils had dilated, grown wide like the moon.


    ¡°Coach, wake up.¡± She caressed him closer; her hands dyed deep red. He was cold. Why was he cold? Is he¡­ She shook the thought away. No, he was just unconscious. He wasn¡¯t¡ªno, just unconscious. He was obviously unconscious. ¡°Coach, i-it¡¯s not safe here. Coach¡ª¡±


    ¡°Val¡­¡±


    ¡°B-Bread! Come here, quick! He¡¯s¡ªhe¡¯s not breathing. You can save him, right? You can zap him awake! Like-like a defib! Get his pulse going again!¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t.¡± The kid started to tear up again, eyes bloodshot, watery. His face looked so pale under the glowing flames. ¡°He¡¯s already dea¡ª¡±


    ¡°Shut up! What are you saying?!¡± She grabbed a wrench from the ground and threw it over only for it to bounce off his shoulder. A metallic ring echoed back under the soft crackling of fire. ¡°He¡¯s not d¡ªjust do it. Like you always do!¡± She grabbed his hand and pressed it to Coach¡¯s chest. ¡°Do it!¡±


    Bread¡¯s hand weakly fell back to his side.


    ¡°Why¡­ Why won¡¯t you just listen for once!¡± Her face burned. She could feel something in her eye. ¡°Why do you keep fucking up my life?!¡± She wouldn¡¯t stand for it. She was going to save Coach no matter what.


    Maybe it¡¯s the smoke? Yeah, that¡¯s it! He¡¯s just suffocating!


    She quickly pulled the unconscious Coach up and carried him out back into the open grass of dandelions and gently placed him down.


    ¡°Val?¡±


    Chest compressions. That was what he needed. She started to pump his chest with air. He was going to live. One, two, three, four¡­ She continued to pump vigorously. The hole above his eyes stared back. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen¡­ She wasn¡¯t going to let him die. Not when it was her fault. Twenty, twenty-one¡­ It was her fault. Again and again. Beady, and now¡­ All her fault¡­ Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven¡­ There it was again. The hole. It wasn¡¯t going away; it was still there. Twenty-eight, twenty-nine¡­ Something caught her eye. Inside, next to the bed, fallen on the ground¡­


    A gun.


    ¡°Fuck!¡± She ran over and grabbed the gun. Her eyes watered, but she held it back. It was just the fire; the smoke had gotten into her eye.


    She marched through the gym all the way back to the front. The man was still there, knocked out cold. She could see him on the ground, sprawled out without a care in the world. She stood over him¡ªthe one that had caused all of this.


    Rictor.


    She aimed the gun just above his eyes and placed her finger on the trigger. She¡¯d make his face look the same as Coach¡¯s. She¡¯d add another hole to his collection and make him suffer the same fate¡ª


    ¡°No!¡± Bread jumped in front of the merc.


    ¡°Get out of my way.¡±


    ¡°No, I can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Get out!¡±


    ¡°I-I don¡¯t want to hurt anyone anymore!¡±


    ¡°That fucker hurt Coach, you fucking idiot! What do you mean you don¡¯t want to hurt anyone!¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t¡­¡±


    ¡°Move! He deserves far fucking worse! Just let me do something for once! Just let me¡­¡± Words failed her; her eyes burned again. All that time, and she still couldn¡¯t do anything right. She couldn¡¯t save Coach or Beady. She couldn¡¯t even hold back the thought that Coach was dead the moment she¡¯d seen him. She couldn¡¯t even hope. ¡°Please, Bread. Move, please¡­¡±


    ¡°No, I can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Fuck you.¡± She finally let her tears run; it streamed down her face nonstop. She didn¡¯t get it. ¡°Why are you on his side? Why are you always on everyone else¡¯s side but mine! When I¡¯m trying so much for you? Why the fuck!¡±


    ¡°Coach,¡± Bread muttered. ¡°Coach said I should be myself, and that¡ªthat we were family¡­¡±


    ¡°Family?¡± She couldn¡¯t control it anymore. All that burning sensation, that feeling she¡¯d been holding down this entire time, came rushing back. ¡°What family? He¡¯s gone. He¡¯s never coming back! What fucking family do we have!¡±


    Because of me. All because of her. Because she had stolen that veil.


    ¡°I hate you. It¡¯s your fault¡­¡± It was her fault. It was all her fault. ¡°I hate you so so much¡­¡± She couldn¡¯t scream anymore; her voice started to crack. ¡°I wish I never found you!¡±


    Sirens blared in the distance.

 Frozen Heart, Empty Thoughts

    Bread didn¡¯t like this¡ªthis feeling of death. He didn¡¯t want to know what it felt like anymore. He wished he¡¯d never known.


    He sat next to the dandelions that have long since lost their yellow, puffing up like balls of miniature clouds. They were gone¡ªjust like the sun that fell in the distance past the haze of what was once black, suffocating smoke. They were all gone.


    Just like Coach¡­


    The roof garden managed to have survived the fire¡ªthe one good thing from all this. It seemed all the more alluring to him, this flower garden. He liked this place. It was calming, relieving. It always seemed to help him get a better hold of his thoughts, but right now, there just wasn¡¯t enough. Not enough dandelions, nature. Just not enough of anything.


    Val was right. It was his fault. He didn¡¯t belong. Not here, not anywhere. He was the source of all her problems. He was the reason all of this had happened in the first place. If he hadn¡¯t been here¡­


    His eyes started to water.


    Was this what Val was going through this whole time with Beady? It hurt so much. He just couldn¡¯t get any of it out of his mind.


    A family. He thought he could finally have a family¡ªa place to belong. He thought he¡¯d found his place. Coach had even said so¡ªthat they were family. But it didn¡¯t feel like it. It didn¡¯t feel like they were family.


    Val didn¡¯t want him. Nobody ever did. All he¡¯d ever wanted was to make people smile more, make them happier, but nothing he did ever felt right. It was never as fulfilling as he¡¯d thought it¡¯d be.


    Dad was better. Back in that secluded, white room, watching the fake sun set every night over that fake city. He was still wanted there. Dad still wanted him, needed him, and he wouldn¡¯t have to hurt anyone else. He wouldn¡¯t have to experience death anymore.


    ¡°Death is inevitable.¡±


    Dad¡¯s words echoed back. It was true; his records told him everything. Eventually, everyone here was going to die. Coach was gone; Val would soon follow. And as someone who wasn¡¯t even real, he¡¯d continue to live on, existing in this world that seemed less and less colorful than he¡¯d first imagined it to be. If he knew this was going to happen, he would¡¯ve never left Simular.


    Why was he even born in the first place? Living seemed painful. It always hurt. And it wasn¡¯t just him. Everyone he¡¯d ever come across was also hurting¡ªthe lion, Val, that girl from before, even the man who had attacked Coach. What was the point in being real when all it brought was this empty feeling inside?


    He should¡¯ve never interfered. Like that dandelion he¡¯d pulled out and killed, everything he touched, he ruined. He¡¯d messed it all up. He should¡¯ve just stayed put and watched the sun like he was doing now. He¡¯d just stare. Every day. Until his body deteriorated and rusted away. He¡¯d just watch from a distance¡ª


    ¡°Bread!¡±


    It was Val. Just below. He saw her frantically looking around.


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    ¡°Bread! Please, answer me!¡±


    He stayed quiet.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡±


    Bread knew the moment he yelled back that it¡¯d hurt all over again.


    ¡°Please, come back!¡± Her voice cracked. ¡°Don¡¯t leave me too!¡±


    He was going to consider her a stranger. He didn¡¯t want it¡ªthis family thing. He didn¡¯t want to know her, he didn¡¯t want to see the world. None of that. He didn¡¯t deserve any of that. But he could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks. His hands trembled; he just wanted to answer her back.


    ¡°You¡¯re all I¡¯ve got! Bread!¡±


    He wanted to yell. So badly. But he held on. He closed his eyes and lied down. He¡¯d just sleep through it. He¡¯d just hide, and eventually, she¡¯d forget. After all, he wasn¡¯t Beady. He wasn¡¯t even real. She only wanted someone to be there. Not him specifically. She could always find another replacement.


    And they¡¯d both be happier. Finally¡­


    ¡­


    Bread woke up.


    Something gently brushed across his hair. Something soft. Like fingers.


    Fingers?


    He tensed up. What was brushing against his hair? There was a light source shining from behind his back, a blanket over his body.


    Blanket?


    ¡°You up?¡± The voice sounded rough but familiar. ¡°My bad.¡±


    ¡°Val?¡±


    She continued brushing through his hair. Her face was puffed up, and her eye was so bloodshot he could see the red even through the darkness. The expression she made, though, was soft. A faint smile spread across. ¡°Please don¡¯t do that again.¡±


    How did she know he was here?


    Her smile quickly wore off, replaced quickly by a frown. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you answer? I know you heard me.¡±


    ¡°Sorry¡­¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m sorry.¡± She gently rocked him side to side. ¡°I¡¯m the one who said all that. I don¡¯t hate you. I just said that in the moment.¡±


    He didn¡¯t know what to say.


    ¡°Thank you. For stopping me.¡± Her voice was so quiet. It almost sounded like a whisper. ¡°I don¡¯t regret ever finding you.¡±


    The look she gave was genuine. He could see it in her eye. He knew that, but he didn¡¯t want to believe it.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay. You don¡¯t have to say anything,¡± she muttered. A long sigh escaped her. ¡°I just can¡¯t do anything right, can I?¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s¡­¡± His lips started to move without thinking. He didn¡¯t like it. She had so much on her shoulders, so many thoughts going around. He didn¡¯t know why, but he didn¡¯t like it at all. ¡°It¡¯s not your fault. Beady and Coach. And-and everything. I-it¡¯s¡ª¡±


    ¡°Bread. I know.¡± She smiled again. It was that same sad smile from that interview he¡¯d seen her in. The same face she¡¯d made before. ¡°But it was my responsibility to take care of Beady. And Coach too.¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s not your fault they¡¯re¡ª¡± He faltered. He couldn¡¯t say it¡ªthat they were gone. He still didn¡¯t completely believe it. He couldn¡¯t. Coach was here just yesterday. He was here comforting him, telling him what to do. He was here. He was here sitting next to him, right in this very garden. ¡°Coach¡ª¡±


    He choked; his eyes blurred again.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡± Val brought him closer. ¡°Just let it all out.¡±


    There was hesitation, but eventually, he finally let it out. Quietly, waves of tears rolled down his cheeks. Waves and waves of what he¡¯d pent up. He felt a little better, but only for a short while. Val was hurting; he¡¯d promised to make her happy. But all he¡¯d done was indulge in his own selfish feelings.


    These visions he had whenever he zapped people¡ªthey let him see what others were seeing, feel what they were feeling. But that was it. He knew what they felt, but that was it. He couldn¡¯t help. Even without it, he knew Val was hurting, and he couldn¡¯t do anything about except just get in her way.


    He was just a burden to her.


    Val looked to the stars, breath faintly wavering under the soft glow of moonlight. It was quiet; the streets were dark. The world seemed to be holding its breath. And it was then that Bread decided¡ª


    He¡¯d go back. Back to the beginning where he belonged.

 Blackjack Hearthstone

    Coach¡¯s funeral went along smoothly. Val didn¡¯t know if that was a good thing. From what little money she could scrounge up selling the rare bracelet she¡¯d previously stolen, she¡¯d used it all on restoring the gym and buying the casket. Then they held a private funeral. Just the two of them¡ªher and Bread.


    She¡¯d never expected to officiate a funeral so soon. Actually, she¡¯d never expected it at all. It¡¯d always felt like she was the one most in danger¡ªout in the open, thieving around rich neighborhoods. She thought she¡¯d be the one to go first, and with all that had happened with Beady before, she¡¯d preferred it that way.


    But that obviously didn¡¯t happen.


    After having dug out a large enough hole, she placed¡ªas gently as possible¡ªthe casket down into the arid, ash-ridden soil of the backyard. And before she completely covered it back up, she dropped a few pieces of beef jerky over the casket. It felt fitting. Bread, on the other hand, delicately dropped a single stem of a dried-up dandelion.


    A few more shovels of grunt work, and she was finally done. She used one of his favorite, and most prized possessions as the headstone¡ªa beautifully crafted and modified cybernetic torso piece that was still left over from his personal collection. Parts of the exterior were covered in soot, but most of it was still clean and intact. And in the center of the piece, she roughly engraved a short, little epitaph¡ª


    Jack Brimstone. Firestarter.


    ¡­


    They didn¡¯t talk for days after the funeral¡ªher and Bread. Was it because they had nothing to talk about? Or was it just because of what had happened?


    It all felt empty. Nothing was fun, nothing was ever exciting anymore. Bread did his own thing, adventuring out into the unknowns of who knew where, but for her, life felt kind of weird. She felt numb; it didn¡¯t really feel all that worse than when she¡¯d lost Beady. Was she used to it? To losing all these people who were close to her? Was she just dissociating?


    Maybe it hadn¡¯t settled in yet. This reality.


    She hadn¡¯t boxed since the fight. It had always been her routine to start the day off with a short warm-up session with the bag, but she¡¯d been going around town, performing a bunch of heists instead. Today, though, she felt it. She felt like boxing. Back to her routine, back to that grind. Just a way to reset the week.


    The bag was a little burnt from the fire, but it would hold. With her bare fists, she started punching. Without a care in the world. Her hands scraped, and she started bleeding from her knuckles, but she kind of liked the pain. It was familiar, a reminder to her past.


    She remembered when she¡¯d first met Coach. It had felt like he¡¯d placed his entirety on her to succeed, but she knew now that he was just being a bit lazy. All those words about how he¡¯d wanted to be a boxer, he¡¯d told her one time that he hadn¡¯t cared about those dreams in decades. They were just words to rile her up. He just didn¡¯t like seeing her throwing her life away. And still, he¡¯d supported her until the very end. He¡¯d never once stopped to give up on her like her parents had done.


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    But with each and every hit, questions arose.


    What did it matter now anyways? She¡¯d really just been fighting for Coach. Without him, there was no more reason for her to keep going, was there? Her brother was gone, and now Coach. The family she¡¯d once had was just all falling apart, but¡­


    At least I have Bread.


    She kept punching. Bread had told her she looked happier when she was boxing. Maybe that was true. After all, she wasn¡¯t a thief.


    She was Valkyrie¡ªa fighter, a loser, and a boxer who never gave up.


    ¡­


    One, three, one, one¡­ She crushed the half-charred punching bag around. It swung dangerously high into the air. Two, three, slip, three¡­


    She was getting used to her one eye, but really, she should¡¯ve just bought the other already. She¡¯d been saving up for another Razen, but what was really the point in having two exceptionally pricey eye augments? One Razen was enough to get the job done anyways. All she needed was another for depth perception.


    Two! The punching bag exploded, burst into bits of leather and sand. Shit. That was the only one left. If only she had someone¡­ to hold the mitts¡­


    ¡°Val?¡±


    It was Bread. She held the thoughts back.


    ¡°Here.¡± He handed her a glass of water.


    ¡°Thanks.¡± She washed it all down¡ªher sorrows, all her ordeals. ¡°I think we need another one.¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh¡­¡± Bread suddenly looked so tired. Like he hadn¡¯t gotten any sleep.


    ¡°You okay?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Mhm, I¡¯m okay!¡± He brightened up immediately, but something about it felt so forced. Was it a malfunction in the veil? Was that supposed to have been his actual reaction?


    Maybe he¡¯s just stressed. She felt bad. Hadn¡¯t she promised him she¡¯d take him to the beach? Hadn¡¯t she promised to show him the world? She couldn¡¯t even keep her word. Not ever. Sometimes, it really did feel like she was stringing him along to be some sort of Beady replacement. She¡¯d told herself that he wasn¡¯t Beady, but apparently it wasn¡¯t that simple of a thing.


    ¡°Val, I¡­¡± Bread started, but he clammed up almost as fast. She couldn¡¯t read his facial expressions like she usually could.


    ¡°Bread,¡± she called out. That was enough awkward for an entire month. ¡°If you have something to say, say it. I don¡¯t want this to be like last time. We¡¯ve only got each other now.¡±


    After a long silence, he finally nodded. ¡°Coach,¡± he said. ¡°Coach said we got heart.¡±


    ¡°He did? Yuck.¡± She snorted at the thought. Of course Coach would say something like that. He¡¯d always said stupid, motivational stuff for fun. ¡°Sounds just like him.¡±


    ¡°And,¡± Bread kept going, ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t ever regret meeting you.¡±


    ¡°You too! The hell¡¯s wrong with you guys? What¡¯s with all this sappy stuff?¡± But she could feel the edges of her mouth curving up just a hair. She couldn¡¯t help it. There was a spark in the kid¡¯s eyes¡ªa fiery spark full of hopes and dreams.


    Heart, huh?


    She peered out the window towards the halcyon skies. It reminded her of a time when all she¡¯d had on her mind was to forget about the pain, of Beady. But this time, she wouldn¡¯t forget¡ªCoach¡¯s dream, her promises. She¡¯d make this work. Her life, Bread¡¯s, all of it. She¡¯d make it all work and show Coach that they really did have heart. She¡¯d prove it to him this time. And someday, she¡¯d meet him again, brag about it to his face. Someday far into the future¡­


    Hopefully, by then, she could finally be proud of herself.

 Pedestalized In Gold

    Bread strained his eyes towards the top. It was the same building Coach had previously warned him about¡ªa discombobulated mess of a skyscraper, spiraling up in chaotic swirls.


    Simular. Or more precisely, the company¡¯s main office complex.


    As he entered, he noticed how empty the place was. There was an elevator in the back and screen flashing through different panels of Simular¡¯s attractions, but otherwise, there was nothing else. While he was looking around, a robotic voice answered from above, ¡°Please enter the designated information at the kiosk. No visitors are accepted at this time.¡±


    The screen flashed, beckoning him forth. Bread stepped closer and reached out. As soon as his fingers made contact, the digital background blurred. His arms tingled and sparked as information flooded through his mind, but all he did was focus his mind on one thing¡ª


    The elevator door.


    With an electronic ding, the door slid open. Bread entered without hesitation, and as it closed shut, his mind finally started to race.


    Why am I here?


    Music started playing, numbers climbed as the entire structure started to move. It was only a matter of seconds before he¡¯d see Dad, but he couldn¡¯t come to a conclusion. Why was he really here? What would he even say to Dad? That he was back? That he was finally ready to be reset? Was it really the right move to leave Val behind?


    He was having second thoughts. Why? He¡¯d come to a conclusion before; that was why he was here. Why was he so afraid now?


    The elevator door finally opened, and a glass corridor greeted his eyes. All he saw were windows upon windows of clouds. For just a moment, he forgot about his thoughts. Watching the sky reminded him of what he¡¯d always wanted before.


    A bird.


    He wanted to be a bird. He wanted to fly, watch the world from above. He wanted to soar besides the warmth of the sun. He wanted to be like Val in the ring¡ª


    Free.


    But the feeling dissipated. He was back in the real world again, staring the glass corridor down. On the other end, it opened up into an office. He saw a desk and a figure¡ªa man¡ªin the distance. The way the figure moved was weirdly familiar.


    Bread made his way closer, and eventually, he was right outside the doorsteps. A see-through panel was the only thing separating him from the man on the other side. It didn¡¯t look like Dad, but he entered anyway.


    ¡°You came back?¡± The man stood from behind his desk, almost looking like he¡¯d seen a ghost. The voice sent shivers down his spine; Bread knew that voice. He¡¯d heard it before. ¡°You came back! Why did you come back? Imbecile! I let you go because of Gunther! You were free!¡±


    Azan. Bread knew in an instant. How did the man already know who he was? He was sure his appearance was different from when he were in Simular.


    ¡°What¡¯re you staring at?¡± Azan leaned over his desk. His bright, red suit fought against the colors of the sky. ¡°I know everything. Probably here for Gunther, yeah?¡±


    Gunther¡­ There was only one person who this Gunther could be. Bread just knew from the way Azan spoke of him.


    ¡°Oh, I know that look. You didn¡¯t even know his name, did you? And you had the audacity to call him your dad? The great Creator?¡± The man laughed in an almost mocking tone. There was sharpness to his words that made Bread flinch. ¡°A mere dad!¡±


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    ¡°Where¡¯s Dad?¡± He wouldn¡¯t let Azan stop him. He was here for a reason. He was here to see Dad, to talk to him. He needed to know.


    ¡°I¡¯m telling you he¡¯s not here. Can¡¯t you figure that out by now?¡± The man shook his head. ¡°What kind of AI can¡¯t even figure that out? Leave. Now. You¡¯re not welcome here. Gunther will never see you.¡±


    But Bread stood firm. The man was lying. At least Bread hoped he was. He came all this way for Dad. He wouldn¡¯t leave at least without seeing him.


    ¡°You¡¯re so¡ªargh! You¡¯re so stubborn! Why do you both frustrate me to no end? What gives you the right?¡± Azan suddenly pulled off one of his cybernetic fingers and aggressively twirled it around his hand. ¡°I¡¯m a valuable part of this company too, so why can¡¯t any of you just let me do my job? Why get in my way?¡±


    ¡°I just want¡ª¡±


    ¡°Do you see that?¡± He pointed out the window with his popped-out finger. ¡°That beautifully outstretched city below?¡±


    All he saw were clouds. They were way too high up to see anything else.


    ¡°Simular was supposed to be the centerpiece, the epitome of grandeur.¡± the man said. His voice slowly grew louder and louder. ¡°It was supposed to be a lighthouse for the weary, a merry-go-round of never-ending excitement, an all-encompassing beacon of freedom and hope! It was supposed to be grand. All of this was supposed to be grand. That city down below¡ªNovus Lokris. That was supposed to be our beginning¡ªme and Gunther!¡± Azan pointed his dislodged finger at him. ¡°But why, oh, why is he so invested in you? What¡¯s so special about you?¡±


    ¡°I just¡­¡± Bread was starting to feel that familiar feeling¡ªgoosebumps. He didn¡¯t actually have the skin for that, but it was just a feeling. That uncomfortable pressure of danger. ¡°I just want to speak to Dad.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care what you want.¡± Azan leaned back into his chair, legs crossed, swinging high above his desk. ¡°Just get out of my sight.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± He couldn¡¯t. He couldn¡¯t go back. He had made a choice for himself for the first time. He had to stick to it. ¡°I need to talk to Dad.¡±


    ¡°And I need you to get the hell out!¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t.¡±


    The man stood up, dislodged finger pointed at his chest threateningly. That feeling of danger crept back up Bread¡¯s neck. ¡°Why do I have to clean up after Gunther every single time?¡±


    There was something about the man¡¯s tone, however, that was confusing to Bread. Even though he seemed mad, it almost felt like there was still hope lingering in Azan¡¯s eyes.


    There was a long pause between them. Like they were having an unplanned staring contest. But then the man sighed. It was unexpected. ¡°Look, even if I wanted to tell you, I don¡¯t know where he is.¡± He lowered the finger. With it, the aggression in his voice also left. ¡°Last chance. Leave. There¡¯s nothing for you here.¡±


    The man almost looked sad. Bread could kind of tell. He was suddenly curious. ¡°Why do you hate me?¡±


    ¡°Why do I¡­ hate you?¡± Azan¡¯s nose crinkled; his brows furrowed. His face reddened like a ripe tomato. ¡°You serious? You don¡¯t know why? You get in my way, you ask stupid fucking questions, and you still don¡¯t know why? You¡¯re¡ªno, I¡¯m done. Take the fucking elevator down.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    The man again raised the weaponized finger. There were no words to be exchanged for Bread to know what this gesture meant. Something about it rang alarm bells in his mind.


    But hadn¡¯t he come this far ready to lose his memories? Hadn¡¯t he already made his decision? He was done running. He didn¡¯t have to be real; he didn¡¯t need to be free. There was nowhere for him to return to anyway. At least to Dad, he knew that he was worth something. He still had value.


    He didn¡¯t want to be Beady anymore. He hoped he wasn¡¯t just an experiment. He wanted to be¡­


    Me.


    He was Bread. Not an experiment, not Beady. He wasn¡¯t some thief or an AI. He was none of these things. He was Bread. And he wanted to know¡­


    ¡°I need to talk to Dad,¡± Bread replied with renewed confidence. ¡°Dad has the answers I need.¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡± Azan slammed his hands on the desk. ¡°Dad this, dad that. He¡¯s not your dad! He¡¯s the Creator! He¡¯s not some¡ªsome ordinary parent! I helped him build everything up from the bottom. I placed everything on him, but you just had to pollute my plans with all this pretend family nonsense! Just leave!¡±


    ¡°No.¡± He wouldn¡¯t break. He wasn¡¯t backing out now. ¡°I need to see him.¡±


    ¡°No?¡± Azan started massaging his temples. ¡°You know what? That¡¯s fine. I¡¯ve had enough.¡± He raised the finger again. The metallic digit glinted golden under the sunlight. Then the man aimed the tip at Bread¡¯s chest. ¡°I should honestly be patting myself on the back for being so patient with you.¡±


    ¡°What¡ª¡±


    There was a click. And a flash of light that blinded Bread¡¯s eyes. Something high-pitched sounded from the tip, and suddenly¡ª


    Glass. Everywhere.

 Activate the Zoomies!

    In the Creator¡¯s hand was a gift¡ªa custom made necklace in the shape of a dandelion. It was a gift he had wanted to give to Mother before she had passed, before he¡¯d even understood what dandelions had meant to her.


    ¡°Mrs. Morgan,¡± he called. The accessory sparkled under her ceiling light, golden like the afternoon sun. She was sitting at her usual spot next to the radio, knitting what seemed like some sort of coaster. ¡°I heard it was your birthday today.¡±


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s not that big of a deal, Gunther. It¡¯s just another day.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not true.¡± He handed over the necklace. ¡°Happy Birthday, Mrs. Morgan.¡±


    ¡°What? Oh, you shouldn¡¯t have!¡± She curiously felt around the pendant. ¡°What is it? It¡¯s very spiky!¡±


    ¡°A dandelion. I had this made for Mother¡­¡±


    ¡°Gunther, then I can¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°I want you to have it.¡±


    ¡°But Gunther!¡± she cried. ¡°This is something far too important for you to give to someone like me.¡±


    ¡°Someone like you?¡± He smirked. ¡°Mother is dead. What good would holding onto the dead do for me? You understand, don¡¯t you?¡± It was momentary, but he truly believed they were one and the same, grieving a loss that needed no further remembrance. It was only detrimental; they had to move on sooner or later. ¡°Take it. I insist. A necklace for a bracelet. It¡¯s only fair.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡± She paused, reluctantly nodding her head a few times before pursing her lips. ¡°Alright. If you¡¯re really insisting on it so much, I don¡¯t really have much of a choice!¡± She caressed the necklace in her shaking hands. ¡°This is so sweet. I¡¯ll treasure this, Gunther. Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Of cour¡ª¡±


    An emergency alert. His internal UI flashed in his peripherals.


    ¡°Is everything alright, dear?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Bread? He was in the office? How had he managed that? And why? ¡°I think I need to go.¡± The Creator started collecting all his basic belongings. ¡°I need to get back to the office.¡±


    ¡°Oh! Well, don¡¯t let me stop you.¡± She waved him out. ¡°Go, go!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Mrs. Morgan. This was supposed to be your special day¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be daft. I¡¯m not going anywhere.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be back.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I know.¡± She nodded. ¡°You¡¯ve been great to this old lady, but a smart, young man like you shouldn¡¯t be wasting away with me.¡±


    ¡°Stop demeaning yourself.¡± He grabbed his coat from the hanger. ¡°And you¡¯re not old, Mrs. Morgan. You¡¯re about the same age as my mother.¡±


    ¡°Sweet words, young man. Sweet words.¡± She patted him on the back. ¡°I feel like I¡¯m finally getting to know you better.¡± Then she gently pushed him out. ¡°Now go. This is the only time I¡¯ll tell you to leave.¡±If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± With that, the Creator swiftly headed out. Back to his job, to Azan. All the way back to home sweet home.


    ¡­


    Bread, what are you thinking?


    Azan was usually the only one at the office¡ªthe only human employee inside. That eyesore of a tower was more of an empty fa?ade. Simular Inc. needed to be grand, and to Azan, that meant a large, symbolic office for their company even though they had no need for it. The number of employees only fluctuated when Azan would hire someone for personal, butler duties, but they¡¯d always get fired within the week with reasons ranging from not feeling it to simply being bored.


    As the only corporation in the world to have two consistent human members registered under their corporate name, most of all company business matters were conducted autonomously through sophisticated programs. Almost everything was computerized. There was no point in having the largest building in the city, but Azan never did listen to him¡­


    He could see the structure from here, but that meant nothing. The place Azan was most likely residing in was much higher and further above the clouds. To the average eye, Azan would¡¯ve never been visible. But of course, he wasn¡¯t average. Far from it. His cybernetic implants were more valuable than even some of the largest of his rival corporations. And amongst his recent implants, his eyes were, by far, the most expensive.


    X-Razen Mark-X. State of the art. Only ten were in circulation, and he¡¯d received them as a gift¡­


    It was more of a bribe than a gift. Companies all over the world took part in corporate gift-giving so to speak as Simular continued to seep into everyone¡¯s daily lives. But these Razens were far more valuable than mere gifts. As well as having sophisticated features unrivaled by any other, these implants were also able to zoom in farther than even the best of modern binoculars. All the way up to the swirling gaseous surfaces of Jupiter if needs arose. So while he made his way over to the base of the office, he used his eyes to zoom in on what was happening inside¡ª


    Bread?


    Azan had his weaponized finger locked in his hand¡ªa disguised photon revolver. It was his most prized possession. At its highest settings, that gun could pierce through a solid block of chromium the length of two football stadiums, and studying the trajectory, he had it aimed directly at Bread¡¯s heart¡ªthe source of his energy, his core. If the core was fission-powered and not fusion, it would spell disaster for everyone involved.


    What are you trying to do, Azan? That was a last resort; he never brought that out. It was and had always been a show piece¡ªa symbol of his wealth. It had never been within his intentions to actually use the thing.


    The Creator sped up his pace. Bread was in danger, but the building was still about a mile away. He wasn¡¯t going to make it on foot. There was no way¡­


    ¡°System: initiate F¨±jin Clouds.¡±


    Instinct took over. He quickly skidded to a stop, bent down, and tensed his legs. Steaming, crimson blood pulsated through his calves; the ground crumbled under the pressure. Then, with all his strength, he jumped.


    He sliced through the air.


    Trajectory was accurate. Velocity was good. He was launched perfectly in line with Bread, but he didn¡¯t have boosters to control any sort of deviation in sudden atmospheric pressure. He had no way of stopping himself either. He¡¯d crash through the glass, and then what? How would he decelerate?


    It didn¡¯t matter. He just had to get there. Azan had his finger hovering over the trigger. It was only a matter of seconds¡­


    The tip of the gun flashed. It was getting ready to fire.


    At the same time, he made contact¡ªcrashed headfirst through the glass. Shards scattered everywhere. He tried to pull Bread out of the trajectory of the gun with one arm, and with the other, he slammed down and dug his fingers into the floor. The see-through composite tore away but held. It managed to soften his landing just enough for him to not fall out of the building.


    It was a success. With Bread safely in his arms, he could finally breathe a sigh of relief. But as his chest heaved up, an intense pain immediately followed suit.


    He looked down.


    Blood.


    And then the world went dark.

 Married to Work

    It was heavy.


    Something weighed down on Bread¡¯s body, held him in place like an anchor. It looked to be an arm¡ªburly and broad. It was hard to breathe. His entire body ached.


    What happened? He stared at the ceiling. His head kept spinning out of control, and his eyes¡­ He lifted his hands. They shook, trembling like he was cold. One moment, he saw Azan, and the next, he was on the floor.


    He flipped himself over and clawed his way out from underneath the massive figure. He tried to stand, but something about his body¡ªit felt wrong. In every aspect of the matter. His legs wobbled uncontrollably, and he couldn¡¯t tell which way was up.


    Without much resistance, he crumpled over.


    He reached out again but to no avail. There was nothing to grasp¡ªno hand to help him up, no eyes to watch him fall. Except Azan¡¯s. He was watching everything.


    Confidently, the man made his way over, strutting towards the lone figure on the floor. He crouched down and nudged the body. Then he flipped the body over.


    ¡°What a disgrace. Sacrificing your own flesh for some¡­¡± Azan shook his head. ¡°I had high hopes for you, you know, Gunther¡­¡±


    Dad? Bread looked closer. The face, the ears, nose. They were all too familiar.


    ¡°You forgot about our promise, haven¡¯t you? And look where that took you. To death¡¯s doorstep, yeah? Why did I even trust you in the first place? Why did I give up on my dreams for you? Why put all my faith on you?¡±


    ¡°D-dad?¡± Bread tried to crawl his way over.


    ¡°He¡¯s dead,¡± Azan replied, almost as if he¡¯d heard the boy. ¡°And now it¡¯s all finally over.¡±


    Dad? Dead? How could Dad be dead? After he came all this way. But then his eyes started to droop, cutting him away from his thoughts. Bread was suddenly so cold, so tired¡­


    Azan strutted over with a mischievous smile. ¡°You wanted to see him, yeah? Well, here he is. Just like you wanted.¡± He gestured towards the unmoving figure on the floor. ¡°I hope you both rot¡­ in hell!¡±


    Blood started to pool around Dad¡ªa dark, cherry puddle. It spread, seeping through the spaces between the floor tiles.


    No¡­ Bread dragged himself over. He felt weak. Not again¡­ He tried to get up, but his knees buckled. His vision blurred and dulled as if somebody were toying with the lights. But he didn¡¯t stop. He wouldn¡¯t let him die alone¡­


    Not like Coach.


    With his remaining strength, he reached out. Strained his arms to hold his unmoving hand. It was right there drenched in blood. Just out of reach¡­


    Azan crouched in front of his eyes and watched¡ªstared as he continued to struggle. A snort quickly escaped the man¡¯s breath. ¡°How touching. But haven¡¯t you noticed?¡± He motioned towards Bread¡¯s chest. ¡°You¡¯re not in any better shape.¡±


    Bread looked down. The green light around his energy core was flickering in and out. There was a crack in the center. A hole.


    ¡°Killed two birds with one stone.¡± Azan finally grinned. ¡°Wonderful, yeah?¡±


    Bread started to feel an emotion he hadn¡¯t felt before¡ªhatred. No, that wasn¡¯t it. He¡¯d felt that before. This was worse, stronger. Like what he¡¯d seen in Azan, it was more primal. That smug look on Azan¡¯s face. He hated it. He hated it with all his heart. He wanted to get rid of it, erase it from existence. He wanted it out of his sight.


    ¡°What¡¯re you glaring at?¡± the man mocked. ¡°You can¡¯t even move.¡±


    As the fury funneled through his body, Bread whipped his hand forward with his remaining strength, snapping it around Azan¡¯s ankle. He grabbed and squeezed, digging his cold, synthetic fingers into the skin.


    ¡°What¡¯re you trying to do?¡± Azan tried to pull him off. ¡°Let go.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± He closed his eyes and started to concentrate, pulling every fiber of energy out from his body. Every leftover strength he had¡­ The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Something started to stir inside.


    ¡°Let go!¡± Azan kicked him in the head. ¡°I said let go! Stupid fucking doll.¡±


    He could feel the ice cubes. They were forming, sliding through his already weakening body. The tips of his fingers started to pop and crackle¡­


    ¡°Both of you are the same!¡± Azan continued to kick. ¡°Same breed of stupid, yeah?¡± The kicking intensified. ¡°Don¡¯t even know what it means to take responsibility! I did everything for this company, and this is how I¡¯m repaid? This is what it means to keep my end of the promise?¡±


    Bread¡¯s muscles relaxed, but his grip held strong. Electricity crashed through his artificial veins, freezing over like bitter, winter rain. And then, he let it all out¡­


    ¡°You, argh¡ª¡± Azan started to convulse. He dropped to the floor. Pieces of his memories started flooding through¡ª


    No! Bread¡¯s grip tightened. He didn¡¯t want these memories. If he saw them, he knew he wouldn¡¯t be able to stay this way, feeling all this hatred towards the man. He just wanted to make him suffer. Just like what he did to Dad. He wanted to¡ª


    ¡­


    ¡°Sign it.¡±


    A holographic document hovered over his nose.


    ¡°Sign it, Azan.¡±


    Divorce papers.


    ¡°It¡¯s over.¡±


    ¡°W-wait. What do you mean divorce, honey?¡± He examined it closer, zoning in, reading each sentence word for word. Divorce papers. They were divorce papers.


    ¡°Don¡¯t make this any bigger than it has to.¡±


    ¡°Honey, wait. Relax. Let¡¯s think this¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me to relax! I waited ten years for you to change. Ten! There¡¯s no relaxing anymore.¡±


    ¡°Honey¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that.¡±


    ¡°Why¡­?¡±


    ¡°You know why.¡±


    A myriad of possibilities flew through his mind, but none of them seemed to fit her reasons for why. ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t really know.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you don¡¯t know? Maybe it¡¯s because you¡¯re never home, never there for the kid. Not even for me! You still don¡¯t know? Still don¡¯t get it? We were robbed a few days ago! In broad daylight! Did you know that? Do you even care?¡±


    ¡°I had work. You know that. I¡¯m sure the security¡ª¡±


    ¡°You had work? You always have work! You never not have work. You¡¯re always out there, meeting with other more important people. Not even one single day of the year for us! Do you know who else has work? Me!¡± She scoffed. ¡°And you know what¡¯s worse? Most of the time, it¡¯s your friend who takes all the credit anyway! I¡¯ve never seen you on the news; I¡¯ve never seen you anywhere! All that work for what?¡±


    ¡°Please, that¡¯s so superficial. We should think of our daughter¡ª¡±


    ¡°I am! She doesn¡¯t even remember your face. Because you keep changing it like it¡¯s some goddamn makeup routine! And for what? Because somebody¡¯ll come killing your ass? Nobody even knows you! Why worry?¡± She buried her face into her hands. ¡°It¡¯s like you¡¯re not even there. Like you don¡¯t even exist in our lives. How do I love someone I can¡¯t even remember? I¡ª¡± Her lips trembled. ¡°I don¡¯t even remember what kind of person you were when we married. It¡¯s like I¡¯m living with a stranger¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡ªI¡¯m sorry.¡±


    She pursed her lips. ¡°It¡¯s too late for that.¡±


    ¡°Can you give me another chance? I¡¯m trying. It¡¯s just¡­ work is taxing, yeah?¡± He gave a smile to try and lighten the mood.


    Instead, she teared up even more. ¡°I can¡¯t even remember your smile, Azan. The one that I fell in love with¡­¡± She grabbed her bag. ¡°I can¡¯t. No, I can¡¯t do this anymore.¡±


    ¡°Wait, hon¡ª¡±


    And she was gone.


    Azan stared at the hollow emptiness of his office, his hand outstretched as if he were still expecting her return. But it wasn¡¯t long before his arm slowly fell to his side.


    She wasn¡¯t coming back.


    He finally dropped to his seat. She was right. Every reason was on point. He¡¯d never wanted to be number two. He¡¯d never grown up telling himself that he¡¯d have been satisfied living under someone¡¯s shadow.


    He wanted to be the best like everyone else¡ªthe one to shine in the spotlight. But with his skill set, he was better suited for this¡ªto control and manage the chaotic mess his friend created, to let that genius shine through the cracks of his ingenious plans. He was better suited to be in the background. From the very beginning.


    To him, there were only two options¡ªcontinue or quit. And quitting wasn¡¯t an option. Not without him. That brilliant son of a bitch¡­


    For just a few minutes, he silently wept. He had already severed his tear ducts; there wasn¡¯t a single natural thing left on his face. But he still wept. Felt the imaginary tears flowing down his synthetic cheeks. Because he knew he still didn¡¯t have it in him. He¡¯d simply weep rather than chase her. He¡¯d simply weep rather than leave Simular behind. He¡¯d simply weep and never choose to change. Because he knew deep down¡­


    He just didn¡¯t have the heart.

 In Your Memories…

    ¡°Warning: emergency protocol activated,¡± the system voice sounded, reverberating annoyingly through the Creator¡¯s head. ¡°Temporary blood flow stabilization in place. Heart failure imminent in approximately five m¡ª¡±


    ¡°Shut up.¡±


    ¡°Speech recognized. Understood.¡±


    He finally opened his eyes. Looking around at the chaos that had unfolded, he heaved his body over and leaned against a nearby wall. The noise in his head continued to blare incessantly; his chest throbbed with each and every movement of his body.


    ¡°Shit.¡± He peered over at the unconscious figure nearby¡ªBread. But the core had been cracked. He hadn¡¯t made it in time.


    On the bright side, there had not been an explosion. The core wasn¡¯t fission tech. Thank god. It was sputtering in and out, dying, but Bread¡¯s molecular memory unit should¡¯ve been fine. He just had to transfer him back into Simular before¡­


    The boy stirred.


    ¡°Bread?¡± he instinctively called out. As he looked down at the unconscious boy, he wondered how significantly the boy had managed to change his life. This child was never supposed to be his concern. He was supposed to be a means to an end, and yet¡­


    ¡°Dad?¡± The boy finally opened his eyes, tears quickly welling up. ¡°Dad, is that really you?¡±


    He¡¯d never once seen tears as a good thing. Always emotional, detrimental to critical thought, tears were never a good indicator of logic and fact. It would¡¯ve slowed him down. He thought it¡¯d never be useful to him, and yet, when he saw those tears painting the floor clear and wet, he couldn¡¯t help but smile.


    ¡°Dad?¡± the boy called out once more. There was a worried look on his face, his voice shying away with every word. ¡°C-can I still call you that?¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡± It didn¡¯t matter to him either way. Bread brightened up, but that was no concern. ¡°Why?¡± the Creator asked. ¡°Why did you come back¡ª¡±


    ¡°Is Azan okay?¡± Bread interrupted.


    ¡°He¡¯s fine.¡± That wasn¡¯t important either. The man wouldn¡¯t die even if a meteor had hit. ¡°Why did you come back?¡± the Creator repeated.


    ¡°I just¡­¡± The boy looked nervous; he wouldn¡¯t meet his eyes. But eventually, Bread finally relented. ¡°I just wanted to talk with you.¡±


    For all this danger, he¡¯d just wished to talk?


    ¡°D-do you¡­¡± Bread stammered. ¡°Do you hate me?¡±


    Hate¡­ Hate was a strong word. But there wasn¡¯t any time to be discussing these kinds of things. Clock was ticking. The Creator pulled out a long cable that had been attached to his wrist. It would send Bread¡¯s data back into Simular when directly connected to the port on the boy¡¯s chest. This way, he¡¯d be safe from Azan¡¯s grasps.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± the boy asked.


    The Creator dragged his way over to where Bread was and pulled the end of the cable closer to the boy¡¯s chest. The dimming light of the core was all the more worrying. Of course, the core itself didn¡¯t house any memory, but oddly, it was worrying all the same as if letting the boy close his eyes once more would spell some sort of disaster.


    A slave to his emotions. His mind was becoming more and more illogical as time passed. He¡¯d foreseen this happening, but it didn¡¯t seem as terrible a thing anymore.


    ¡°Wait, Dad¡ª¡± The boy pulled back as best he could when he was struggling to even move. ¡°Wait, can I ask you something?¡±


    Why waste so much energy to move? The Creator didn¡¯t understand. The boy should¡¯ve just let him continue. Why waste time dawdling about questions? He let out a long-winded sigh. Even the exhaling was painful, as if somebody was pushing heavily on his chest. ¡°Go ahead.¡±


    ¡°Will that reset me?¡± The boy pointed at the cable. ¡°Will I really be gone?¡±


    Gone? Of all the things he could do, Bread still thought he was doing this for his research? ¡°Why do you doubt me?¡±


    ¡°What? No, I thought¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡ªno, I know why.¡± He saw the questioning gaze, that uncertainty in the boy¡¯s eyes. With all that he¡¯d done, of course the boy would doubt him. He hadn¡¯t done a single good thing for him. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Bread. I don¡¯t hate you.¡±


    Bread seemed startled by his words. ¡°So¡­ you really don¡¯t hate me?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± He pulled the cable thin. All he needed to do was plug it in. ¡°I¡¯m sending you back to Simular. Where it¡¯s safe.¡±


    Bread¡¯s eyes fell to the Creator¡¯s chest. ¡°But what about you?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± His bloody chest was fine. ¡°Stop worrying about me. Come closer.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Bread pulled away again. ¡°You¡¯re hurt.¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m not,¡± he snapped. Just a flesh wound. Bread¡¯s breathing was already more ragged than before. It was the same for himself too. They were running out of time.


    ¡°I don¡¯t¡ª¡± Tears rolled down Bread¡¯s cheeks. ¡°I don¡¯t want to see more people die. It hurts. I don¡¯t like it. I don¡¯t like death!¡±


    ¡°Does it?¡± The Creator couldn¡¯t help but smile a little. Because he knew. He knew what it felt like to experience someone¡¯s death. ¡°It will always hurt, Bread. No matter what.¡±


    ¡°Why does it hurt so much? I¡¯m not even real¡­¡±


    He couldn¡¯t believe, after all this time, the boy was still struggling to accept his identity. But he understood this time. He knew what it felt like to be isolated, confused about who you were, what you had to do. And it truly begged the question¡ªUnauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Does it matter?¡±


    The boy met his gaze, eyes swollen from all those tears.


    ¡°Does it truly matter if you¡¯re not real, Bread? We¡¯re all suffering the same, living in the same world, feeling those very emotions we all try to avoid.¡± He¡¯d learned that the hard way and seen it with his own two eyes. He¡¯d realized far too late¡­ ¡°It hurts because you are real, Bread. You exist within this reality, and you experience what we all experience together. And that¡¯s the way it should be. That¡¯s life.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°No buts. You matter to someone. Isn¡¯t that already enough?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ do? Val doesn¡¯t¡ªI-I don¡¯t think¡­¡±


    You matter to me. He¡¯d thought those very words the second Bread had questioned it, but the Creator never said it aloud. Instead, a flashback of Mother¡¯s words suddenly played in his head¡ª


    ¡°You know who you are¡­¡±


    And the Creator suddenly realized why she¡¯d said those very words. This time, he was going to make it count. ¡°Do you know who you are, Bread?¡±


    ¡°Who I am? I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m a simulation¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, Bread. Look at me.¡±


    Bread stared. Those beady eyes steadily watched him, full of emotions that he hadn¡¯t acknowledged even in himself. And he had to wonder¡ªwho would¡¯ve thought to give Bread such a soft, loving face?


    He held the boy¡¯s gaze a while longer. His own eyes finally watered for the first time since the funeral, and he said the very words he¡¯d always wished he¡¯d heard from his beloved Mother¡­


    ¡°Even if there comes a day when you don¡¯t acknowledge me, and even if I am to be hated for all eternity for what I had done to you, remember this¡ªyou are and will always be my one and only son.¡±


    An unexpected smile sprouted across Bread¡¯s face, and with it, relief washed over the Creator too. Hopefully, the words meant as much to the boy as it would¡¯ve for himself.


    ¡°One more thing,¡± the man continued. ¡°Will you promise me something?¡±


    ¡°Mhm!¡± Bread had a new, hopeful look in his eyes.


    The boy was full of life. It reminded him of his own childhood when he was young, lively. When he was still human and emotional. He looked to Bread once more, focusing on that sunny expression. He hoped that the boy never lost that cheerful side of him.


    ¡°Will you promise to keep living?¡±


    The boy giddily nodded.


    ¡°Good. Now, just one more. Will you promise¡­¡± He smiled. The thought of him asking such questions. It would¡¯ve been absurd if this were him a month back. ¡°¡­to remember me?¡±


    There was a slight hesitation in the boy¡¯s eyes. A look of dread filled what was once hopeful. ¡°W-what do you mean by that, Dad?¡±


    He pushed the cable in.


    ¡°Wait, Da¡ª¡±


    The body jolted, then crashed to the floor with a resounding thud. The boy was limp, inactive. Those lifeless eyes now staring at nothing of particular focus.


    It was over. Bread was safe.


    ¡°W-w-warning.¡± His internal system voice bugged out. ¡°Time remaining, O-one minu-nu-nute¡ª¡±


    He already knew that.


    All the adrenaline washed away, and he started to feel it again¡ªthat cold, clamminess of his skin, that sensation of numbness spreading across his fingers. He started to shiver. He could feel his breathing slow, the pressure in his chest failing to beat at the right rhythm. All he could see was the sky¡­ and Azan¡­


    The sight of his friend¡¯s unconscious body brought back another feeling¡ªa thought he¡¯d always believed to have been gone.


    In childhood, he¡¯d remembered wanting some sort of connection, a deep connection with those people he¡¯d cared for. But he¡¯d thrown that away for his career, told himself it¡¯d make him weak, and now, in death, he was feeling all the same¡ª


    Alone.


    His friend was still sprawled out on the cold floor, chest still heaving up and down. Azan was still alive. Unconscious but alive.


    He hadn¡¯t much thought of it before, but Azan wasn¡¯t the kind of sly devil other people seemed to have painted him as. That was merely a mask. Azan was intelligent, not very good at showing appreciation, but genuine all the same. He was considerate, intense at times, and yet, his dear friend was always there for him through thick and thin. When he had suffered against the bleak, almost hopeless future of making Simular a reality, Azan had always been there.


    A true friend.


    The Creator vowed to never forget. All those precious connections he¡¯d pushed away throughout the years. He wouldn¡¯t ever forget them again. Mother, Mrs. Morgan, Bread, Azan¡­ They were his legacy¡ªthe treasures that he truly cherished more than anything. They were the ones who had changed him, molded him into who he was today. For that, they were worth more than anything this world could ever offer.


    After all, he was the Creator. He had everything from mansion to absolute corporate monopoly, and yet, at this very moment, none of it seemed to matter. Money was fleeting, materialistic; fame was temporary. But these emotions that he¡¯d always feared of having¡ªthey were what drove him forward each and every day. He¡¯d dreamed of those bright, joyous moments he¡¯d had in the past, those times when Mother was truly smiling and happy. He¡¯d dreamed of proving the world wrong, making his mark on society. And all the while, he¡¯d done these things not for himself, but for those who were close.


    He¡¯d done all of this, been given all these opportunities. He¡¯d thought this was his way of showing his love and appreciation. Only Mother didn¡¯t seem to take it that way. But he¡¯d still set out to be the greatest because of all the others who were there to rely on him. He¡¯d pushed through this arduous journey because of Azan, he¡¯d even changed his perspectives in these people he¡¯d once called nobodies because of Mrs. Morgan, and Bread¡­ Bread had given him something he¡¯d always seemed to lack¡ª


    Understanding.


    Bread had given him so much more than he could¡¯ve asked for. The boy had given him reason to change and evolve, and he¡¯d remember that. The ones who he¡¯d considered dear, he¡¯d always remember what they¡¯d done for him. And hopefully, they¡¯d do the same when it was their time¡­


    His vision started to blur; he slumped to the floor, arms and legs wobbling like water. He was sweating so much. He was so tired, so sleepy¡­


    No, just a little longer¡­


    He wanted to see the sun once more¡ªthat bright, glaring star in the distance. It should¡¯ve been a few degrees darker for that optimal shine. And that overwhelming heat. That fluctuation, change in temperature. It should¡¯ve been constant, within parameters. It shouldn¡¯t have been so unpredictable, so unstable¡­


    Simular was never like this. It was perfect. Everything was comfortable and convenient, operating like clockwork. He¡¯d preferred it that way, and yet¡­ The imperfections of the real world started to grow on him. That overwhelming heat radiating in the distance, that intensity he couldn¡¯t experience anywhere else. It was real. And it was warm, so very warm¡­


    It reminded him of a dandelion that his mother so truly adored.


    The pain in his chest ebbed. Memories flashed before his eyes¡ªchildhood memories, adolescent, young adult¡­


    No, not yet.


    He didn¡¯t want them.


    Just a little more time¡­


    The throbbing in his head muted everything out. He couldn¡¯t hear anything, see anything¡­


    Then he snapped awake.


    The thought of his life flashing before his eyes¡ªthat was all too melodramatic for him, too inefficient. With the remaining consciousness that he had, he gave out one final order to his internal system assistant¡ªa command that he¡¯d programmed himself for all intensive purposes of being that he simply could.


    ¡°System: terminate user Gunther Ardor Melaconite.¡± If he were to go, he¡¯d go out on his own terms.


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± the system voice asked.


    ¡°Of course I am.¡± Thank you, Bread. ¡°Accept.¡± For teaching me how to be human again.


    And as his eyes fell for the last time, he knew for certain. He was a vile and nasty creature known to many as the Creator, but to a select few, he¡¯d be known as Gunther¡ªan ordinary jaded, yet troubled man. And he was certain that amongst that select few¡­


    He had surely been loved too.

 Back to the Battlefield

    ¡°And one hundred!¡±


    Val finally finished her hundredth lap around her neighborhood. She got back to the gym from her morning run, sweating and huffing profusely. In her arms, she carried groceries she had bought from the local food market. It was the cheapest shit she could find.


    ¡°Bread,¡± she called out. ¡°Bought some stuff for dinner.¡± It was awfully quiet though. ¡°Bread?¡± No answer. ¡°Bread!¡±


    Was he hiding somewhere? Inside the walls? Under the table? There was nowhere to hide here. It was a gym. It was wide fucking open. With the shoddy renovation she¡¯d done, the place was lacking in everything. Especially the furniture. There was literally nowhere to hide. But then where was he? Kidnapped? By scrap pirates?


    No. Calm it, Val. He had a tendency to run around, didn¡¯t he? Maybe he was sleeping?


    She ran over to the workshop to check.


    No Bread.


    Calm down, she told herself. Don¡¯t freak out. He was probably just out on an adventure or something. No, but if he was, he would¡¯ve told her before he¡¯d left. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    This wasn¡¯t normal, was it?


    She made her way out to the front to check if there were any signs of struggling or maybe even just specks of blood.


    No, everything looked normal.


    She peered over at the roof.


    Nothing. No signs of movement.


    What the fuck? He wasn¡¯t inside. He wasn¡¯t outside. He wasn¡¯t watching the dandelion up top. There where? Where was he? Was he in the back? Maybe next to Coach?


    She sprinted to the backyard.


    ¡°Bread?¡± she called out, but there was still no answer. Where the hell¡­ And then she saw something hanging off Coach¡¯s headstone¡ª


    A pair of boxing gloves.


    ¡°No way. These are brand new! Who would¡ª¡± Bread? It was just this gut feeling¡­ She knelt down. There was also a fresh pair of hand wraps. The only person who knew her gloves had burnt in the fire was Bread. Nobody else. Why would he¡ª


    No¡­


    Was this why he¡¯d looked so troubled that one time? Had he already decided back then?


    ¡°Bread¡­¡± Her head fell. She hugged the headstone in front of her, tears starting to stream down her cheeks. ¡°You too? You just had to go too¡­¡±


    She got up and took a deep breath.


    ¡°Okay, fuck this!¡± She wiped the tears away. At this rate, she felt like she was going insane. All this negativity was eating her brains out. ¡°When you come back, I¡¯ll be someone you can look up to. I promise!¡± Her heart thumped with more vigor. ¡°So you better come back to say goodbye, you idiot!¡±


    This was just the beginning.

 (Epilogue) Just a Little More Spice

    Warmth prickled his skin. A cool breeze blew past, drowning out the soft whistling of birds. There was noise to his right. The sound of liquid sloshing back and forth. He imagined a stream of crystal-clear water flowing down from the mountaintops of verdant greens. He felt serene. As if being embraced by billowing, cotton candy clouds softly blowing in the wind.


    With the rustling of leaves, he imagined an ip¨º tree. Where the petals fluttered down from the azure sky, raining like droplets of pink embers. The sun radiated from above, shining golden like dandelion vibrance. It tickled his arms and neck.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    To be free, to belong, to be real¡­ That was his dream. All of this¡ªcreative, unfettered. It was perfect in every definition, beautiful in all its splendor¡­ But what did it matter now? The one person who could¡¯ve made him feel like he belonged was gone. How could he ever accept a reality like this and continue to live in it?


    Then he heard a voice.


    ¡°Did you not promise to live, child of snow?¡±


    He finally opened his eyes.