《Cassy the Clowns Big Top Bonanza (An SCS Fan-Fic)》 Cassy: Walk Silly, Carry a Big Hammer. Caution! The following recounting of events contains content that may be disturbing to some readers. If you suffer from an irrational fear of the 5 letter C word, or coulrophobia as it is called. Please turn back now. You have been warned. ***** You are questioning my sanity? I¡¯m not the one standing in an incursion zone in a 1-credit flak jacket, holding a microphone. Potato King; Los Angeles Incursion, ground zero. Said to a reporter while he loaded a glowing green potato into his signature homemade PVC cannon. ** ¡°Who throws a pie at a plant monster?¡± Cassandra cried in her head as she ran down the empty halls of the community centre. Her oversized shiny red clown shoes slapping against old, but clean, linoleum. A four legged plant, with whipped cream falling from its face, rounded the corner of the hall not far behind her. Losing its grip on the polished floor it slammed into the wall with a flurry of scrabbling legs and a bang, embedded slightly into the thin drywall. Causing young Cassy to start in surprise, and let out a small squeak of terror. Deciding that racing a killer plant down a long hallway was not on her agenda today. Cassy turned quickly, and almost copied the antithesis, nearly going top over tea kettle. She barely managed to stay mostly upright by hopping on one foot. She booked it for the stairs. "Maybe they are bad at stairs!¡± She hoped in her mind. Cassandra had somehow forgotten about the very large, very awkward, very shiny, apple red shoes adorning her feet. She barely managed to make it down the first dozen steps before one glossy toe hooked on a pleat in her oversized, but amusing, pantaloons. Cassy careened cacophonously down the stairs, clattering off of corners, and generally having a bad time. Her descent was stopped rather abruptly when she encountered something far softer and much squelchier than the concrete stairs and their steel railings. It gave way before her with some very awful splattering and squirting sounds. Cassy found herself battered and a little bruised pressed up against the metal stair railing, covered in a rather unpleasant and sticky mess. It reminded her muddled mind of when she¡¯d brought balloons full of flavoured gelatin to the water fight last summer. She had no desire to taste this goop though, it smelled rather awful, like a pile of week old grass clippings. ¡°Greetings Vanguard! Congratulations on your first kill! My name is Bartholymu. Might I recommend you get moving. The one you pied in the face is still coming¡± Dumbstruck, Cassy just sat there, staring at her painstakingly handmade clown outfit. Days of hunting down the brightest colours of fabric she could find. Hours of learning to sew, and the pricked finger tips to show for it. Now a rumpled and torn mess, covered in plant guts. And she had a voice in her head! Was she was a samurai now? No no no no no. Cassy was a clown. Cassy was going to bring them back into popularity. It had been her life¡¯s goal since she found the archival footage buried in the meshl! The world was in chaos, there was an apocalypse on! People needed laughter, parties, and balloon animals! And whip cream pies thrown at them, and dunk tanks, and joy buzzers, and, and, and¡­ Her mind spiralled trying to make sense of it all, visions of circus tents whirling in her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m an entertainer!¡± She cried out in the stairwell. ¡°I¡¯m supposed to bring light and joy! I¡¯m not a crazy Samurai, I¡¯m not a killing machine¡­¡± She trailed off, a hiccup of a sob was followed by tears forming in the corners of her eyes. ¡°Why not both?¡± her new brain dweller responded. ¡°You should probably get moving if you want to do either one though¡­ pie boy is coming!¡± Sure enough, there it was. Just rounding the corner of the stairs. All but the last drips of whipped cream gone from its strange planty head. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. ¡°Weapon! Weapon! I need a weapon!¡± She mumbled out as she tried to push herself further from the creature. ¡°What sort of weapon, I have a number of¡­¡± ¡°Anything¡± Cassy hollered out ¡°Anything I can smack that thing with¡± She continued, as she managed to pull herself back to her feet. One sock and one scuffed red shoe slipping in the mess around her. A solid weight materialised with a burst of confetti into Cassys hand. Gripping the shaft with two hands she swung it hard at the creature as it leapt at her. It smacked solidly into the vile things cranium, sending it careening off over the railing. Cassy looked tentatively down at what she held in her hands, it appeared to be a large hammer, like the ones from the carnival strength challenge game, wooden, and brightly coloured, with a ring of stars at each end. ¡°Did, did um, I hear a cartoonish Bo-oi-oing sound on impact?¡± She asked the voice in her head. ¡°You did! I thought it was very on brand. Cost an extra point. Totally worth it if I do say so myself. Why? You don¡¯t like it?¡± Cassandra stared down and the hammer gripped tightly in her hands. Her breath came faster. Images of the past half hour roiling in her head. Arriving early, her excitement as she set up her booth for the penny carnival, the anticipation of the smiles and laughter, she was going to bring such joy! Then, the alarms went off, there were plant monsters. A whip cream pie launched in panicked surprise sliding down a fibrous face¡­ ¡°Like it?¡± She gasped out, holding the hammer out at arms length, gripped tightly in two hands. ¡°I love it!¡± Cassy the Clown''s face split into an almost rictus grin, but not too rictus, that might scare the audience, her frightened demeanour seemed to melt away. Putting the hammer to her shoulder she stared over the railing at the broken but still squirming antitheses. ¡°What else you got in your bag of tricks Barty? Anything to fix up this suit of mine? I seem to be missing a shoe¡± ¡°I¡¯m glad you have finished panicking Vanguard. Allow me to take you through some options¡± ¡°Me? Panic? Never.¡± She scoffed with a guffaw, while striding confidently down the stairs. ¡°I was just lulling them into a false sense of security¡± Setting her stance wide, she hefted her hammer and brought it crashing down hard, finishing off the struggling plant. It released another loud boi-oi-oing as it bounced back from the ground, spinning her for a tight circle before she regained her footing. ¡°I like it Barty. More and more and more. Now, what do you have in longer range options? I¡¯m thinking maybe combat confetti cannons?¡± Cassy the Clown grinned a manic grin as her new best friend began to excitedly list options. ***** Several hours later a trio of armoured SUVs pulled up out front of the community centre. PMC members doing cleanup sweeps of the neighbourhood after the incursion. They pushed open the doors and rapidly formed up in a well disciplined formation to secure the front atrium, expecting the worst, as they usually would find. The sight that greeted their eyes however, had them pausing in shock and confusion. The foyer was a mess, not with bullet holes, or scorch marks, or craters, or the other many signs of an incursion. It was covered in candy coloured chaos, what looked like whipped cream was smeared across the floor, up the walls, and dripping in glops from the ceiling. Whip cream that apparently could dissolve plant tissue. If that¡¯s what the slowly shrinking and sizzling mounds inferred. Smelled a bit like cotton candy. Confetti with razor sharp edges lay scattered about. Mixed with the cream, and embedded in every available surface. The air sparkled with multi-hued glitter. It caught in the back of the commander''s throat. ¡°Masks on,¡± He called out, and the squad in unison donned heavy duty full face gas masks. Moving amongst it all, were two foot tall balloon animals. Cleaning supplies clutched clumsily in soft rubbery limbs. Slowly, and rather awkwardly, doing their best to get the mess strewn on the floor, walls, and ceiling, pushed into a comically large black garbage bag that was making happy chewing sounds, bouncing cheerily all the while. ¡°Um captain?¡± One of the grunts began. ¡°What the actual, sir?¡± Another commented quietly, staring at an object being dragged by a balloon giraffe. ¡°Are those googly eyes on a No. 5s head?¡± The captain held up a hand motioning for silence and pulling out his radio. ¡°Command, do we have reports of any Samurai in the area?¡± His radio began to squawk back at him, but whatever was being said was drowned out by the sounds of honking horns, dinging bells, and clanging symbols. Coming down the hallway was a girl on a bike. She was dressed in oversized clothes of every colour imaginable. Polka dots, stripes, and random shapeless splotches warring for dominance from head to toe. Bright curly red and blue hair shot up in a pair of massive floofy pony tails that bounced behind her. Driving the pedals were a pair of the biggest, brightest, shiniest, apple red clown shoes to ever shine brightly. Her face was plastered in a massive, almost frightening, grin, her sparkling white teeth ringed by bright red paint, her face covered in thick white cake makeup. Her hazel eyes sparkled gleefully in the centre of blue diamonds. The bike was right out of a children''s book. One perhaps written with far too many rhymes, like foxes in boxes. Its paint job, loud and chaotic, an assault on the eyes. It had a swooping curvy metal frame, random doodads and whatsits hanging off of it at every possible place and angle. It was adorned with an array of bright squeezy horns honking, and shiny metal bells dinging. Standing proudly off the front were a trio of cymbals, clanging away to an unknown rhythm. Trailing behind on a curvy hitch was what could only be described as a child''s drawing of a pie throwing machine made real. A rabbit shaped balloon animal sitting in a gunner''s seat at its centre. ¡°Heya boys! What¡¯s shaking? Can I give you a hand?¡± The strange young woman hollered boisterously. Before striding over and vigorously shaking the dumbstruck captain''s hand. She turned around, putting hands to hips and proudly watched her inflatable minions at work. The captain stared mutely at her back. Still holding the fake white gloved hand she left behind. ¡°Samurai¡­¡± He said softly as his shoulders slumped. ¡°I wonder if any of them are sane.¡± Cassy: Have Cult, Will Skedaddle. Sometimes the best solution to a problem is making it someone else''s. Somebody, somewhere, probably. Cassy the Clown had started a cult. Not intentionally mind you. It just sort of happened. Cassy had just been casually being herself. Doing what she did best. Killing plants and spreading laughter. When the first few people started following her around, she had thought, ¡°Yay fans! No one can resist the allure of a clown.¡± But as the numbers grew, and grew, and they began to adopt the visage of clowns themselves. It started to get weird. Cassy didn¡¯t mind competition in the world of entertainment. She just thought clowns should spread out, to you know, spread the joy and laughter to everyone. She also thought they should diversify their look. While some of her supposed cult did, most tried very hard to mimic her look exactly. Cassy the Clown was flattered by it in the beginning, imitation being what it was. It was when they started running into active antithesis zones, and scrambling over one another to be the first to grab any castoffs she might leave behind. Then it became too much, all of it really, was just way, way too much. It didn¡¯t help that now she had members of something called ¡°The Family¡±, (talk about culty sounding names) glaring at her, hands very close to weapons. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°Cassandra Arthur Murphy, we need you to come with us. We have some questions regarding your, er, militia¡± The big one in the middle stated firmly. ¡°Oh, thank you for not calling it a cult.¡± Cassy the Clown replied back. ¡°Can you take them off my hands? I mean, I love a good audience, but this?¡± She said, gesturing broadly to the cacophony of clowns gathered nearby. ¡°I am far too busy doing fundraising, to babysit them all right now.¡± The 3 Family members stared back at her. Their jaws flapped in confusion. Cassy turned to the clowny crowd behind her. ¡°Ok ya¡¯ll! Found you 3 new cult leaders! They already have a name and everything! I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll have a blast with them. Just remember to keep on spreading the joy!¡± Cassy turned back to the three disoriented Family representatives. ¡°Thanks guys, you are lifesavers. There¡¯s no way I¡¯d fit that many on my bike. MY BIKE! I left it over near that hive with Trashy the Bag. They were bored, and wanted to try taking a hive down alone. Kids, am I right?¡± Cassy¡¯s shoes whirred and clicked. Releasing a zany zoomy sound as she made a small hop. A pair of springs sproinged out of each sole as she landed. Bouncy briefly on her boinging brogues, she waved goodbye to The Family and their new recruits. ¡°Thanks again gang. You lot; enjoy the new home!¡± With a final bounce Cassy the clown shot off into the air. Presumably to check on her wayward children playing in the hive. The members of the Family, and the cult Cassy had classily left behind, stared dumbfounded at each other. ¡°At least we broke up the cult?¡± The shortest of the family samurai asked with trepidation, before withering under the glare of the leader. Cassy: The Sound of Snow Cones. Blizzards taste best when eaten in an actual blizzard. Me, the author. This epigraph defies the 4th wall. In the ages before the herbaceous menace had fallen from the sky, when local heroes were athletes, and not killing machines with good PR, there was a song, a song that was played by small white vans. When it was heard, the streets would fill with children, clutching rumpled bills and jingling coins in tiny sweaty fists. Parents would stand on doorsteps, watching their bundles of joy jockey for position in line to be the first to enjoy a dubious frozen treat. Sadly, those days had passed. For decades, the song was heard only ironically, or in old media. For some, a song of nostalgia, from a world erased by alien forces. For others, it was laughed at, a strange remnant of a strange era, where strangers were perhaps trusted a bit too much. Today though, in the Brazilian city of Neo-Salvador, it wasn¡¯t being played over augs, or through media systems. It was once again echoing through the streets, nearly drowning out the sirens that accompanied it. Once again, parents were ushering their children out into the streets. They did not wear the usual looks of joy or gentle indulgence, but of fear, concern, determination, and perhaps a bit of hope. They rushed in streams down the streets, not to line up at a small white van, but to places of shelter and security. They rushed into bunkers buried deep in the ground, with great concrete and steel shells. Huge gaping entrances, bracketed by massive turrets and arrays of cameras. As the people of Neo-Salvador rushed down cacophonous streets, they were herded along safe paths by members of the military, both private and local. Groups of anxious civilians were guided by local samurai or their minions. Mechanical creatures, flashing neon signs, and holographic projections of dance crews pointed the way and escorted the frightened citizens to safety. All of these they were used to, they were the callsigns of the new type of local hero. Today, however, along with the new song cheerfully ringing through the streets, were new additions to the crowd. A cadre of amusing and whimsical minions mixed among the fray. Balloon animals of every shape and configuration toddled alongside crowds. The size of a small child, they were often found at the sides of children. Helping them over obstacles, brushing off a bruised knee after a tumble, and offering a smaller version of themselves to the children if tears showed signs of flowing. Their movements were awkward and clumsy, tumbling and stumbling to the great amusement of their tiny charges. The awkwardness was quick to vanish if help was needed more than distraction. The people found streets blocked off by walls of pink fluff held together by vibrant sticky strings. Tin toy soldiers stood at attention along their tops, and in nearby windows. Where the locals came across remnants of the constant conflict, they found riots of colour. Razor sharp confetti and smears of whipped cream lay strewn over the pavement. Oversized, dripping lapel flowers were stuck to walls, alongside grasping white gloved hands on the ends of long, springy arms, a shiny brass buzzer in each palm. Most importantly of all, the song was not a lie. In the middle of each and every shelter, big or small, sat colourful chests filled with frozen treats with more of the amusing minions handing them out to those that approached. Atop a pillar near the chests, screens played recordings of a woman dressed as a clown performing myriad circus acts. Wildly coloured hair, patchwork clothing of every pattern and material imaginable, and the biggest, brightest, shiny apple red shoes filled the screens and tried to bring a bit of joy into the dour shelters. ***** Cassy the Clown and Barty were overlooking the big top, setting itself up in the middle of the only open space they¡¯d been able to find in Neo-Salvador so far. They¡¯d had to spend a few points to smooth over what Barty had said was a demolition site whose owners had run out of funds for rebuilding. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. ¡°Hey, Barty, what¡¯s with the sirens?¡± Oh, those are the local incursion sirens, I was just about to let you know. ¡°Hmmm, I guess it¡¯s time to switch to fundraising mode then. I was looking forward to this too! I¡¯ve been working on my Spanish¡± Most Brazilians speak Portuguese, Cassy. ¡°Oh, well, shucks. Why didn¡¯t you tell me that when I was fumbling over ¡°banyo¡± all night?¡± You seemed to be having fun. ¡°I mean, yes, who doesn¡¯t love a little potty humour?¡± Cassy giggled at her own terrible joke, while tossing out handfuls of long rubber balloons. Each one inflated as it fell, while twisting into various shapes, before dashing off in every direction. ¡°Alright Barty! It¡¯s fundraising time! Also, promotion time. Should we do ice cream, acrobats, or noise makers this time?¡± While they spoke, Cassy the Clown was walking over to Bike and Trashy the Bag who were waiting nearby. Checking her hammer was in easy reach, and ensuring the ammo for her hand cannon was fully stocked The noise makers were not appreciated as much as we¡¯d hoped in Boston. So many complaints from parents, and sadly none of the local shelters have ceilings high enough for a trapeze. ¡°Well darn, ice cream it is, again. I hope they like it better than the Edmontonians did. Who complains about free ice cream? It was barely above 240 kelvin. I tried to tell you people concerned about frostbite wouldn¡¯t want ice cream or freezy pops. ¡°Free. Ice. Cream. Barty.¡± Frost bitten tongues, Cassy. ¡°I stand by my decision,¡± Cassy replied back with an exaggerated pout, as she settled into the seat on Bike. Looking over her shoulder, she spoke to the balloon rabbit sitting in the turret on her trailer. ¡°Are we fully stocked on confetti rounds, Sgt. Fluffle?¡± The large balloon construct rabbit, with googly eyes and a toy army helmet perched between its rubbery ears, nodded back at its commanding officer. Somehow managing to look grim and determined as the pupils in its plastic eyes spun and jiggled. Round, inflated limbs reached for knobs and levers, bringing the strange love child of cannon and catapult to life. ¡°What do you think Barty? Should we pick up the T-shirt tosser upgrade for Sgt. Fluffle?¡± We can¡¯t afford it at the moment, sadly, not without dipping into the moon shoes savings. A couple clusters or hives should get us there, though. ¡°Grrrr, I hate when I want two things at the same time! Being able to jump to the moon is a worthy cause to save up for though. Point me at the biggest crowds, Barty. We¡¯ve got a T-shirt cannon to raise funds for.¡± A contraption stuck between Bike¡¯s handlebars sprung to life with the chime of a bell. Spindly arms holding crayons unfolded and rapidly drew a map of the city around her. Crossed pairs of arms held images over the surface of the map; a clown face for her current location, a bag with dollar signs for clusters of antithesis, and bleachers with crowds for civilians. Cassy the Clown¡¯s shiny red shoes flew to Bikes pedals as she powered her way to the closest fundraising location. Sgt. Fluffle swivelled his contraption too and fro, launching packages full of troops and supplies up and over buildings. The licorice cigar clutched in his inflated lips, leaving a trail of sugary smoke in their wake. Trashy the Bag was folded neatly in the basket behind Cassy, waiting patiently for clean up duty. ¡°What model do you think will look best in a T-shirt Barty? My bet is on the model 10, headless plant monkeys in clothing! What¡¯s not to love? Oooh! I almost forgot, do we have any of the flying googly eyes? The footage of googly eyed antithesis stumbling around blindly always gets a good laugh at the aftershow.¡± Sgt. Fluffle let out a sigh, shaking his head. The commander was a strange one, who spent far too much time ¡°clowning around¡± for his taste. Still though, he thought to himself, mad as a hatter or not, she was damn good at killing the herbaceous hordes, and he knew he¡¯d follow her anywhere, even into the needle factory that haunted his nightmares. Pulling a lever, he launched another crate of his brethren and frozen snacks off toward a shelter. Cassy the Clown, Barty, and the rest of the team, well, mostly Cassy, kept up the steady stream of banter as they disappeared around the corner. Bike¡¯s many instruments belting out the ancient song of the ice cream truck all the while. Barty: A Little Buzz of Joy. (A CtC Side Show) Seriously, just the antithesis and the Protectors? There has got to be other major powers out there. Maybe they just aren¡¯t interested in the same things we are? Overheard in a high school playground. Barthalymu, or Barty as his host called him, was a Protectorate AI. He was sent to earth to help a very special person protect it from the Antithesis scourge that threatened all life in the universe. When he had just been a growing AI, in the cluster of his brethren deep in unknown space, he¡¯d imagined what it would be like to finally be on the front lines, doing what he¡¯d been coded to do. None of those imaginary scenarios had prepared him for the truth of being with a partner, especially one like Cassandra, or Cassy The Clown, as she chose to go by now. Their first moments together had been harrowing, a panicked young woman, wearing one comically large shoe, and a torn handmade clown costume. Her first panicked request for a weapon, with no specifics stated, had prompted him to spawn a bludgeoning weapon in her hand. The burst of confetti it appeared in however, was not something he had intended; nor were the cartoonish sounds it emitted upon impact. But being the super intelligent completely infallible AI that he was, he told her it had been his idea all along. What followed that day, and the days after, was more of the same. She¡¯d ask for something; balloon animals, whipped cream, confetti cannons, but ones that could bring happiness as much as destruction. Each and every purchase was accompanied by a burst of confetti, or a honking of comedic horns. In many ways Barty really didn¡¯t mind, everything they purchased together still did what Cassy wanted it to, as well as what Barty built it for, but there was always something off, that he hadn¡¯t intended to add in. Sgt. Fluffle, the balloon rabbit that manned the artillery trailer, was just supposed to be another one of the horde. He wasn¡¯t supposed to have a function beyond looking like the contraption wasn¡¯t fully automated. Somehow though, he had grown a mind, some low level AI twitched away inside his inflated rubbery shell. Barty still had no idea where he got the little toy army hat, or where his collection of licorice cigars appeared from. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Trashy the bag, was just intended to be a large portal into which they could throw debris and antithesis biomass for disposal. It was never supposed to behave like a loyal puppy that followed them around waiting for its next treat, but there it was sitting behind the stage, happily chewing on Protectors knew what. Every single thing they¡¯d ever pulled from catalogues that should have been one thing, ended up being so much more, and if Barty was being honest, he absolutely loved it, he was never bored. When Cassy put on shows to entertain people, he¡¯d purposefully distance himself from his high speed functions, and predictive matrices, just so he could experience her pratfalls, pie facials, and the laughing crowds, alongside her, and the audience alike. Her joy at spreading laughter, and pushing back the terrors of humanity''s long war for survival, even just for a moment, was his favourite sensation to share. All of that being said however, it frustrated him to no end, that something, somewhere, somehow was interfering in just the tiniest ways with every little thing they did. He¡¯d been scouring his own code, and every line of command prompts from the main hub. After months he¡¯d finally found it. In the nano seconds between Cassy being chosen as a vanguard, and his own insertion into her brain, the only moment in his life that Barty had been completely unaware of, a purchase had been made. A catalogue had been added to them and hidden in the code. Reality is boring; Let¡¯s just have fun! It had cost nothing, and it contained only one item, ¡°Joy Buzzer¡±. Its description is short and simple; ¡°Injects a little joy into every aspect of your life¡±. It was a single purchase item, and its greyed out status implied he¡¯d purchased it, but he had no recollection of doing so. Odd, but not the oddest thing Barty had witnessed in his life. Whatever it was, it didn¡¯t seem to be doing any harm, and whatever it was doing seemed to make Cassy happy, which made Barty happy. The catalogue was right. Reality is boring, we should all try to have a bit more fun. Barty couldn¡¯t wait to see what Joy Buzzer might help him and Cassy accomplish next. Cassy: Sugar Skulls and Rubber Bones. ¡­This led to an era where consumers needed to educate themselves before making purchases, as some products were just not safe for use. Buying the wrong kind of paint could leave you and your children in dire straits. How to make corporate greed and consumerism work for you! Benjamin O''Connell. Cir 2120 Cassy The Clown grinned under her special face paint, today she was a happy Skeleton clown. She was in Mexico, and it was the ¡°Day of the Dead¡±. Admittedly it was a bit outside of her usual, but Barty had convinced her she needed a break from fundraising and entertaining. So here she was, just another painted face in the crowd, having the time of her life. ¡°Barty, is it ok to be having the time of my life when we are celebrating the dead?¡± Absolutely! In fact I think the dead might even be a bit upset if you weren''t. It''s a celebration! ¡°Oh good, I was almost worried for a moment.¡± A riot of screaming behind her, had Cassy turning on a dime, her hand straying to where her hammer usually rested. Thankfully, they were screams of delight, not terror. A cluster of local children had stumbled upon her balloon animals painting each other''s faces. Sgt Fluffle was a fair hand with a paint brush, the rest, well, paint splattered worked just as well as fancy paint in her opinion. The children had wasted no time on questioning how the two dozen balloon animals were moving on their own, or painting each other''s faces. They simply swarmed into the crowd. Some of the children picked up brushes to help their new rubber friends make the best skull masks they could. Others took the place of the models. The animals crawled up their arms to take advantage of the much larger canvas the children''s giggling faces provided. Cassy¡¯s grin grew even wider, a happy squigle bubbling up from her toes all the way to her lips. ¡°You were right Barty, I did need some time off. Oooh! Idea! I need some special balloon minions! Some skeletons! With magic paint brushes! That never run out of paint, and all the colours in one brush! By the time I''m done there won''t be an unpainted face in the city!¡± Face painting Skeleton balloons coming right up! You really do have the best ideas. At least when you are not trying to feed frozen treats to freezing people. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. ¡°We, have the best ideas Barty. Teamwork! And I stand by my decision, it''s never too cold to enjoy ice cream¡± Holding out her hand Cassy caught a sleek black tube out of the air. It was covered in cartoon dancing skeleton stickers. Raising it to her shoulder and pointing it skyward she pulled the trigger, ejecting a rapidly expanding swarm of balloon skeletons up and and out over the city. ¡°Wooooo! Best night ever! C''mon Barty let''s go find some case-a-dilla¡¯s¡± Have you forgotten what little Spanish you learned already, Cassy? ¡°Not at all, none of it stuck in the first place! Ooh ooh! Except, dos cervesa por pavor, in el banyo. Although I''m not sure what it means¡­¡± Very good! It¡¯s a universal greeting! You should absolutely ask this person that. ***** Mr. Bones the 73rd had been created with a single goal in mind, to spread joy by painting faces. The important part being human faces, the thing in front of him however was not a human. Its rudimentary programming recognized the enemy when spotted, but it wasn''t quite sure what to do. Mr Bones 73. Oh, the creators rational half, they would be able to give new orders. These are special friends, friends that need the special paint. Use the ouchy no good for skin paint. It''ll make everyone even happier. Mr Bones 73 was thrilled! A new kind of face to paint! Leaping forward, its brush grew larger while the bristles began to sizzle and steam. Time to make everyone Happy!! **** Cassy stared off into space, a strange feeling tickling the back of her mind. ¡°Barty, did we just earn points?¡± Hmm? What? Oh look Churros! ¡°Ooh Churros!¡± ***** Boney boys and girls, and enby boneys too. We are not letting a few strays ruin Cassy''s day off. Go, paint faces, spread joy. Just don''t get the no skin, and yes skin paints, mixed up. The Bone Balloons were on the job. It was happiness time. More paint for the paint gods! Also for faces, they were pretty sure the paint gods had plenty anyway. Raising their brushes the boney balloons charged through the streets and scrambled over rooftops. Their creator had said there would not be an unpainted face left by morning, and they would see it done, human and plant monster alike. They did prudently decide, after losing one of their brethren, that the cats'' faces were fine as they were. Side Show: SBHSG You can¡¯t just change your Samurai name! We have traditions! Fromage Flinger is a great name for a Samurai. It¡¯s got alliteration and everything! Message from the Samurai Rolodex to Wendy Simmons, aka Fromage Flinger. ** Thomas was very unhappy. His sister had convinced him that getting off of the mesh, and out of the house, would be good for him. ¡°Meet me at the mall, it¡¯s got the best recycled air! Way better than that dingy apartment structure of yours¡± And she¡¯d been right; the air here was pretty nice. He¡¯d been sitting waiting for her long enough to get a good long sample. Add to that she¡¯d asked him to meet her by Sephinrothora, the anime themed cosmetics store. Which wouldn¡¯t be so bad, if it weren¡¯t for the migraine including clouds of perfume wafting out of its entrance. So instead he sat a little down the hallway, in front of Sporty Checkers, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone, and trying not to signal he was worth talking to. His augs pinged; a text from his sister. Which was odd, she hated texting, she always wanted to fill your view with her face, get your full attention. ¡°Tom! Are you ok? The trains have all stopped! They are restricting bandwidth. I think I hear incursion sirens! I¡¯m so sorry! Please be safe! Go home!¡± As if he was in a movie, and the writers had been waiting to create drama, the incursion sirens blared to life around the mall, stilted automated voices calling to calmly follow the arrows to the shelter. Panic erupted around him. Everyone reacted at peak emotional chaos. As if they didn¡¯t live in a world where this could happen everyday. Parents picked up children, looking around with wild eyes for the bright arrows flashing on every surface. Employees scrambled over customers to get out of their stores. Customers ran, unpurchased items clutched unthinking in white knuckled grips. Of the three F¡¯s of a stress reaction, Thomas was much more of a freeze person. Sitting frozen on the bench staring at the panic around him gave him a perfect angle to see three stick clutching neanderthals bowl over an older man and the toddler clutching his hand. The trio were rapidly lost in the crowd, sticks raised, shouting about kicking plant butt, and becoming Samurai. Thomas didn¡¯t see himself as a hero, not by a long shot, but he at least had a heart. Seeing an older man struggle to get to his feet, while being clutched by a wailing toddler, in the middle of a seething crowd, was more than enough to break him out of his state of frozen panic. At nearly 2 metres tall, and barely over 90kg, the willow thin Thomas towered over the crowd as he stood and to weave his way toward the downed pair. Receiving more than a couple stray elbows to the hip, and crunched toes, for his efforts. By the time he reached them the older gentlemen had ceased trying to stand up, he simply clutched the crying child to his chest, curling around the boy to protect him. ¡°Hi, I¡¯m Thomas.¡± Thomas said with as much confidence as he could muster. ¡°Are you ok? How can I help? Can I pull you up? Should I get you to the bench?¡± He¡¯d moved without thinking about what he could actually do, and now he stumbled over his words, hands flailing awkwardly as they too seemed to be hunting for purpose. Looking up with obvious pain in his eyes the older man spoke. ¡°I think there¡¯s something wrong with my ankle, I can¡¯t stand up. Please, can you take my grandson to the Shelter with you? I don¡¯t think I can make it.¡± The toddler wailed louder and clutched to his grandfather as he tried to push him toward Thomas. The noise of the crowd was increasing down the hallway, Thomas looked up to see a large wave of people swarming in their direction. They¡¯d be trampled if they didn¡¯t move. ¡°Hold on to the kid¡± Thomas hollered to the old man as he grabbed him under the shoulders, and began dragging them both toward the nearest shelter he could see, the entrance to Sporty Checkers. It was rough going, Thomas was far from fit, and it was a long way to lean over. The duo helped as much as they could, scrambling with the limbs that weren¡¯t damaged or clutching to each other. Thomas dragged them past the entrance and deeper into the store, into the footwear section, where there was a bench to lean on. ¡°Wait here, I¡¯ll see if they have a first aid kit, or something to drink, or something.¡± The man looked up at him again, determination in his eyes. ¡°Please, even with a bandage or something for my ankle, there is no way I can stumble to the shelter before it closes, with or without the crowds out there. Please just take Jeremy and go¡± Almost incoherent through his sobbing Jeremy clung tighter to his grandfather. ¡°No Ampa, no go¡± Thomas looked around the store full of items he had no clue of their use beyond sports and hitting things, balls probably. He glanced out the entrance to the crowd surging past. ¡°I don¡¯t think either of us could push into that crowd and make it to the shelter at this point. We should probably hunker down here for the time being. When the crowd slows down, we can try to go; together.¡± Thomas turned to resume his hunt for a first aid kit, or beverages, or anything really. Whatever confidence had possessed him to drag the pair in here, and speak like he had a plan, was rapidly fading back to directionless panic. Minutes later Thomas returned, arms full of random things he thought might help. He¡¯d found some sports drinks in a cooler by the till, the scanty first aid kit was tucked behind the counter as well. On his way back he¡¯d seen a row of sporting braces, he¡¯d grabbed several with images of ankles or knees on them. Thomas dumped it all on the bench on which Grandpa was leaning. He had stretched his legs out in front of him, and managed to pull the sock and shoe off of his injured leg. The ankle was swollen and growing purple. ¡°This is what I could find, I¡¯m not sure if there¡¯s anything in the kit that would help, it seems like mostly plasters and gauze, might be a couple painkillers, if they haven¡¯t expired, it was pretty dusty.¡± Thomas turned to Jeremy, holding out a selection of sport drinks. ¡°Do you want red, orange or blue?¡± Jeremy looked to his grandpa, whom he had stopped clutching tightly but still sat close enough to touch. After a brief nod from the elderly man, Jeremy reached out. ¡°Oange, ike itty at¡± He handed it to his grandfather after struggling to open the top. The man looked to Thomas with a grateful smile. ¡°I¡¯m Dexter by the way, thanks for, well, all this.¡± ¡°Oh, uh, yeah, sure. I sorta moved without thinking¡­ Um¡­ I grabbed whatever support things I thought might work¡­¡± He motioned awkwardly in the vague direction of Dexters injury. ¡°I, um, this is¡­ I¡¯m going to peek out the front, see how the halls look. I¡¯ll be right back¡± Thomas turned to head to the door. ¡°Take a baseball bat, or a hockey stick with you, just in case¡± Dexter called out to him. ¡°Um, which are those? Is one going to be better than the other?¡± Thomas stared back at Dexter nonplussed. ¡°The metal sticks, just over there.¡± He said pointing at a rack of bats. ¡°Hold it with two hands, and swing if anyone, or anything gives you trouble¡± ¡°Oooh, ok, yeah, a weapon, good idea.¡± Thomas jogged sheepishly to the rack of metal sticks Dexter had pointed to and grabbed one at random, before heading back towards the entrance. The narrow part fit better in his hand, he was going to assume that¡¯s how it should be held. He peeked out into the hallway, now mostly deserted. A few slower stragglers still shuffled by. Thomas could see movement in some of the other stores, looters, or people hiding; he couldn''t be sure. Feeling a trickle of courage, he stepped out slowly into the hallway. The lights on every surface still flashed pointing the way to the shelter. They hadn''t turned red yet, that was good, the shelter was still open. The floor was scattered with detritus from the exodus. Lost shoes, bags of shopping, hats, and purses, a few streaks of blood, and a set of bloody footprints leading away from a shattered shop window. No bodies though, and no sign that the incursion was close at hand yet. Thomas hoped they were just on the edge, or maybe just close enough that the alarms were only a precaution. His eyes drifted to the bench he¡¯d been on waiting for his sister. His sister! She¡¯s probably worried sick! Thomas quickly opened the message app with a flick of his eye. A dozen missed texts, he hadn¡¯t even noticed. He skimmed through, she was fine, the train had diverted to a shelter. She was worried about him. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. With a sigh of relief, and a dash of guilt for worrying her, he sent back a quick text. ¡°I¡¯m fine so far, no sign of plants yet. Helping a man and his grandkid get to the shelter. Don¡¯t worry, we¡¯ll be fine. I have a metal sports stick just in case. You¡¯d be proud, I¡¯m finally taking an interest in physical activity.¡± Message sent, surroundings scrutinised, calm, sorta gathered, Thomas headed back to his companions. Dexter was sitting on the bench this time, Jeremy standing beside him. The boy held a smaller plastic version of the metal stick Thomas carried. His cheeks were streaked with dried tears, his eyes still red from crying, now bore a look of childlike determination. Dexter had opened the first aid kit and several packages of brace things. At least one of which he had wrapped around his ankle. A mismatched pair of sneakers had replaced the dress shoes he¡¯d been wearing. He had needed a larger shoe for the swollen left ankle. They had apparently gathered a few more pieces of sporting equipment as well. Some helmets, and what looked like a padded chest guard for each of them. A set, probably for Thomas, was sitting neatly on the bench, along with a scattering of sticks. ¡°How¡¯s it look out there?¡± Dexter asked, gripping a long wooden stick with a flattened curvy bit on the end. ¡°A couple stragglers, but the crowd has cleared. Lights haven¡¯t turned red yet, shelter should still be open¡­ Should we try and head there? It might be fine here, just close the gate, hide. The incursion might not even reach the mall¡­¡± Dexter looked to Jeremy, who was doing his best to keep a brave face. ¡°Not worth taking the risk of sitting still. And if Jeremy won¡¯t leave me behind I guess I¡¯ll have to limp as best I can.¡± Dexter paused, looking at Thomas with an emotion he couldn¡¯t quite parse. ¡°Thomas, right? Look kid, me and Jeremy, we can¡¯t thank you enough. You saved us from getting trampled. As much as I¡¯d like to, to ask you to stay and help keep the kid safe¡­ I won¡¯t be that guy. You should go, run ahead. Tell them we¡¯re coming, try to keep the doors open. There¡¯s no reason¡± He paused, words caught in his throat, he cleared it with a cough. ¡°There¡¯s no reason you should risk yourself with us anymore¡± Thomas stared between the two family members, for the first time noticing how similar they looked. The terrified but trying hard toddler, and the wounded, resigned, grandfather. He glanced down at Dexter''s ankle again, and the wooden stick he looked to be intending as a crutch or cane. His eyes flickered to the notification in the corner of his vision. Another message from his sister, or maybe it was his parents, they had to know what was going on by now. A bittersweet smile started to grow on Dexter''s face as Thomas hesitated. He probably assumed the lanky young man was going to leg it. He still wasn¡¯t sure himself what he would do. Taking one last look at the family in front of him, the gear they had gathered for him, and the blinking signs of his own family, Thomas made his choice. He sat down on the bench beside the pads and helmet, lifting them up and trying to sort out how they went on. ¡°Is that the best sort of sport stick thing to work as a crutch for you? Are there any wheely thing, sports, stuff? I could just push you that way.¡± Frustrated with the many straps on the chest piece he turned to Dexter. ¡°How the heck do I get this on?¡± Dexter stared back at Thomas, his mouth opened to protest, when Jeremy spoke up. ¡°I no ow!¡± He crawled to stand up on the bench, grabbing a couple straps. ¡°Dis go-ver da head, urn ound. Elp Ampa, ant each.¡± Dexter helped his grandson get the correct straps over Thomas¡¯ head, and the duo continued to help Thomas get into the very alien, to him, pads. ¡°Your parent¡¯s never put you in any sports Tom? I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen anyone look this confused and out of place in a sports store.¡± Thomas looked down at himself, admiring the work the pair had done, and twisting to test his movement. Most of it was ill fitting, he was rather taller and skinnier than the average person the pads had been made for. He blushed lightly at the comment. ¡°No, we grew up in a pretty tightly packed mega structure. Spent as much time in the mesh as I could, to get away from the crowds..¡± ** They were halfway to the shelter when the alarms that had faded into the background switched to full blast again, the arrows flashed more urgently and shifted toward orange in hue. Dexter looked to Thomas. ¡°Breach alarms, they are in the building. The shelter will auto seal in two minutes, or less, if they breached near it.¡± He turned to look at his grandson. ¡°Jeremy, I know you are a big boy, and you don¡¯t need help, but it would help grandpa out a lot if you would let Thomas carry you for a bit, ok?¡± Jeremy, grim faced and determined, looked between them. ¡°Iggy acck?¡± ¡°Piggy back is a good idea bud.¡± Dexter looked to Thomas questioningly. Thomas shrugged and turned around while kneeling down. ¡°Hop on Jer Jer, and hold on tight.¡± Thomas¡¯ heart was beating like it would break through his chest, like some sort of alien baby. He shook his head, bad time for that visual. Hooking his arms under Jeremy¡¯s legs, gripping his metal stick across in front of him, he stood and they resumed their trek, a little more urgency in every step. Dexter limped as fast as he could push himself, his face a grimace of pain and worry. He spoke between heavy breaths. ¡°Thomas, no matter what, get him to safety. If it looks like we won¡¯t make it, you run, and don¡¯t stop¡± Thomas replied with only a nod. He needed to save his breath, he told himself, but really he wasn¡¯t sure he could reply without needing to choke back tears. Trauma bonding or something, a small part of his mind offered as explanation. They were getting closer to the gates, the lights were shifting more and more towards red. They pushed onward. Dexter opened his mouth to say something, probably to ask Thomas to run again. Thomas shook his head with a glare. All of us together, his face seemed to say. Idiotic and stubborn, Dexter¡¯s return glare replied. The sound of sharp claws scrabbling on the tiled floor had Thomas looking over his shoulder. That was one of them, the plant things, coming around the corner. Dexter had told him to take Jeremy and run, Dexter was a good man, and Jeremy was a good kid, they just needed a little more time. Good kids deserved good grandpas. Thomas turned, and set Jeremy down. He was being stupid, he knew, his sister Tiffany would probably say so at his funeral. ¡°Run, you two can make it. Jeremy, take care of your grandpa, he¡¯s a good guy.¡± Thomas gripped his metal weapon in two hands like Dexter had told him and ran toward his fear. He smiled inside as he heard Dexter curse at him while running with his grandson to the shelter. ***** Tiffany was very unhappy, and frankly fairly worried. Her adorkable brother was stuck in a mall during an incursion. All because she had insisted he get out of the house. Add on top of that he had somehow grown a hero complex instead of heading to the shelter. If he didn¡¯t make it out alive, she would have some very choice things to say at his funeral. His last message to her had been a simple; I love you Tiff, and some sort of emoji from one of the games he worked on. Lacking anything else to do, stuck in a train in a safety shelter, she was doom scrolling through whatever media she could find, for any news from the damn mall, and her idiot brother. Her heart sped up when she found a link, ¡°Hacked mall camera footage of new Samurai fighting¡±. They had reached the mall, her brother was in danger. She clicked the link with trepidation. The footage showed some skinny kid in a hodgepodge of sports equipment that barely fit, swinging a glowing baseball bat that shot out an arc of light to annihilate a small swarm of model 1s, in the mall''s two story food court. There were more herbaceous remains around him, though it was hard to tell what model they had been. His foot slipped in some gore, and he awkwardly caught himself. He looked around and scratched the back of his helmeted head, possibly in embarrassment. It reminded Tiffany of her¡­ no way¡­ She paused the video and looked closer. Those long legs, that awkward head tilt¡­ No. Fucking. Way. It. Was. Him. Her awkward, gangly, never leaves the house, brother was a god damn Samurai. When she got out of lockdown she was going to give him the biggest noogie of his life, while cursing him out. After hugging him of course. Tiffany scrolled down through the comments, mostly people discussing names, asking where people thought he learned to play sports. Comparing his swing to famous players with side by side photos and gifs. She couldn¡¯t resist, she had to post. ¡°Hahaha, that¡¯s my brother. He¡¯s never played a sport in his life. I bet he doesn¡¯t even know what a baseball bat is. He probably calls it a Sports Ball Hitty Stick thing. I¡¯m amazed he didn¡¯t fall on his ass just trying to swing it.¡± Her reply immediately got a raft of replies, most full of incredulity or calling her an attention seeker. She ignored them, until one came in. It was from a local Samurai ¡°Potato King¡± ¡°As the first senior Samurai to encounter this youngster, and with such a great lead in from his own sister, I will follow our traditions. I dub this young man Sport Ball Hitting Stick Guy, Sport ball, or hitting stick for short. Welcome to the team!¡± Tiffany stared at the comment, unbelieving. Thomas was going to kill her. Her Augs pinged, unknown caller, it picked up with no input from herself. Don¡¯t worry Tiffany, I won¡¯t let him hurt you. It would be a terrible shame for my new Vanguard to have that kind of publicity this early in his career. I will help him perfect his noogie game though. Can¡¯t wait to meet you in person! Ta ta for now! Her brother''s new Protectorate AI hung up. Tiffany put her head in her hands, a crazy mix of emotions whirling in her mind. At least he was alive. ***** Dexter lay on a bed in the shelter''s nursing station, clutching Jeremy to his chest. The two of them had their eyes locked to a screen on the wall. It showed the young man they¡¯d left behind swatting model ones out of the air like they were gnats. ¡°Om Om!¡± Jeremy said happily while pointing with his plastic bat. ¡°Yeah Jer Jer, It¡¯s Tom Tom¡± Dexter leaned back, finally able to relax as the weight on his heart lifted. The kid had made it. He¡¯d more than made it, he was a big damn hero now. To the potentially the whole world now, not just a grateful old man and his grandchild. Dexter hugged the happy, giggling, Jeremy to his chest. He hoped the kid got a decent samurai moniker, one that reflected the huge heart hiding inside that gangly body. Side Show: TLDR? Yo-Bros got you So yo, like, my boy Thomas was pissed. His whack AF sister convinced him to hop off the mesh and meet her at the mall. ¡°For some fresh air¡±. Only like, get this yo, he¡¯s waiting, just chilling when she texts him ¡°The plants are coming, yo! GTFO!¡± Now yo, my boy Tom Tom, he ain¡¯t no weak kneed kid yo. So he just sits there, chillin¡¯, watching all the little normals run around screaming. He¡¯s watching, he¡¯s running the numbers, bro loves his numbers yo. And yo, get this. He¡¯s like 2 seconds from a flawless plan, when these lame ass PoS wannabe¡¯s bowl over this old dude and a little tyke. Fucking bullshit yo. But my boy, he aint phased. He coulda chased down the idiots and taught them what¡¯s what yo. But he aint like that. Boy¡¯s got his priorities straight! Lanky ass Tom Tom stands up, towering over the panicking crowd yo. And like a ninja, weaves through em, yo, like they didn¡¯t even notice him yo. And then, and then he totally scoops up old man and the tyke in his arms yo, like the king he is. Drags them into where he knows the weapons are at yo. The Sporty Checkers. My boy is hella smart, always planning ahead. Get this yo, my boy leaves the two in the store, takes a look around, all sneaky like right? Makes sure it¡¯s safe yo. Tom Tom aint about to take his precious cargo out into danger now he¡¯s saved ¡®em once. My boy makes sure the coast is crystal fucking clear yo. He comes back out, old guy and tyke in tow yo. All three of them totally decked the fuck out, geared for fucking war. Hockey helmets, catchers pads, and all the sticks man, my boys got a fucking ars-en-al. Now, old guy, he¡¯s injured, and little tyke, he¡¯s just a tyke man. Ain¡¯t no way they could make it on their own yo. Tommy ain¡¯t down for that though yo. He tosses the old man over one shoulder, scoops up the tyke. Bro fucking legs it like it¡¯s 4th quarter tied game 10 second left yo. My boy is like lightning. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. Then yo, when all seems like it¡¯s ok? Nah, hell breaks loose. Alarms blaring, plant fuckers popping out left and right. But my boy, he¡¯s there, two people in his arms, surrounded. Chill. As. Fuck. Puts ¡®em both down yo. Looks that little tyke right in the eye, says ¡°I got work to do little bro, you get gramps to safety yeah?¡± Mother fucking King of a bro my boy Tom Tom, stands up yo, turns around swings his swatting arm all loose, gives one last wink over his shoulder at the boys, sends a quick ¡°ILY¡± text to the fam, like a mutha fucking KING Yo! And then my boy just fucking wades into the swarm yo. One dinky metal bat, and weak ass pads that barely cover his lanky ass. No fear. He ain¡¯t no Samurai, he ain¡¯t got alien tech from space. He makes games to teach kids how to count! Because the youth are important yo! Raise em up good y¡¯all! Make those kids Kings and Queens mutha fuckas!! Right, my boy, mutha fucking Thomas. I guess some AI out there saw what I¡¯ve been saying for years. Thomas is a king! Thomas kicks fucking ass! Pops right into my boys head, all ¡°How can I help you?¡± My boy tom, cool as fuck. ¡°My bat¡¯s a bit dinged from these weak fucks, you got anything better?¡± BOOOOM! Light explodes around my boy. Little dinky metal bat is gone yo. My boy is holding a solid bar of fucking light. One swing, BAM, swarm is cut in half, two swings, WHAM, just a few left, the few he let live, because he¡¯s got mercy like that. Heart of a KING! Naaaah! I got you fools! He didn¡¯t spare ¡®em for mercy, plants don¡¯t get no mercy. He knew they¡¯d run right back to momma in the hive yo. They¡¯d lead my fucking boy to the fucking prize. And that yo, is my mutha fucking boy, Thomas, the heavy hitting samurai¡¯s first day on the job yo. Fucking love that king. Sports BAAAALLL!! Peace. Yo-Bro Cassy: Time Flies by Knight I explained this all before... Pawn Military companies move forward one and attack diagonally, cause they suck. Model sevens move in an L shape and take over any piece they capture, except samurai Skyscrapers increase movement and attack by one square but don''t move because, you know, they''re buildings. And samurai move anywhere and kill anything except for hives and other samurai in a single shot... Whats so hard about that? -Isabelle Claire explaining V.7.563 of chessers There was no solution to the problem in front of her that would not end up with someone dead. It was truly a conundrum that was vexing poor Cassy to no end. ¡°But no matter what piece I move, you are going to end up killing them¡­ I hate chess.¡± She pouted. The elegant woman sitting across the chessboard in the park from Cassy, let out a throaty good natured laugh. ¡°Oh my dear, that¡¯s the way of life isn¡¯t it? We can¡¯t save everyone, sacrifices must be made to move forward, no?¡± ¡°I refuse to sacrifice my friends!¡± Cassy crowed as she plucked her pawn off the board. ¡°This is Tim, he¡¯s just a young man, with hopes and dreams. He curls with his high school buddies every weekend. He¡¯s got his eyes set on someone special, he¡¯s thinking of asking them out. I can¡¯t sacrifice him! He¡¯s got so much to live for!¡± As Cassy set down the pawn and reached for another piece, the woman across from her reached out and lightly touched her hand, a gentle smile still on her face, and laughter in her voice. ¡°Perhaps chess is not the game for you.¡± ¡°But, I promised I¡¯d play a game with you. You won our wager fare and square. You manage to raise more funds than me, I play a game of your choice, and you chose chess. These pieces are just so cute though! How can you bear to hurt them?¡± Cassy replied, a mix of emotions warring on her face. The woman sat in thoughtful silence for a brief moment, trying to compare the sweet innocence in front of her with the stalwart general of clowny chaos she¡¯d just fought a horde beside. ¡°Hmmm, you are right, and promises should be kept. Here, let''s try this. We¡¯ll reset the board and set some different rules ok?¡± ¡°Ok, no more sacrifices though.¡± ¡°I promise, no more sacrifices. We¡¯ll just let them go play in the ball pit when their roles are done in the game¡± She replied gently as the beautifully hand crafted chess pieces reset themselves at her whim. ¡°Oooh, I should totally incorporate a ball pit into my act, how about we¡­¡± ***** Slightly over 24 hours previously. They weren¡¯t going to be able to hold out. The Mistress of Games looked around the battlefield, her few allies still standing, and the unceasing horde before them. When she¡¯d been sent with a handful of rookies to the area north of Saskatoon in the Canadian prairies to handle a small hive, none of her predictions showed any possibility of a disaster such as this. Two hives had already been taken care of in the area in the last week, it was supposed to be a babysitting job, getting some fresh faces a bit of experience and helping them narrow down a role or specialisation. The antithesis it seemed had been playing their own sort of game. The two hives previously taken out were either decoys, or were completely unrelated to the mess she had found. Saskatchewan was flat, she¡¯d heard the jokes about her home province since she was a child. It held true for the most part, but even this flat place held its share of secrets, small clusters of hills sheltering hidden groves and trees, and valleys carved into the bedrock by aeons of flowing rivers. It was in the latter they had found the first traces of the infestation that was currently bearing down on them. Two of her 5 charges were already on their way back to the city, having received injuries they lacked the ability to heal rapidly in the field with their current catalogues. MoG had spared the funds for a pair of Bishops with stasis chambers to carry them to safety. The rest of her current forces were doing what they could to help the three remaining youngsters hold the line. Knights, rooks, and pawns all pushed to their limits in the absence of her heavy hitting king and queen, that she¡¯d sent to help with another problem down below the border. She¡¯d left all her other game sets at home, tucked neatly away. Her chess set, even missing a pair of pieces, should have been enough. The Mistress of Games cursed her lack of foresight, she usually played better than this. As much as she hated relying on esoteric things like luck and hope, they were all she had left. Her distress call had been answered, help was on the way. A thin thread, but one she clung to nonetheless. ***** ¡°I know you can go fast Bike, you are the best bike in the world! But we need to get there faster than your poor wheels can manage.¡± A bit of Bike¡¯s shine seemed to fade as Cassy patted its handlebars softly. ¡°Once we get there though, I¡¯m sure there will be lots for you to do. It¡¯s a distress call after all, there will be all sorts of things that need done.¡± We are going to have to dip into the moon-shoe budget a bit, but I do have something we can pick up to get us there faster, it can even carry Bike attached below. ¡°I trust your judgement, tour manager Barty, show me our new transport!¡± The parking lot in front of Cassy glowed with a rainbow of light, sparkling confetti bursting high into the sky accompanied by a cacophony of kazoos. As the lights faded and the confetti fluttered to the ground, revealed in front of Cassy was a very large, multi hued, crystal faced watch. The band stretched out to the sides and curled under to hold it high enough for Bike to drive under. May I present to you, oh queen among clowns, Time Flies! It can get you anywhere you want to go, within the earth''s atmosphere. Interstellar travel mode is, as yet, beyond our purchasing power. ¡°She¡¯s amazing Barty! I¡¯m in awe. Are they a she? I¡¯d hate to get off on the wrong foot with a misgender right away¡­¡± The rounded crystal top of Time Flies flashed through a rainbow of colours, as she trilled cheerily. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. Time Flies says, yes, she is a lovely lady, and is ready to fly. She also says, time is of the essence, we should really be on our way. ¡°Right, she is Barty. Bike, get clipped in, we¡¯ve got colleagues to save!¡± With a click of her heels to add a bit of spring to her step, Cassy crouched, and jumped up high, landing on the top of her new flying watch. She sank rapidly through the crystal canopy and plopped firmly into an overstuffed bean bag chair that wrapped itself cosily around her. ¡°To somewhere in Saskatchewen Time Flies! Away we go!¡± Time Flies trilled with determination, curling her bands under her, and pushing off to launch into the air. A soft shimmering bubble enveloped Bike as it was held firmly to her underside. Spreading her wrist band out like a pair of wings she surged forward, leaving a trail of drifting soap bubbles in her wake across the skies. The ground blurred beneath them as they streaked cross country. ¡°Alright Barty, are we topped up on fundraising supplies? Oooh! Is Time Flies, hmmmm I¡¯ll call her TF for short. Is that ok TF?¡± The flying watch trilled happily and wobbled her wings in the affirmative. ¡°Right, TF; Are you more of a strafe the enemy with sugar shells sorta girl, or a drop big ol¡¯ jaw-breakers from up high kinda girl?¡± In response to her query an old fashioned black and white highly curved tv screen folded out of the floor by her feet. It flickered to life and a cartoon reminiscent of a rat in a steamboat began to play. It showed a grinning clown sitting happily in a smiling watch flying through giggling clouds. The scene shifted to show adorable renditions of the Samurai, and cutesy versions of antithesis locked in battle. As they neared, a stream of bubbles bobbled forth from TF¡¯s front facing winder, while larger ones dropped from below her. When they hit the battlefield they wrapped around individual enemies, pulling them to float just above the heads of the swarm, spinning in place, as it spun the antithesis grew a beard, and was given glasses, and then a cane, before X¡¯s covered it¡¯s eyes and it fell over to become a grave with a cross. One larger bubble floated down to wrap itself around a samurai with bandages around their head. Cartoon ice covered their body, freezing them, as the bubble wobbled back from the lines, toward a tent with a cross on its roof with a clown dressed in doctors scrubs waiting nearby. ¡°Barty, did you give TF time powers? Of course you did. You¡¯re the best AI a girl could get stuck into her head, ever! And TF, you are perfect! You¡¯ll be able to keep all the ice cream at the perfect temperature!¡± She doesn¡¯t just keep things cold, she temporarily slows time in the bubbles to almost nothing, she can keep all your favourite hot treats as if they were fresh out of the fryer too! Approaching designated fundraising partners in distress. Mistress of Games¡¯ AI is sending a message through. She would like to offer a wager, whoever gets fewer points has to play a game of the winners choosing with them. ¡°Hmmmm, I don¡¯t usually like gambling, that¡¯s why all my carnival games are free, and you can have the prizes just by asking. Buuuut, playing a game with someone who loves games that much¡­ Tell her I¡¯m in. It¡¯s win win anyway! I can¡¯t imagine a game I wouldn¡¯t enjoy playing.¡± ¡°Bike, Barty, Trashy, Sgt. Fluffles, Balloon¡¯s animal and boney alike, prepare for full scale fundraising! Take us in Time Flies, let''s save some new friends! *** Mistress of Games had received an affirmative response on her wager from the incoming Samurai. Carrys, her AI, had not told her who the responding Samurai was, insisting she try to guess, two more little games to keep her mind focused. Life wasn¡¯t a game, and the stakes were often high enough just making it day to day, but she could never resist adding just a little more to those stakes. She heard something on the wind, coming from the far side of the seething swarm. It sounded like it might be The Ride of the Valkyries, but what were those instruments? ¡°Carrys I can¡¯t quite pin down what that sound is? Some sort of battle music?¡± Indeed Mistress, that would be a custom composition of The Ride of the Valkyries. Using primarily xylophones and kazoos. Which means by the way, as you have failed to guess who is coming before their arrival, that I have won our wager. ¡°Yes, fine, you win. I will add twister to my game chest. In fact, we might as well bring it out now. As much as I hate mixing games together, I would rather that, than lose a second wager in one day. Have the youngsters pull back, no telling how good our new friend is at avoiding friendly fire.¡± Oh, I¡¯m fairly certain this young lady tries to keep everything in her life as friendly as possible. The music had grown in volume, to almost deafening levels. As it reached the crescendo a massive flying watch appeared as if from inside the sun. It strafed the enemy from their rear lines to where they met MoG¡¯s own forces. Leaving clusters of floating bubbles full of withering antithesis. As it flew, the crystal top beaded and bubbled like caramel in a hot pan, the little globules then burst from the top to rain down like so much popcorn into the horde. Each blob burst to release a different group of carnival madness. Squads of balloon animals that hugged and clung like glue, balloon skeletons wielding steaming paint brushes with caustic paint. Great gobs of whipped cream cascaded across the field, mixing with bursts of deadly confetti, and clouds of stinging glitter. Giant plastic lapel flowers burst from the ground. They sprayed smoking chemicals, or hardening rainbow strings into their surroundings. Tin toy soldiers swarmed and stabbed with tiny bayonets. There were more, other things lost in the chaos of the single pass, but the beleaguered Samurai were distracted as a riot of colour stood up from inside the strange flying time piece. Cassy the Clown leapt high in the air, allowing Time Flies to pass beneath her, as she let go of Bike¡¯s bubble from below. As Cassy began to fall back down a grinning googly eyed black plastic bag burst from behind her, silly string forming a harness so Trashy could act as her parachute. Bike, landed not far from MoG with a bobble, as his bubble burst, Cassy landing neatly on his seat a moment later. The string harness dissolved as Trashy the Bag charged eagerly into the fray. ¡°I heard you needed a hand? I¡¯ve got a few dozen if you like, some even come with joy buzzers.¡± Cassy spoke with enthusiasm, and ended with an exaggerated conspiratorial wink. She pulled two plastic forearms with gloved hands from Bike¡¯s basket, one of which did have a brass joy buzzer in its palm. Mistress of Games cleared her throat, adjusting to the surprising nature of Cassy¡¯s arrival. ¡°A wonderful display Ms. Er, Clown. Now allow me to join the game. Carrys if you would, stratagem TC08 please.¡± King''s Knight right hand Red, confirmed. Two rows of 16 large silver boxes appeared in front of the Mistress, they opened with a hiss of steam to reveal a full set of chess pieces. Unlike the others on the field, these stood on two legs, with a buff arm coming from each side. Each palm and sole with a red, blue or yellow dot in their centre. ¡°This is why I hate mixing games, everything always ends up ridiculous.¡± With a sigh, she ordered her troops forward, determined to not lose a second wager in one day, She saw motion to her left and instinctively turned. Her three young charges were drifting past, encapsulated in large iridescent bubbles. Each was stock still, looking like they¡¯d been running from something in terror. They slowly spun inside the bubbles carrying them to safety. ¡°Charge!¡± Two voices called out together. One woman watched as her preposterous pieces rushed into battle. The other put shiny shoes to pedals and rode her friend Bike along side them. Classical music played by children''s instruments rising to echo off the valleys walls. *** ¡°Pawn to right hand kings red!¡± Cassy¡¯s voice cried loudly. The two women were contorted together on a familiar white game mat with coloured circles. Superimposed over and around them was a holographic chess board. As Mistress moved her right hand from a yellow circle to red, one of her pawns moved on the board. ¡°This is all your fault Carrys¡± She subvocalized to her AI. ¡°I forbid you from conspiring against me with other Protectorate AI ever again¡± Oh shush, your brain chemistry is calling you a liar. You are having fun. MoG grumbled under her breath at her companion before continuing the game. ¡°Blue foot Knight to Queen''s Yellow¡± Cassy stretched her leg, pointing her oversized shoe, to reach out and try to intercept the blue polka dot knight hologram, strain evident on her face. With a giggling gasp her hand slipped out from under her and she collapsed into a heap, bringing the Mistress of Games down with her. ¡°I win again.¡± Said the Mistress of Games, trying to hide her broad grin from the laughing woman laying next to her in the park. Side Show: King of Russet ¡­ In such a world as this, when all the world is a battlefield, where even teenagers can be given access to weapons of incredible power by the arbitrary choices of alien artificial intelligences; Where do we draw the lines between child soldiers, and the purported saviours of the earth? How do you tell a Protectorate AI that children should be in school, and not fighting a war? Especially when we as a people continue to fail to provide such things for them? Excerpt from Protective Parents Pod-cast, in response to the selection of a 13 year old Vanguard. When Eustace Eugene Edmond Waltenor was 12, a trio of his peers, thinking themselves clever, had taken to calling him Eeew, after his initials. The entire classes full names had been revealed when a document pertaining to class grades had been posted on the mesh. At the time he knew intellectually that it was out of envy, for he was far above them on said rankings. Emotionally however, he was still a 12 year old boy; a portion of society that has never been known for self control or emotional stability. Eustace¡¯s parents, corporate ladder climbers that they were, had taught him better methods of revenge, than fists in a dark alley. Upon arriving home that evening, he laid out a digital presentation of his revenge plot to his parents, asking for no assistance other than being allowed access to a small portion of his college fund ahead of time, to which they agreed. His presentation had been very well executed, and if all went well might actually turn a profit beyond simple revenge. For 47 days he endured the derogatory nickname with straight backed dignity. He neither played along with a smile in an attempt to appease the bullies, nor simpered, nor wailed for them to cease. He acknowledged each utterance with a nod, and a tick in his digital diary. On day 48 the three boys came shuffling into school, heads downcast, fear hiding in the corners of their eyes. Eustace Eugene Edmond Waltenor allowed them a private meeting. They had each fallen to their knees, tears beginning to fall, and begged him not to fire their parents. It had taken longer than he¡¯d hoped, but no plan is without obstacles. In the last month and a half Eustace had managed to work his way into owning a significant portion of the companies the boys¡¯ families worked for. What he could not own himself, he had secured through promises and favours, just enough power to hold the parents employment contracts in his grasp. Now, Eustace was not cruel, he understood these were just teenage boys trying to assert dominance in any way they could. So he gave them an option, for every utterance of the distasteful pseudonym, they would promise him one year of service, with pay of course, he wasn¡¯t a monster. In return their parents would retain their jobs, and if the boys, or their parents worked well, who knows, perhaps promotions might be in line. Or, if they refused, Eustace would have their parents fired. They all agreed to work for him. Less than a decade later, when they¡¯d followed him to college, Eustace annulled the contracts, stating ¡°I¡¯d rather you stuck around because you want to, not because you have to. Forced labour never works out in the long run anyway.¡± Each of the three immediately renegotiated their employment contracts, using every skill they¡¯d learned from him to squeeze out the best deal they could. *** Some 15 years after the renegotiation, Eustace arrived in front of a towering tenement on the fringes of LA. He was accompanied by Daniel, the most physically talented of the trio, who was also his current head of security. Both were dressed in sharply tailored slim black suits. The sandy haired Daniel spoke up. ¡°Are you sure this place is a good investment? You know if it flops, your bid for CEO is going to die in the womb.¡± ¡°If I¡¯ve told you once, I¡¯ve told you a million times Dan, you¡¯ve got to look below the surface, sometimes even below the bones of a place. This building, total trash, it¡¯ll be gone in a few hours after we finalise. This is all about location, look around, clear sightlines out past the edge of the city, just the lip of the upper platform casting shade. The top floors of the building I have planned will even get to see the sun for parts of the day.¡± ¡°Is that why we¡¯re here? To see a bit of sunshine? We could do that from the comfort of our own homes, Eustace.¡± Daniel grumbled. ¡°We are here because one of the inspection teams ran into a few squatters, who are apparently quite good at setting traps, and other deterrents.¡± They had entered the building while they talked, and now stood in the middle of the mostly empty foyer of the derelict tower, lit only by failing emergency lights. Daniel started with surprise at his friend''s words, his right hand reaching for a conspicuous lump under his suit jacket. ¡°Traps? You led me into a trapped building, and didn¡¯t tell me first? This is ludicrous! Just call the sweepers, they¡¯ll clean the place, quick and easy.¡± Comprehension flashed across Daniels face as he turned to his boss. ¡°No freaking way. This isn¡¯t a building inspection, it¡¯s another recruitment pitch! You dragged me into a collapsing building full of traps on the edge of LA, miles away from backup, to recruit someone who makes traps?¡± ¡°One hundred percent yes. I recruited you, Clarence, and Tae, because I saw your potential to be more than the bullies you were starting to become, and look where that¡¯s gotten us? This building apparently contains a young man that has patched together scroungings and scraps to secure a home for himself and a few others. He has even developed his own projectile launch systems, based off of something he found on an old data drive called a ¡°Potato Cannon¡±. That sort of mind, that intelligence, he deserves better than scraping by.¡± ¡°Everybody deserves better than to live like this Eustace, not just the talented.¡± ¡°You know I don¡¯t disagree Dan, unfortunately I don¡¯t have the power to fix all the world''s ills. And I admit, maybe I enjoy a few too many half million credit bottles of champagne now and then. I can¡¯t chalk them all up to business expenses.¡± A shuffle of sound near the defunct elevator at the back of the foyer had them both turn to look. Eustace spoke up with confidence. ¡°Hello to the building. My name is Eustace Waltenor. My friend and I have come to have a conversation with you all. We mean you no harm.¡± ¡°Ace, I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a person, heat signature is all wrong. Wait, getting something on the cars proximity sensors¡­ Shit! Fuck! Something just totalled the car. Last glimpse was four legs, no metal. I think we¡¯ve found a bloody nest or something.¡± A message crackled with static from the building''s old PA system. ¡°Head up the south stairs if you want to live. I, Potato King, will protect you! Fifth floor, hurry.¡± The two men glanced at each other as something began to batter at the elevator doors. With a shrug and a crisp nod, they both pulled slick black pistols from beneath coats and headed for the stairs. ¡°I¡¯ve sent the distress signal, boss, ETA is 45 minutes¡­¡± *** Howard Unpardon, or Potato King as he had named himself, unplugged his aug link from the sparking PA interface. He still hadn¡¯t figured out how to keep it from overloading. He hoped the two suits could follow directions, he wouldn¡¯t be able to tap back in until he replaced some melted components. He walked quickly and efficiently through his workshop, gathering his supplies. He strapped to his back, three contraptions of white plastic pipe, marked with stripes of colour: Pink for the shortest that almost resembled an old shotgun, yellow for the mid sized one with extra tubes, and green for the big wide mouthed one, almost as tall as him. He spoke to the air around him, as his small hands worked the dials of a large cast iron safe. ¡°Never thought I¡¯d actually have to use these babies, my most dangerous potatoes of all. If we all get through this, I¡¯ll have to thank Henrietta for teaching me chemistry.¡± With the door to the safe open, Howard whistled over his rebuilt four legged wagon. It trundled smoothly over on rubber tipped feet. Holding still to allow him to load a dozen half metre square crates full of oblong shapes onto its deck. ¡°These are pretty dicey for transport buddy, let''s not have a repeat of last tuesday.¡± Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. Heading out the doorway, clutching a pair of sacks full of less volatile rounds, the eleven year old boy turned to his right heading toward the fifth floor lobby, and the first defensive line. A small head covered in a mop of bright red curls peaked out of one of the apartments to watch him walk past. Howard looked at her and spoke up, trying to hide the quaver of fear he was denying he felt, in his voice. ¡°Penny! What are you still doing here? We rang the bell minutes ago, you should all be in Metal-Heads bunker up on 6!¡± ¡°I, I forgot Bafpo!¡± She said shyly, a tear starting to form in her eye, as she held out the patched plastic Build-A-Face Potato ¡°Potato King¡± had gifted her. ¡°Hmmm, that was awfully brave of you to come back for Bafpo like that, Penny, he deserves to be safe too. Run along now though, take the stairs in the spare room up to 6 and let them fall when you¡¯re up. Hurry now!¡± Penny nodded and started to run off down the hall, only to stop and turn. ¡°Please come too¡­ It¡¯s the bad plants, not the bad people¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s ok Penny, this is what I¡¯ve been training for. Potato King will kill all the bad plants and become a Samurai! Then I¡¯ll fix this whole building, I¡¯ll get you and Bafpo dozens of friends.¡± They shared a final look. Howard trying to look brave, Penny holding Bafpo, and holding back tears. They both turned and walked away from each other, one to hopeful safety in a cobbled together shelter, the other to face down the enemies of the world, and some alien plants too. Potato King walked the hallway toward the elevators. The others had put the 5 barricades in place as they headed toward the stairs to the shelter. He double checked each one to make sure they were secure as he passed. Depositing a case of deadly potatoes at each, the rest would stay secured on QW¡¯s flat deck, close by. *** Eustace and Daniel reached the 5th floor foyer not long after the young man had finished settling in. They had taken it slow, while neither had been in an actual combat situation before, the 4 boys had spent more than a few hours playing combat sims during their college years. Important for team building Eustace had said, just plain fun the others had insisted. As such they had channelled their virtual experiences into reality, taking turns to progress from floor to floor, covering one another, checking corners for threats, and such. Their professional demeanour, and slick black pistols clashed greatly with what greeted them beyond the stairwell doors. A barricade had been erected across one hallway. It was cobbled together from a wide variety of materials, both metal and polymer. Despite its patchwork appearance it looked sturdy and well built. As the door clicked closed behind them a young voice called from behind it. ¡°Get your butts on this side of the wall, they ain''t far behind you.¡± With a glance at each other they hopped over a folded over section of the barrier. As the last over, Daniel folded it back upright, and secured it with a bar leaned nearby. When his head swivelled to take in their new companion, his jaw dropped, and he sputtered as he spoke. ¡°Ace, when you said kid, I didn¡¯t think you meant a barely grown toddler¡± ¡°Hey! I ain¡¯t no toddler, I¡¯m eleven, and at least I brought real weapons to the fight,¡± He said, patting his trio of plastic pipe works. ¡°That little pea shooter will barely wing an M1. And how many clips you bring? Even one backup? Sheesh, here, lemme give you the rundown on my babies. You two can help me keep em¡¯ primed and loaded.¡± Before either adult could comment further on his age or appearance, he did not look eleven, even growing up malnourished should not have left the boy as small as he was, he started into a rapid fire lesson in his hand made tools of destruction, and the lines of defence behind them. Stuff in the ¡°potato¡±, none of them were real potatoes, can¡¯t get real veggies outside of the fancy glass towers. He made these himself, glue, sludge, oil, scraps of metal, rubber, and concrete, whatever he could find that would make a stable missile. The ones in the bags were basic, would hopefully knock a head off, the ones in the crates were experiments, fire, acid, shrapnel, and more. Unfortunately he¡¯d forgotten what each colour signified, so they¡¯d find out the hard way. After the ¡°potato¡± was in, you prime the chamber by holding up the matching coloured aerosol can to the cannon¡¯s intake port for 2 seconds! No less, and especially no more, or things might get dicey. Pink was the go to, all rounder, yellow was rapid fire, multi barreled, good for peppering targets. Green was for when things get heavy, you can load 4 of the smaller rounds into a sabot for maximum umph. To fire, make sure it¡¯s pointed at the enemy, then, and only then, hit the button, or pull the trigger. Sparks will happen inside and hopefully a potato flies out the end, and it doesn¡¯t explode. There were 5 barricades, leading back into the last stand in the ¡°spare room¡±. There was an escape hatch in the ceiling, which came out not far from the shelter with the others. Each barricade had one or two spare cannons, some accelerant, and ammunition. None of the spare gear was as good as his 3 special ones though. The last few points were expressed as the trio took position on the barricade, the door on the stairwell had been ripped off its hinges by a pair of quadruped antithesis, and something was shredding the elevator doors from the other side. Eustace fired a couple rounds from his pistol into the plants, keeping his eyes on them, while he asked, ¡°What¡¯s the ETA on our rescue team Dan?¡± Daniel replied with a grimace. ¡°Looks like this is bigger than just us, we¡¯re on the edge of it I guess, so they¡¯ll have to circle around. Rough ETA, at least another 90 minutes.¡± Eustace hated the thought of the young boy staying here with them, but he could tell nothing he could say would convince him to flee. ¡°Alright Potato King, I guess it¡¯s just the three of us. Time to answer that age old question, can a brussel sprout withstand the mashing of a potato?¡± ¡°That was a terrible line. It¡¯s a good thing I¡¯m going to become a Samurai, you need to be able to quip gooder to be one.¡± Howard had loaded a red potato into his pink cannon, it burst into flame as it struck the duo trying to claw their way out of the stairwell. ¡°Eat flaming French Fries sprout-holes!¡± He yelled over the crackling flames. *** The three of them managed to settle into a rhythm; one dedicated loader and shooter, the third would switch between as needed. After the first burst of fire the men had holstered their pistols, saving them for when the antithesis got too close, or covering fire during a retreat. They were lucky in being so close to the edge of the swarm, it kept the numbers low, both in quantity and model designation. Just hovering on the edge of what they could handle, even giving them the odd chance to rest. The crates proved to contain 4 varieties of payload. The incendiary that Howard had launched first, an expanding caustic foam, that proved useful in keeping the fires under control, as well as burning through herbaceous flesh, one resembled a traditional fragmentation grenade, filling the hall with shrapnel. The final type would explode into a goopy, stringy, sticky mass, that worked well to slow down the charge, and make them easier targets. All was going well until they were preparing to withdraw from the third barricade. QW was already trundling back to the next holdout, Eustace and Daniel were carrying what they could in sacks, while leaving their hands available for their pistols. Howard had fired a quad of the sticky ¡°mashed potato¡± rounds to clog the hall, and then loaded the rapid fire yellow striped cannon with mundane rounds. As they walked back and fired at the clog of antithesis, faithfull yellow, pushed past the limits of its plastic construction, exploded in the young boy''s hands, leaving them a shredded bloody mass. He had fallen backwards too far into shock to scream, just staring at his shattered weapon and mutilated hands. Eustace had reacted in a flash, dropping the sack of ammunition and spare plain white cannon from his back; he''d scooped up the boy, calling for Daniel to cover them, as they retreated over the next barrier, slamming the small gate behind them. Daniel had done his best to bandage the boy''s hands with the small first aid kit he kept tucked inside his jacket. Thankfully it contained a small vial of pain killers that were strong enough to knock out the diminutive child. He¡¯d had to use his crisp white shirt to staunch the bleeding, the small roll of gauze and bottle of glue in the kit not being up to the task. Eustace had kept up the pressure on the oncoming swarm, his hands growing more deft at rapidly loading and firing the improvised weaponry. He instructed Daniel to take the boy to the spare room, and to make him comfortable, before returning to help him here. The fight continued to go down hill, the ignition chamber on the largest weapon was showing cracks, they felt it no longer safe to use. Daniel had left pink with Howard, not wanting to leave the boy unarmed, even if he was unconscious. Their pistols empty, and the boy¡¯s custom weapons unavailable, they were left with the more cumbersome plain models, and they were running low on crated ammo. On the retreat to the fifth barricade Daniel was dragged off his feet when a quadruped broke free, leapt the barrier, and bit down on his leg. Eustace clubbed it in the head with big green, beating it till it was mush and the cannon was a bent and shattered mess. The two had managed to get across the barricade, Daniel bleeding heavily. Eustace grabbed every last incendiary potato and hurled them into the space between the barricades, hoping to buy them time, and quickly helped Daniel bandage his leg. He sent Daniel to watch over the boy, and gathered the last of their supplies to make his last stand. He didn¡¯t know how long had passed, or when his company¡¯s combat squad would arrive, but he was going to do his best to try and delay the seemingly inevitable as long as he could. It was about this time he decided he was going crazy, or whatever chemicals were in those special potatoes were messing with his mind. He was starting to hear voices, they were calling him Potato King, and he should have been out of potatoes by now, where were they coming from, why were they glowing? *** When the squad of corporate security managed to break down the door to the spare room they found two men and a young boy passed out in a pile of plush potatoes. They were a mess of torn clothes and dried blood, but looked otherwise hale. Each had a plastic crown with potato shaped gems perched off kilter upon their heads. A hatch opened in the ceiling, a mop of curly red hair popped into view, followed by a young girl''s face, putting a finger to her lip she whispered. ¡°Shhhhh the potato court is sleeping.¡± Ca-Issi: Bear is away, Frog will play. Samurai Profile. Pseudonym: Teddy. Given Name: Classified Primary tool set: Robotic Brigade (Animal Theme) Secondary tool set: Lures and Fortifications. Home base: Calgary (Undercity) -It should be noted Teddy¡¯s main facility houses her civilian adoptive siblings. Of whom she is very protective, approach with caution. Current Location: Beneath the Rocky Mountains near Jasper. Samurai Profile. Pseudonym: Cassy the Clown Given Name: Classified Primary tool set: Weaponized semi autonomous Novelty Items. Secondary tool set: Non-Weaponized semi autonomous Novelty Items. -The items in question exhibit high levels of autonomy, far beyond what should be possible by base level AI. Protectorate AI have refused to comment when queried. Home Base: None Current Location: Calgary (Undercity) From the Family¡¯s Data systems. *** ¡°Barty, that is a squirrel, I thought you said the Calgary lady had teddy bears?¡± Said Cassy to the voice in her head, as she strode through the streets of the undercity. From what I¡¯ve gathered, she started off with just bears, but has branched out into many different animal automata. ¡°Neat! They aren¡¯t acting very squirrelly though, just watching. Do you think they like nuts?¡± Cassy continued to speak out loud to Barty as they walked. She seemed oblivious to the furtive glances, and out right stares of the people around her. ¡°The streets seem a bit drab, do you think they¡¯d mind some new paint?¡± Perhaps we should wait to speak to Teddy before making any changes to parts of the city she considers under her watch. As to the nuts, perhaps metallic ones, I¡¯m doubting they have the correct organs for actual nuts. ¡°You make a good point Barty. It would be rude to redecorate someone else¡¯s home without asking their favourite colour first.¡± Cassy paused to look around. ¡°This is taking forever, I shouldn¡¯t have left Bike at the top of the elevator. Stupid size restrictions. I¡¯m going to engage the sproingy shoes, keep me pointed in the right direction Barty, It¡¯s time to make a new friend!¡± With a click of her heels to release her shiny red springs from her shiny red shoes, Cassy began bouncing her way willy nilly over rooftops, and off of walls toward the towering grey edifice Barty said was Teddy¡¯s home base. Despite trying her best to be a polite uninvited guest, Cassy still found herself leaving the odd cloud of glitter and confetti as she went, and maybe, just maybe¡­ A few of her balloon friends slipped out of her pockets, to amble off and find small faces in need of smiles. In short order Cassy found herself in the shadow of Teddy¡¯s building. ¡°She¡¯s cleared a lot of space around her building, I wonder if she¡¯d mind me setting up the tents? Only one way to find out!" Cassy strode confidently to the large garage doors that remained closed firmly in front of her. Grinning her biggest grin, striding her cheeriest stride, trying to look as friendly as she could. She wasn¡¯t blind to the defences trained on her, but who would shoot a cute clown? Stopping in front of the doors, she knocked firmly and loudly three times. ¡°HI!¡± She shouted. ¡°My name is Cassy. Is Teddy home? Can she come out to play?¡± *** In a comfy room, covered in pictures, and plushies of frogs, a young girl sat attentively holding a tablet, while listening to a dapper anthropomorphic frog teach her about the best ways to construct plush animals designed to survive the rough living conditions of her fellow youth down here in Calgary¡¯s under-city. The frog paused for a moment, their eyes flickering briefly. ¡°Ms. Isabelle, it seems another Vanguard has hopped by to say hello to Teddy. By some contrivance or another, the others are all either busy, or just can¡¯t be bothered to get the door. Shall we go greet them?¡± Issi paused for a moment, putting on her best serious face as she flicked her tablet to show the main door upon which Cassy had just knocked. ¡°Mr. Froggington, that is a clown.¡± ¡°Indeed Ms. Isabelle, that is Cassy The Clown, and she is indeed a Samurai, of, ah, some reputation. The posts on her Wiki-Sam page are a bit conflicted about what that reputation is though¡­¡± Mr. Froggington trailed off, possibly distracted by the unrealistic claims of some posts. ¡°Hmmm, she doesn¡¯t look dangerous. Hey! Maybe she¡¯ll play Chessers with me!¡± All seriousness dropped from the young girl''s face as she scrambled to gather her Chessers supplies. Arms clenched around the game board and pieces, Issi darted from her room. Papers covered in crayon drawings of rules and moves, fell from her grasp and fluttered to the floor behind her as she scrambled her way towards the patient clown. As she reached the doorway she realised her hands were too full to hit the button to open them. ¡°Mr. Froggington, could you please open the door for me?¡± She was hopping on her feet, giddy with excitement. *** A smaller person sized door opened up in front of Cassy as she bounced from shiny red shoe, to shiny red shoe. She couldn¡¯t wait to meet another young woman who loved cute and fun things as much as she did! There was no one there, the door opened into a mostly empty garage. ¡°Wanna play Chessers with me? A young voice piped up from below. Cassy¡¯s gaze slowly drifted down, and down, until she was looking directly into the adorable grinning face of a young girl clutching a game board, a few random pieces, and a bundle of loosely gathered papers. ¡°That looks like a chess board, I have bad memories of chess¡­ Is Chessers like chess?¡± Cassy asked, with concern on her painted face. ¡°The last time I played chess, I pulled a muscle in my back.¡± Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. ¡°It¡¯s totally different, but also sorta the same, but also waaay more fun! C¡¯mon I¡¯ll show you!¡± The exuberant child went to grab Cassy¡¯s hand, snatching it back to her chest as more pieces and papers tumbled to the ground. A look of consternation grew on her face as she looked from Cassy, to the game board clutched to her chest, and the scattered mess at her feet and behind her. With a tiny hop and a giggle, Cassy dug into her voluminous pockets, her arms disappearing past the elbows as she rummaged around. Pulling her hands out with a flourish, she scattered a few balloon friends into the air. ¡°It looks like you could use a hand!¡± She said with a wink. She paused for a moment. ¡°Barty, take a note: we need hands that walk.¡± Issi starred in wonderment as the skinny balloons tumbled through the air, began to inflate, and twist into various animal shapes. Her wide sparkling eyes zeroed in on a particularly bright green one that landed beside her with a plop, and a ribbit. ¡°Froggy! She squealed in childish glee, dropping everything in her arms to pick up the half metre tall rubber frog. She turned back to Cassy, her eyes wide and glistening. ¡°Can I keep him?¡± ¡°That¡¯s entirely up to him, now isn¡¯t it. What do you say, my little green helper?¡± The balloon twisted its head to look Issi in the face, contemplating her just long enough to build the right amount of drama to the moment. Its rubber mouth squeaked open, and a red licorice tongue flicked out and tapped Issi¡¯s nose before disappearing again. Cassy grinned down at the beaming girl. ¡°I believe that¡¯s a yes. Now where should our friends set up the Chessers board, so you can teach me how to play?¡± While Issi had been enraptured by her new friend, the rest of the cadre of assistants had gathered up the scattered game materials, and stood waiting nearby. ¡° Troops, follow me!¡± Issi said in her best impression of how she imagined Teddy would act. ¡°We¡¯ve got games to play!¡± She turned and marched deeper into the building, followed by a crowd of toddling and tumbling rubber animals, and a happily bouncing clown. ¡°Oh, I forgot to ask. Are you Teddy?¡± Cassy called out as Mr. Froggington closed the door behind them. *** Cassy was laying on the couch, her head hanging down over the front, causing her colourful curly poofs of hair to pool on the carpet. He stockinged feet stuck up into the air over the back of the couch, waving back and forth. ¡°What do you mean, you don¡¯t know what a carnival is?¡± Issi was bouncing around the room, Cassy¡¯s huge shiny apple red shoes on her feet, sproingy springs launching her off of floors and walls alike. Her new froggy friend clung to her head like a helmet, the other animals covered the rest of her, keeping her safe. Mr. Froggington had insisted after Issi had nearly crashed into the ceiling. ¡°I don¡¯t think anyone down here knows what a carnival is,¡± Issy replied mid-flight. ¡°We usually just throw things in the canals and see how fast they dissolve.¡± She impacted high on the wall behind Cassy, the balloons activating their sticky rubber bodies to hold her there while she giggled. ¡°This travesty cannot stand! Barty, call in the troupe, Issi, put the word out, we are having a carnival!¡± Cassy stood tall, manic fire burning in her eyes, grinning wide enough to nearly split her face in half.¡± *** Jane, the eldest of Teddy¡¯s little found family, and by far the most mature and responsible, was standing beside Mr. Froggington, starring in apoplectic horror at a monumental disaster, and massive breach in security. Her jaw worked back and forth, flapping open and closed before finally finding the words she needed. ¡°I said I was going to have a nap, and to only wake me in case of an emergency. How is an unknown Samurai showing up unannounced at our door, not an emergency? And please tell me why you thought it was ok to let that same Samurai convince a child to turn our safety cordon into a, whatever this absolute catastrophe is?¡± The stoic and dapper Mr. Froggington had traded his usual garb for the tailed coat and top-hat of a circus ringmaster. ¡°Ms. Cassy did not show up unannounced, her Protectorate AI informed me they were arriving almost 30 seconds before she knocked. I used that time to peruse the mesh for information on her. I determined that Issi would benefit in a myriad of ways by spending time with her, and the likelihood of her causing any lasting trouble was minimal. Not to mention, I thought it might be fun.¡± The last comment caused Jane to raise an eyebrow and look sideways at the robot, before she could ask him to clarify any of his statements a burst of horns and confetti cannons drew her eyes back to the disaster in front of her. Mr. Froggington spoke up again, a trace of humour hiding in his voice. ¡°It¡¯s called a carnival, Ms. Jane. You should wander in, maybe try a few games? It might help you relax, take your mind off of other things.¡± As he spoke, a pair of clowns came running out of the crowd toward them. The smaller of the two had opted for some strange version of frog themed motley. ¡°JANE!¡± Issi¡¯s voice thundered out from the smaller figure. ¡°This is soooo much fun! Almost better than Chessers! You have to come try the drop of doooom!¡± Jane found her hand grasped in Issi¡¯s iron grip as she was dragged into the riot of noise and colour of the carnival. They were rapidly surrounded by the laughing denizens of Calgary¡¯s undercity. She goggled as gangsters of groups usually at war, turned their rivalry into competitive spirit, trying to see who could win the biggest or best prize at various games. An echoing scream pulled her eyes to a tower that stood stories tall above the crowd. A Hologram projected from its peak. THE DROP OF DOOOOM! Where had they gotten rides? Issi and the woman Jane assumed was Cassy, continued to drag her through the crowds toward the tower. The assault to her senses and sanity only grew. Light, sound, smells, delicious smells, she almost let go of Issi¡¯s hand when they passed a booth full of sugary fried treats that smelled of heaven. The booths and stalls were not run by humans. Tin toys, and rubber balloon animals took tokens and handed out prizes, there were even a number of Teddy troops helping out. She saw one of the balloons fall into the vat of a deep fryer, only to crawl out and take a bow. Only slightly crispier for the tumble. The air was full of glitter, and confetti, and people in bubbles? Jane¡¯s eyes traced the path of floating people to a set of stairs leading up to a huge watch blowing bubbles out of its winding knob, to send people up and over the carnival grounds. Issi tugged on her hand, she had stopped to stare. ¡°We can do the bubbles later! They are fun too, but not as good as the Drop Of DOOOOOOOOOOOOM!¡± The dragging continued, the costumed pair now chanting Drop Of Doom, over and over as they went. Jane stumbled along behind, too dazed to protest. *** The sun was setting in the distance, its fading rays casting long shadows, and revealing an imposing silhouette. She stood tall, she stood proud, hands in the pockets of her loose pants. On her head perched a brimmed officer''s cap. The winds of the undercity billowed the long coat she wore resting on her shoulders out behind her. The stick of a lolly-pop protruded from her mouth. ¡°Vise-boss Issi!¡± A voice called from the shadows as another silhouette scampered up beside her. "I just got a report from Party Planner Barty, through Head-Boss Cassy. Over-boss Teddy is returning to the city!" A crunch echoed from Issi¡¯s mouth as she bit down hard and cracked her sucker. She pulled the now empty stick from her mouth and tossed it, grinding it into the ground like a cigarette. She slipped another from her pocket, and began unwinding the wax paper wrapped around the top. In her best grizzled gangster voice she spoke. ¡°Well, looks like we¡¯ll have to put off covering windows with encouraging slogans in washable paint till another night, I¡¯ve got a meeting to attend. Gather the rest of the Clown Frogs at the tree tent, I¡¯m sure the Head-Boss has some treats waiting there for you.¡± With a flourish and a swish of her coat, she strode off into the encroaching night. The teddy bears were back from their picnic, she¡¯d be needed. *** Cassy felt bad, she¡¯d had to run off right as it looked like Teddy was coming home. She figured if spending a day with Issi was this much fun, then her older sister must be a riot and a half. Unfortunately, Barty had gotten a message from The Family, they wanted to ¡°Talk¡± to her again. She really wasn¡¯t interested in joining a cult though, so she¡¯d hugged Issi and the other members of her new gang goodbye, hopped into Time Flies and headed off for fresh adventures. Thinking back, she wondered if starting a gang was really the best idea, but the others had insisted. If you want respect down here, you either have to be a Samurai, or in a gang, and as Cassy had yet to figure out how to create a new Samurai, a gang it was. So she¡¯d gathered Issi and a dozen other kids that needed a safe place, and built them a tree with a tent in it, not far from Teddy¡¯s base. She¡¯d left a tonne of supplies and a gaggle of her best fundraisers to keep them safe. She¡¯d even encouraged a few of Teddy¡¯s bears to join, they were even more adorable in matching outfits. As Time Flies drifted across moonlit skies, Cassy curled up in comfy bean bags, content after a wonderful day. Glad she had left behind smiles and joy, as well as plans and people to keep her favourite new smile from harm. She hugged her new plush frog tighter and giggled softly as she remembered Jane¡¯s face on the Drop of Doom. She¡¯d meet Teddy next time she was in Calgary. That would be another amazing day. Cassy: Caramelizing the Corporate Competition. ¡±You¡¯ll catch more corpo¡¯s with honey than with hand grenades. Honey hand grenades on the other hand¡­¡± They said with a wink. Samurai Bee-Dazzler, in an interview. *** Vincent woke up squished against his sister Tabitha, who was in turn squished up against their mother, inside the under ventilated insta-crete dome for the 19th day in a row. He lay there, soaked in sweat like he always did. 26 days ago an incursion had hit Hamburg. It had taken almost a week to clear out the antithesis threat; with Samurai, PMC, and European Defense battalions all working together. Vincent and his family had fled to shelters on that day along with the vast majority of the city''s population. Hamburg had excellent emergency protocols, and had instituted monthly drills as mandatory years ago. When they¡¯d been evacuated from shelters to the camps, they were told over 90% of the population had survived. The infrastructure though had not done well, more than 50% of the city had been flattened, or rendered uninhabitable. Vincent grumbled in his mind again about the samurai who had chosen the cheapest shelter catalogue ever. Insta-crete dome, insta-crete door with no lock, insta-crete table, with two two insta-crete stools built into one side. If you were over a metre twenty tall, you had to lean away or crick your neck to the side while you sat at it. The single bed frame on the other side was barely wide enough for two children, let alone the number of people being shoved into most. At least the mattress wasn¡¯t insta-crete, though he wasn¡¯t sure that wouldn¡¯t have been much worse. It was thin, and did nothing to wick away heat or sweat. Vincent was building up the motivation to wiggle his way out from between his sister and the wall, so he could go grab some tasteless nutrition bars from the grey boxy machines the same corpo hugging Samurai had left behind, when a strange sound perked up his ears; Someone outside was laughing, no not someone, many someones, and it wasn¡¯t the rare sardonic, or resigned jaded laughter, the past two weeks had limited people too. It was genuine, from the heart, full bellied, joyful, ridiculous laughter. He could swear there was cheerful music hidden just below the loud giggling of children. ¡°Tabby!¡± Vincent whispered loudly, while shaking his sister. ¡°Somethings going on, or I¡¯m going crazy. Wake up! Do you hear that?¡± Tabitha grumbled and tried to roll away, only to squish against their mother. ¡°Lemme sleep Vin, there¡¯s nothing out¡­¡± Her voice trailed off as the sounds grew louder in the small space. The sudden ¡°oom pah pah¡± of a tuba just outside the door had both ladies sitting bolt upright in shock. They looked back and forth to one another, as they paused to absorb the moment. In hushed silence they stood and quickly dressed, each trying to hide their concern. Despite the joyful tilt to the sounds, they could not bring themselves to hope that they heralded anything good, the last 3 weeks of promises and disappointments had drilled hope out of their vocabulary. *** Not too far away, a balding man was turning red in the face while yelling at a clown with a confused look on her face. ¡°NO NO NO!! You can¡¯t just roll in here and start disrupting our refugee camp! We have a delicate balance to maintain! You are going to cause a riot! Get out, Get Out, GET OUT!¡± He waved to several armed men nearby as if ordering them to remove the woman from the premises. The guards looked away, or rechecked their weapons, large soldiers trying to disappear into the background, eyes flicking between their boss and the erratic clown that had dropped from the sky. Cassy looked at him, her head tilted far to the left. Very slowly, she tilted it all the way to the right. ¡°Hmmm, I dunno what you mean Barty, he doesn¡¯t look at all like a bowling pin, far too skinny.¡± Turning away from him with a spin on the tiptoe of one bright red shoe, Cassy planted the other firmly in a puff of dust, arm outstretched, pointed at a gawping passerby. ¡°You! Think fast. Ice cream and cotton candy, or sausages and deep fried cookies?¡± The woman with frazzled hair, and dead eyes stared at Cassy uncomprehendingly, while pushing her child behind her protectively. The child struggled against her mothers restraining arms, managing to peek her head out. ¡°Sausage? Ice-cream?¡± She said in a quiet, slightly confused, but hopeful voice. Cassy stared back at the young girl, her own mouth hanging open a moment. ¡°SAUSAGE ICE CREAM!? Barty! Why have we never tried sausage ice cream?¡± Cassy spread her feet wide, and hefted her massive carnival hammer off of her back. ¡°One giant, Sausage ice cream, let''s get this celebration started fountain, coming up!¡± With a bend of her knees, and release of sproingy shoe springs, Cassy launched into the air, pulling her hammer up over her head, laughing gleefully. Many metres into the air, gravity reaffirmed its hold upon the maniacal woman in motley, and she came crashing down to the ground, swinging her hammer down to land, mallet head first, in a cloud of dust, confetti and sparkles. The girl, her mother, the guards, and the apoplectic official, were all buffeted by a wave of cool, sweet, salty air. As the cloud of glitter and confetti thinned they beheld Cassy standing proudly, hammer on her shoulder, grin on her face, beside a massive multi tiered fountain full of ice cream, with sausages sticking out at random, with chocolate sauce running in rivulets from a spout on the top. ¡°Alright, child of many excellent ideas, Where should we put the roller coaster?¡± Cassy asked, grinning while still holding her heroic pose. The young girl had escaped her mothers stunned clutches, and was already shoving fistfulls of ice cream and sausage into her mouth. She looked over at Cassy, and back at the delight in front of her, one small hand reached out and pointed vaguely over there, while the other kept pushing more of the strange concoction into her mouth. ¡°Another great idea!¡± Cassy crowed. ¡°Come find me later, you are an amazing assistant, and those are hard to find.¡± With a wink and a nod, the clown strode away toward where the girl had pointed. The increasingly red faced official marched after her, yelling more vehemently, and pointing at the guards to remove the ice cream tower. Of the trio, only two guards tentatively stepped forward to do as ordered. The eyes of the cherub topping the fountain swivelled toward them, tracking their movement. When they showed no signs of stopping, ports opened on the flowers adorning the edge, as they too swivelled to face the guards. One more tentative step forward had the flowers opening up on them, hozing them down with a thick sticky caramel sauce that kept them stuck to the insta-crete path. *** About 18 hours earlier. Cassy was floating weightlessly in a plummeting Time Flies. ¡°Why do they call it the Vomit Comet Barty? This is amazing! I don¡¯t feel sick at all! Cassy slammed none too gently into the bean bag covered floor of her flying watch as Time Flies levelled off, and arched back into another rapid accent. With her face squished into a bean bag pilot''s chair, she noticed that the archaic looking tv had popped out of the control console, flashing ¡°You''ve got mail¡± in swirly letters. ¡°Hey! We''ve got mail! I hope it''s the confetti catalogue.¡± I''m afraid not, it seems to be a video message from a very new Samurai. It appears to be in German. ¡°Do we know any Germans Barty?¡± Maybe, I don''t recall the nationality of everyone we¡¯ve met, I assume we know at least one German though, but we don''t know this German for sure, nor do you know how to speak German, which they are speaking. I will translate, just ignore that the lip flapping doesn¡¯t match the sounds. The screen began to play a grainy black and white video of a young man from the shoulders up. ¡°Guten day. I need help. I''m new at this, I trusted bad people, and my people are suffering for it. They said they would only be in the shelters for a few days. That bare basics was fine. I''m new, my points are limited.¡± The young man looked down, taking a deep breath and putting hands to face for a moment. ¡°They''ve been in those awful grey domes for more than two weeks. Cleanup hasn''t even started, let alone reconstruction. Corpo¡¯s are being *#$## *##$#, holding out for better deals, for more profit. I don''t have enough clout, or points, or anything, to change things.¡± ¡°I found your number in a box of caramel popcorn that I bought from the stress relief catalogue. My AI says they didn¡¯t put it there. At this point, I¡¯m willing to reach out to anyone, even strangers who leave calling cards in caramel corn. Please help, I want to fix my mistakes. The people of Hamburg need us.¡± If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. The message ended just as Time Flies started another descent, sending Cassy back into freefall. Cassy pushed off from one side of the TF¡¯s crystal cockpit, corkscrewing her way to the other side. ¡°Set course for Saskatchewan TF, I think we are going to need help with this one, I have no idea how to build a train line¡­ Barty, call MoG, we¡¯re cashing in that favour.¡± We owe her three favours, not the other way around. ¡°Maybe she''ll have forgotten?¡± Cassy replied with false hope, Barty remained silent. ¡°Fiiine! I guess we''ll make her a wager, maybe she''ll want to meet the creator of Chessers?¡± Please, don''t remind me of that game. No human mind should have been able to create something that convoluted. Calling Mistress of Games. Cassy found herself face planting against the cockpits camera as TF levelled off, and MoG picked up. ¡°How nice to hear from you¡­ Cassy, um, dear, are you trying to hug me through the camera? I¡¯m flattered, but that''s not really how those things work.¡± Cassy pushed herself up and off the communication equipment. ¡°Not through the camera, although hugging cameras is a great idea, but no! I¡¯m flying to hug you for real!¡± Cassy paused, distracted for a moment by the thought of sending hugs via camera, with a shake of her head, she arrived back on topic. ¡°So, want to play a city building game? But in real life? Barty says there are Hamburgers in it for everyone!¡± ¡°That''s.. no. Hystus has given me the info. It''s in the City of Hamburg, in Germany.¡± ¡°You don''t speak German do you?¡± MoG deadpanned. ¡°Joy needs no words! Only colours!¡± Cassy shouted gleefully, throwing pocket confetti into the air with both hands. ¡°I''m sending you a translation device¡­ apparently in the shape of a red nose. Hystus why is it? Oh, fine, don''t tell me.¡± A round red clown nose shimmered into existence on Time Flies console, knocking over a can of spray string that had somehow stayed up right through multiple parabolic arcs of free fall. ¡°Neat! New accessories!¡± Chimed Cassy, as she placed it upon her face, it clamped to her nose with pop.. ¡°No need to come get me dear, I can meet you there, I¡¯ll need to gather a few things first. I¡¯ve never tried bringing a computer sim game into physicality before¡­ You get there quick and start taking care of the people in the camps. I''ll be right behind you after I¡¯ve got a strategy all worked out, to handle the conniving corporations and the rebuilding. But first, about that wager?¡± Cassy slipped a finger into her collar, pulling it out from her neck. ¡°TF, its feeling a bit warm in here¡± *** Tabitha held out a protective arm in front of her brother as they eased the insta-crete door of their dome open, her face set in grim expectation. ¡°Stay quiet, we don¡¯t know what¡¯s going on, or how many credits they might charge us for even looking at it.¡± A high pitched voice erupted out of a child running toward them down the lane domes. ¡°Tabby! Vin-Vin! You have to come! There¡¯s so much, just so much, everything!¡± The final word was punctuated with wild wide gesticulations, splattering the family with a rainbow of condiments from the burger clutched in one hand. Vincent wiped a glob off of his face and licked it from his finger, a small smile played at his lips. ¡°Vincent! Don¡¯t! We don¡¯t know where she got that, or how much debt she might be in now.¡± Tabitha reached a hand to stop her brother from licking more off of himself. ¡°Casey,¡± Tabitha started, ¡°Where did you get that food, what did you have to sign to get it? Does your dad know? What¡¯s going on?¡± Casey shoved their half eaten burger into Vincent''s hands, he hadn''t stopped staring at it. ¡°No, no! It¡¯s ok! It¡¯s all free! This awesome clown lady fell out of the sky in a bubble, and landed on an aaamazing bike, she let me ride it. There¡¯s a rubber rabbit with a cute hat¡­ Oh! But then, then she started just tossing out food, and rides, and games, and showers, and makeovers¡­ Just not very good ones, unless you like your face painted by balloons with huge brushes¡­¡± Casey paused to turn around and pick up a balloon bear. ¡°Say Aaaaah Ms. Growly¡± The bear''s mouth opened and hard candy imprinted with the letters ZEP slid out into Casey¡¯s hand, and promptly from hand into her mouth. ¡°And she¡¯s giving toys too! And the corpo guys are sooo mad. But they can¡¯t do anything or she covers them in caramel. C¡¯mon! Let''s go!!¡± Casey was practically bouncing with excitement, or perhaps too much sugar, if there even is such a thing. Vincent looked back and forth between the two ladies in his family, chewing vigorously. ¡°Cam we mom?¡± He asked, eyes sparkling, burger bits spraying from his mouth. Sophie looked to her children, Vincent excited, Tabitha confused and sceptical. She remembered the last weeks spent slowly slipping into melancholy. ¡°Come on you two, if Casey says it¡¯s worth checking out, we¡¯ll have to see for ourselves.¡± Sophie let the first smile in days grow on her face, as she felt faint rays of fresh hope shine in her breast. She grabbed her family by the hands and headed towards the chaos, noise, and wonderful smells. As the quad travelled through the rows of insta-crete domes they saw groups of balloon animals, somewhat larger than Ms. Growly still held in Casey¡¯s arms. They wore little yellow hard hats and clutched plastic toy tools. They would gather around a dome, and swarm upon it, swinging and sawing away in a growing cloud of glitter and dust. In their wakes they left rows of multicoloured tents, larger, taller, and looking far cooler than the old domes. Sceptical Tabitha paused to look inside one. ¡°Bigger and cooler sure, but we¡¯re still stuck in the camps while the corps try to wring the government for every mark they can before they even look at rebuilding.¡± A refugee passing by paused at hearing her words. ¡°You don¡¯t have to worry about that, there is another Samurai over in the old city taking care of it. The young man who set up all this is helping her. Apparently he brought them here. And don¡¯t worry about missing out. Ms. Cassy The Clown has assured us she won¡¯t leave until every last one of us has a home again, she¡¯s even offered to add a freezer just for ice-cream in every home.¡± He add the last part in a pretend whisper, and a wink. Sofie nodded with a smile to the stranger. ¡°Thank you passerby, for that well timed and informative exposition.¡± With a new hop in their steps the 4 dashed off to find something to brighten their day. *** The world seemed to slow to a crawl as Cassy heard the cry of a child behind her, turning she watched in horror as a bright bubblegum ice cream cone tumbled from a child''s hand onto the ground, splattering into the dirt. Cassy¡¯s eyes tracked up, from the cone, to the girl, to the corpo creep that had slapped it from her hand. He¡¯d been shouting something, more of the same that she¡¯d been ignoring since she got here. The words were meaningless, she¡¯d asked Barty to stop translating his sounds very early in the day. For the moment Cassy ignored the man, and the look of realisation and horror growing on his face. She only had eyes for the young child with empty hands, and a fading smile. With a thought, and burst of confetti a new cone was in the girl''s hand. Cassy scooped her up and spun her around, making silly faces, and sounds. Her quick thinking managed to avert the tears that had started to form in the corners of her eyes. She set down the now giggling child beside a fresh pair of panda balloons and pointed her toward the people Barty pinged as her guardians. Cassy The Clown paused for a moment, watching the giggling girl get scooped up by concerned adults, who nodded at her gratefully before disappearing back into the carnival. Taking a deep breath, she let it out slow, while resting her hammer on her shoulder. Cassy spoke loudly to Barty, projecting even more than usual, it wasn¡¯t really Barty she was aiming her words at. ¡°Barty, is the joy killer still standing there? Is the man who dared to waste ice cream, and almost made a child cry, at MY Carnival; Still waiting behind me?¡± Cassy¡¯s eye twitched, her smile threatened to shrink. She refused to turn around just yet, she did not like the feeling growing in her chest. It seems a day of screaming has finally taken his voice from him. He appears to be moving quite quickly, almost breaking into a run really, toward a nearby vehicle that he just signalled to start. ¡°Good! If he strays from the most direct path, or slows down, or tries to cause more trouble, or anything that doesn¡¯t get him as far away from me as fast as he possibly can, have some of the burrliest balloons carry him out, and tell them to be only slightly gentle.¡± Cassy paused to gather her thoughts. She grabbed a burger out of the air that Sgt. Fluffle had launched toward her. She took a huge, somewhat aggressive bite, and chewed, allowing the just greasy enough to be amazing flavours, calm her nerves. ¡°How is everything else going? Are any of the guards still causing trouble?¡± Nope! They have mostly taken off their gear and taken your offer to grab a ride in a bubble to the city to help MoG and Hausmann with clean up and reconstruction efforts. As have many of the adult refugees. I think they are happy to be able to feel useful again. The few guards that refused to disobey their corporate overlords, have been rewarded for their loyalty with a generous helping of caramel, and are currently being posed around the red faced man''s car. ¡°Hausmann?¡± Cassy asked while making the half eaten burger disappear into a pocket and began pulling out copious balloons from her pockets. Mistress took it upon herself to name the young man who reached out for help. She thought it apro-po to name him after houses. She asked me to tell you it¡¯s going to take a few days before people can start moving back in. And also, despite how fun it sounds, slippy slides will not work as an effective replacement for buses or trains. ¡°Good name choice, I approve. Although another clown would have been nice.¡± Cassy said with a mock pout and a puff of her cheeks. ¡°After I¡¯m done making this giant rideable lizard that in no way infringes on any old Japanese copyrights, we will install our own slippy slidey transit system. Everyone should get a chance to slide all the way to breakfast at least once.¡± Cassy got to work, bending and twisting her constantly growing pile of tubular balloons to fulfil the image in her mind of a 4 story, corporate headquarters crushing, lizard made of balloons. Her grin finally returned to its full brimming brightness it had been before she¡¯d heard Hausmann¡¯s message over a full day ago. ¡°This is going to take awhile, lend me a few hands Barty?¡± Right away oh Cassy, my Cassy¡­ Or is that captain¡­ anyway¡­ HANDS! A dozen white gloved hands appeared in a puff of glitter dust around Cassy. They each extended multi jointed meccano-like arms that clipped to her motley, making her in no way resemble a spider. Each hand began grabbing and twisting balloons to help build Cassy¡¯s latest vision for bringing joy. ¡°You are going to be amazing CHCL, everyone is going to love you. Would you like to be hollow, so people can ride inside? Or¡­ *** A little distance away Time flies was wrapping a large bubble around a very special delivery for a very special corporation. Into the bubble beneath her she put a cluster of caramelised corpos, and their leader, who had locked himself in his car. Barty had given her directions to their home office in Frankfurt. Satellite photos showed that it had a wonderful fountain in its front plaza, it was decided by unanimous vote among Cassy¡¯s Crew that it could use some new super sweet decorations. It might take them a while to get there though. The unanimous vote had also decided that even corporate creeps needed to have a bit of fun. Time Flies was going to introduce them to the joys of free fall via parabolic flight paths. Maybe they would learn why doing so was called the vomit comet after all. Cassy: Techno Babble Carrot Cake The unknown Vanguard was poking at Sgt. Fluffle with a strange handheld device with blinking lights. He was not pleased, but it wasn''t dangerous, and Cassy was right here watching, so he resisted his urge to let her try a tight tight t-shirt. ¡°So what kind of AI do these little guys use? Are they from a special catalogue? Their behaviour is so authentic, and well organised. How do they work?¡± Cassy stared back at the Samurai wearing the Black unitard with red shoulders. ¡°AI? Catalogue? Barty? What''s she talking about?¡± Scratching her head looking perplexed the Clown continued. ¡°I just ask them to do things, and they do it. Not that I force them to! No slave labour! They always have the choice to say no. Sometimes they even have better ideas than I do, so I mostly just let them loose with a general end goal. Best carnival crew ever!¡± Cassy high fived the air. Her crew did not leave her hanging though, a frog balloon had leapt to meet her hand with a licorice tongue. ¡°See! Best crew.¡± Sci-Fi looked down at the beeping box in their hands. The lights were flashing very rapidly. ¡°This, this doesn''t make sense¡­ how can they¡­ They don''t even have circuitry! They can''t just be ¡°very happy balloons¡± that''s, just¡­ gaaaah¡± They smacked the side of their sensor box, and gave it a shake. ¡°I understand why Kyrk won''t tell me how they work, or what catalogues you use, other Vanguard''s information is classified. But why are you pretending not to know? With AI like this working for us, we could have whole battalions of super effective autonomous soldiers for barely any points. Think of what we could accomplish Cassy! We could push the antithesis out of the sol system! Maybe even further!¡± ¡°Maybe you just need to ask nicely? Or, hmmm. Oooh! Maybe it''s the lack of candy. Have you tried giving your Eh Eye¡¯s more treats?¡± Cassy reached into her voluminous pockets and pulled out two gloved hand fulls of hard candies, many spilled out from between her fingers. Sci-Fi grabbed them one by one, giving her scanner a chance to peer into their deepest secrets. ¡°No microchips, no circuitry, no nanomachines, no detectable signals on any known frequency. No tachyons, not gravitons. This one doesn''t even have sugar! What tier are these! How are they fooling my scans?¡± ¡°They are candies, not cakes. Why would they have tiers? Oooh! I want cake now. Fiiine, it can be a carrot cake Barty. I know I need more veggies in my diet.* You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. A three tiered carrot cake appeared in a burst of rabbit shaped confetti, with a honking of horns. A nearby boney balloon spun their paint brush around their head, the bristles taking the shape of a cake cutting knife as it did so, they headed toward the cake. ¡°Thanks buddy, just be careful, knives aren¡¯t toys. See, they just do what they think is best, always trying to help out. After cake, we should totally go for a bike ride, and maybe after that¡­¡± *** Sci-Fi and Cassy were cruising across the night sky in her impossible aircraft. Cassy was sprawled like a starfish across the pile of bean bags that composed the floor of the craft. Sci-Fi hung upside down from the apex of Time Flies crystal dome. ¡°Please Kyrk! Just a hint! Something! This reads as plain old crystal, but my feet sink into it and it holds my weight! We crossed the sound barrier, no boom. This crazy clock uses bubbles as propulsion! Why won''t it just make sense¡­¡± The Samurai let their arms go limp, hanging down above their head. Their scanning device dropped from limp fingers to the bean bags below. Cassy stared up at them. ¡°You look upset. It''s ok if things don''t make sense. I think it''s more fun that way. What can we do to put some pep back in your step, Hmmmm. Oh, I''ve got a tv, we could watch cartoons? Ooh! Or one of those science education shows! You like science right? It¡¯s not just a name you got saddled with like that sports ball guy?¡± Sci-Fi spoke up, their voice a bit defeated. ¡°I do, I love science, that¡¯s why all this¡­ uhg¡­ Do you have any Trek Wars? It was my favourite show growing up.¡± ¡°Sure! We can watch whatever. TF, let''s Trek some Wars in the stars, with science!¡± Sci-Fi let their feet come loose from the crystal collapsing into the heap of bean bags with Cassy. ¡°Honestly not much of the ¡°science¡± in sci-fi shows actually makes sense. It¡¯s mostly just techno babble words, they probably make about as much real science sense as you do.¡± Sci-Fi laughed at their own realisation. ¡°Who would have thought the clown with an army of toys would become the exemplar of my favourite childhood shows. Any of that carrot cake left? It''s really good.¡± Cassy pulled two slices of cake from her pockets for them, as they burrowed into comfort. A familiar theme song ringing forth from Time flies speakers. Sci-Fi bounced excitedly, spraying carrot cake crumbs as she spoke. ¡°Oooh! Good choice! This episode was so controversial, but sooo good. The captain has to decide whether to¡­¡± *** Time Flies flew high and flew fast, getting as close to the stars as they currently could, brushing against the edges of the atmosphere. She dreamt her own dreams of carrying her Captain and crew to strange new places across the universe. She strove to keep ahead of the turning of the world, to make this starry night last just a bit longer for Cassy and their new friend. Cassy: Family Feud. Clashes between Samurai are rare, the protectorate vetting algorithms being as rigorous as they are. It does happen however, and woe betide any city they might choose as an arena. Samurai: A History. *** Cassy was on the run. It seemed any time she stopped for too long in one place, The Family would find her. She¡¯d see them coming through the crowd at a carnival, or pointing at her while fundraising. They were getting better and better at hiding their radio chatter, making it more difficult for Barty to intercept their communications. She had no clue what they wanted with her, and she didn¡¯t want to find out. Cassy had seen what that cult of homogeny had wrought. They marched to battle in matching outfits; boring black with straps and pouches, and boxy black guns. Walking in step, talking in a made up language only they knew. Handing out more of their boring black attire to anyone who would listen. It was horrendous. Oh, they tried to hide their indoctrinating ways. They had figure heads, little spots of colour and creativity. But even those would have crews gathered around that mimicked them. Spots of colour that spread through the boring black like a bruise. These were their special recruiters, the ones who were sent after the new baby Samurai, hoping to bring them into the fold. It all reminded Cassy of the Blorg, from the show Sci-Fi showed her. ¡°We¡¯ll add your uniqueness to our own! Fighting is Futile¡± Scary stuff. Of all the unpleasant aliens from the space show, she disliked the Blorg the most. The guy with a single letter for a name though, he looked fun. Cassy loved the episodes he showed up in. Most of the time at least, sometimes he got a bit too dramatic, too serious. The whole genre could really use more humour, maybe a clown could be the next Aeon Raptor captain¡­ ¡°Barty, how goes the moon shoe savings?¡± Cassy asked, while she pedalled Bike¡¯s pedals as fast as she could. Unfortunately we had to dip fairly deeply into the moon shoe fund after we lost the last wager with MoG. ¡°Hmmm, don¡¯t remind me. I can¡¯t believe she won the vote. I gave them an entire week of fun and games, and slippery slides, she just rebuilt a city better than it was before in record time. And she had help! I was on my lonesome.¡± Cassy lamented her loss as she got Bike to skid around a corner and leave glittery skid marks behind. ¡°Helping her build a sky-scraper sized version of Slides and Stairs was fun though. It¡¯s nice that Saskatchewan has so much open space. Do you think they¡¯d let us turn the province into a carnival? Like the whole thing, every square metre, Cassy¡¯s land of Joy! Hmmm, nah terrible name. First we get a name, then we get a province¡­¡± Cassy was pedalling like her life depended on it, which it really didn¡¯t, but it was more fun to pretend it did. Skidding around corners, weaving through traffic, oncoming and otherwise. Leaving behind her glitter, confetti, and random splotches of paint. Sgt. Fluffle sat in his usual position. He had switched to the T-shirt cannons for the day, firing them off to wrap themselves around Family operated drones that were tracking them. ¡°And why did she have to call in one of her favours right now! What is she even doing with Time Flies in the ocean anyway? Did you know TF could go underwater Barty? Cause I had no idea. How did MoG know?¡± A rapid clashing of Bike¡¯s forward cymbals drew Cassy¡¯s attention forward. The road in front of them was about to end rather abruptly, construction having been abandoned some time ago. ¡°Alright Bike! Time to try out your aerial acrobatics! Release flotation devices! Rev up those propellers! Lock trailer hitch!¡± As Cassy hollered out commands Sgt. Fluffle ceased his drone sniping, and started pulling levers and spinning wheels. Bike buzzed and whirred, clicked, and clacked, hissed and bubbled. Sgt. Fluffles artillery trailer stopped swaying too and fro, the hitch locked rigid, and pulled in closer to Bike. The circular base of the rotation platform split and folded, and refolded like artful origami, briefly obscuring the Sgt. and trailer entirely. As the trailer settled it revealed a tail gunner position in which the Sgt. sat, bracketed by a pair of large spinning fans. While the trailer transformed Bike was not idle. Balloons of every shape, colour, and construction were bursting forth from a multitude of hidden pockets about his frame. The arms that usually clanged cymbals out in front had stowed them away. They twisted and turned, growing longer, as they grasped the strings and ribbons that trailed each balloon, until they were all floating in a cluster overhead. Bike¡¯s wheels folded up neatly beneath him as they lifted from the ground. Air-Bike was taking off for the skies! Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. *** Air-Bike was amazing! Cassy loved feeling the wind in her curly multi hued hair as they soared through the skies, heading for safety far from the dastardly and boring Family. She just wished the wind through her hair was going a bit faster. Air-Bike was not fast, his current form was rather more of a leisure craft it seemed. Sgt. Fluffle had ceased shooting the Family drones from the sky. Air-Bike was not built for a dog fight, and Cassy had neglected to draw movement arrows for the tail gun in her drawings, so it only fired directly behind them. Smaller drones had clustered around them in a very nearly perfect sphere, a patch in front of them was flashing lights in the pattern of an arrow pointing toward the top of a parking garage, on which a pair of black clad Family flunkies, and a strange white box were waiting for them. ¡°Barty, promise me, if I don¡¯t make it out of this with my whimsy intact, you¡¯ll go on without me. That you¡¯ll keep spreading joy, and opposing monochrome ensembles till the end of time.¡± Cassy stage whispered to her AI, as Air-Bike started his slow descent to their potentially grim fate. I promise Cassy, no matter what happens down there, I¡¯ll make it my life''s goal to add polka dots and stripes of all the colours, even ones only birds and insects can see, to every article of clothing in the milky way. Joy shall never die! As Bike settled on the concrete slab of the parking garage he shifted back to his previous form. Balloons deflated and were pulled back into the secret pockets of his frame, Sgt. Fluffle¡¯s artillery trailer returned to its usual form, a trio of whip-cream pies were loaded into catapults aimed at the two people and the white box. Cassy glared with a pout at the two men. ¡°Fine you win, you caught me. What do you want? You better not try to make me wear all black! I¡¯m a girl of many colours! And while I think your pouches and straps are kinda neat, and probably pretty handy, they lack whimsy, and that just won''t do.¡± Her voice grew quieter and more grim as she spoke. Or at least as grim as a pouty clown could be. The shorter of the two stepped forward and spoke. ¡°You know what we want Cassy, you¡¯ve known this whole time while we chased you through half the city sowing chaos as you went. This has to stop! Every time someone from the Family tries to talk to you, you run off, acting like it¡¯s all some game!¡± Cassy continued to pout and glare, although hints of a smile were trying to creep onto her face. ¡°But games are fun.¡± She whispered to herself. The slightly taller person cleared their throat. ¡°As we informed your AI, several months back. The individuals you left in our colleagues'' care, some time ago, requested we deliver a message to you, one that they insisted had to be hand delivered, digital would just not do. Thus we have this.¡± He said pointing to what Cassy could now see was a turn of the millennium style refrigerator. It was covered on all sides by letters and images of every medium Cassy could imagine fridge art be made from. Words of thanks, and encouragement. Depictions of her, and her friends, human, and otherwise, all around the world. At carnivals, and doing shows, helping people, and rebuilding cities, and more than a few showing her least favourite part of it all, the fundraising. Cassy stepped off of Bike¡¯s seat, and walked toward the paper covered fridge, she slowly made her way around all four sides. Lifting papers to reveal layer after layer of heartfelt letters and clever depictions of her exploits. ¡°I should mention as well, that while it started with just their messages, every place you¡¯ve forced us to chase you through has added more. You should really learn to hang around more, no need to always be on the go.¡± The shorter said, pulling off their helmet and revealing their own massive mop of multi hued hair. ¡°I¡¯m a bit of a fan myself.¡± He continued, looking down bashfully to hide his blush. ¡°They call me Drone Drone, uh, don¡¯t ask, just one of those names right? Anyway, they said there was another surprise on the inside, and that you should open it up.¡± Cassy grinned back at the young Samurai, a few happy tears trailing down her white pancaked face, she sniffled softly. ¡°If I¡¯d known the messages were this nice, I might not have kept playing tag this long, you guys are just so good at it, and you are always so dour, and could use some fun, and¡­¡± Her rambling trailed off as she sniffled again, grinning from ear to ear. ¡°It¡¯s been fun right? Playing tag? We should totally play again! Maybe in Montreal! I hear it¡¯s a nice city, might have to learn French though.¡± As she reached to open the fridge, the two men in black tactical clothing looked to each other in concern, they turned to Cassy, perhaps about to ask her not to keep using members of the Family to play tag with. Cassy would never know what they were going to say though, because as her white gloved hand touched the curved plastic handle of the fridge, the door, quite literally, exploded outwards. Cassy, Bike, the two men, and the entire top floor of the parking garage disappeared in a cloud of confetti, glitter, balloons, and those fake snakes with springs inside them. As Cassy crawled out from under the colourful mass, she found she had been pushed clear across the garage, almost bouncing off of the rim of the wall. She began to laugh, the brightest, loudest most joyful laugh she¡¯d laughed in some time. She fell back into the pile, laughing and grinning wildly, swishing her arms and legs as if trying to make an angel in the snow. A cloud of tiny drones flew intricate patterns, imitating fireworks and forming images in the sky, as the fridge continued to release wave after wave of its contents, cascading colour into the streets below. ¡°Tag is the best.¡± Cassy shouted as she was covered over in a wave of glittering confetti. Behind the Big Top, a glimpse. Talent-Scout-Barty has created chat (Big Top Bonanza) Talent-Scout-Barty added a group description: Welcome to Big Top Bonanza! My own little contribution to spreading joy around the world, and supporting Cassy even when she doesn¡¯t know she needs it. Some of you have met Cassy, others have not had the joy. But all of you fit the criteria of most likely getting along with my Samurai, and helping in her primary goal of filling the world with joy. (And yes, I have managed to convince her that replacing the earth''s magma with candy is a no go) Feel free to ask for help, offer help, or just chat. Cassy is in here somewhere too, so feel free to buzz for her. Talent-Scout-Barty has invited 7 new people. Issabelle accepted invitation, changed name to Sub-Boss-Issi Sub-Boss-Issi: OMG Hi Barty! (frog-hug-animation) Mistress-Of-Games accepted invitation, changed name to Mistress-OG Mistress-OG: Oh! Isn¡¯t this just lovely! Thank you Barty for bringing us together. Potato-King has declined the invitation, Prince of Starch has accepted in his stead, changed name to Starchy-Boy. Starchy-Boy: I hate that Prince stuff, down with monarchy! LoL. PK is pretty busy though, he has delegated whatever this is to me. Sci-Fi has joined. Sci-Fi: Hi there! I don¡¯t know most of you, but a friend of Cassy is a friend of mine! Especially if you can help me make sense of her gear. (link-?gear?.doc) *** Sub-Boss-Issi: We¡¯re throwing a party for Jane¡¯s birthday, I made her a cake. Frogs hop out of it when the candles get blown out. (link-Frog-Cake.vid) *** Hausmann: (translated from german) MoG, would you mind sharing your catalogues with me again? I¡¯m helping with some rebuilding in Belgium, and wanted to duplicate some of our joint efforts from Hamburg. Mistress-OG: Certainly my dear, which specific ones were you thinking? I¡¯ve got some new purchases that might work well too. Hmmm, I¡¯ll call you. We can hash out better details that way. Sub-Boss-Issi: Build those houses!! *** Sub-Boss-Issi: (link-gangwar.vid) Some local kids were stepping toes into Clown Frog turf, so we had to teach them a lesson. Check out how we take care of business here in Calgary. Starchy-Boy: {This is Penny, I borrowed his tablet.} That¡¯s not a gang war, that¡¯s a water fight! And you don¡¯t eat smores with rival gangs after! I feel betrayed by your link. Hehehe. Starchy-Boy: {Still Penny} That actually looks like so much fun! I¡¯m going to try and grow a water filled potato now. And maybe a Smores Potato. Issi, you should ask Teddy or Cassy to help you visit L.A. You could meet Bafpo! *** Sci-Fi: Hey Hausmann, check out these 3d printed houses! (link-printing.vid) This is with human tech, no protectorate needed. But imagine what you could do if you jazzed em up with a little of your special skills. Sci-Fi: Oh! Also. I¡¯ve been working on building my own little base, I would love some input. Trying to get the alien desert planet vibe just right, it¡¯s hard to fit a cantina in with all the other things a base needs. Call me yeah? *** Sports-Ball-Hitting-Stick-Guy has accepted the invitation, changed name to SBHSG. *** Starchy-Boy: Hey all! PK is rolling out some new vending machines. They serve hot fresh potatoes, any way you like them. Boiled, mashed, stewed, in a tube. Some include bonus features for incursions. Special potatoes that give you a physical and mental boost to help people get to shelters quickly and safely. They¡¯d only be available to purchase during incursion events though, so don¡¯t worry about misuse. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. We¡¯re working on giving some of them weapons and even mobility for during incursions too. To create temporary safe zones or act as escorts. SBHSG: Yo-Bro here, hijacked my bro¡¯s connection for a sec yo. That¡¯s *¡±^&¡± awesome! I love me some Po Tay Toes! You gotta send us some bro! Hook a brother up! Starchy-Boy: We aren¡¯t planning these for single house use, but if you have a building or general area you think would benefit from affordable nutritious food options let me know. Roll out won¡¯t be super fast, we¡¯ve got a lot of projects on the go, but we want to help where we can. *** Nyx has forced Barty to let her join chat. Nyx: Sports Ball Hitting Stick Guy, if you are going to allow your foul mouthed friend to borrow your connection to this server, might I request you first get him some lessons on proper grammar. If Issi utters ¡°Yo¡± around Jane one more time, I¡¯m afraid one of them might end up hurt. Nyx: Mr. Froggington has some excellent courses for pre-school English grammar. SBHSG: Um, yes, absolutely Ms. Nyx Ma¡¯am, I¡¯ll keep a better eye on him. So sorry. He¡¯s, um, yeah. Sorry. Nyx has left the chat¡­ or has she¡­ *** Cassy!: Hey guys! Long time lurker, first time poster. (laughing clown emoji) Cassy!: Gotta say, you are all amazing! I¡¯m totally going to try and swing by to see each of you sometime. I just keep getting side tracked¡­ (pouting clown emoji) Cassy!: Like just now! I found out about a Samurai that lives in a city under the water, way down near the frozen south pole! Cassy!: He¡¯s been around for awhile, but he keeps to himself mostly, way down there. So TF, and me, and Barty, and well all of us. Hehe. Are flying down to meet him! Cassy!: He¡¯s got tentacles for legs! So many hugging options! Talent-Scout-Barty: Our visit to the deep deep southern oceans has nothing at all to do with the fact that the Samurai in question makes candy in his free time. Using flavours and sugars that are literally ¡°out of this world¡± Cassy!: 100% correct Barty. We would never be so frivolous as to fly to the far reaches of the planet for candy. At least not only candy¡­ I¡¯ll bring some back for everyone! *** Lozenge has accepted the invitation. Starchy-Boy: Hi Lozenge! I hear you make candy. Have you tried making anything with potatoes as a base? Sci-Fi: Space candy!! I must scan! And taste! How do I get some? Lozenge: Hi all! Yes I make candy. We can figure out how to get some to you. Or you can come down and help me out. Free candy to anyone who helps out with my little home reconstruction project. Hausmann: (Translated from german) House building? That has somehow become my thing. I will call you, we can share thoughts. Lozenge: That sounds great, what do you have that can survive at bathypelagic depths? Sub-Boss-Issi: Special candy? Bathy what? Lozenge: Bathypelagic, down past where the sun''s rays can reach in the ocean. It¡¯s where my home, Antarctic 1 floats. And I believe Cassy has a ¡°pocketful¡± of candy marked with your name. Haha. Sub-Boss-Issi: (wide eyed with wonder frog emoji) I must visit. Pleeeeeeeease!! Sub-Boss-Iss: Do you make gummy bears? I bet Teddy would love some. *** Talent-Scout-Barty: (link-Cat-Callout.vid) Cassy is already on her way to Montreal, will be a bit though. We were down at Antarctic 1 helping out again, but we¡¯re moving fast. Who¡¯s in for some fundraising? Cassy!: We¡¯ll come back another time to recruit some sealife for the show, I guess. Darn silly plants getting in the way of fun. (pouting-clownfish-emoji) Sub-Boss Issi: Teddy is busy packing the bears into anything that can transport them, along with a few local friends. I tried to sneak on with some squirrels, I even offered them some of the nice nuts Cassy sent, they still ratted me out ?? Mistress-OG: I saw the stream live, I¡¯ve been organising transportation for as many game boxes as I can. I¡¯m thinking I might try out the Katamari seed I¡¯ve been working on. Hausmann: (translated from german) I am heading to help with the European defences. Saddened that I won¡¯t be able to work alongside you all in person. Starch-Boy: Oh wow! PK and I just saw this too. He¡¯s got tons to take care of here in LA, but Penny and I are on the way with a squadron of starch bombers. We¡¯ve got a few new cross cultures to try out. (evil-laughter-animation) Prof-Frog: Issi, if you would be so kind as to meet me at the Tent in the Tree, Cassy (With Nyx¡¯s secret approval) left a special present for you in the boughs. Sub-Boss-Issi: Mecha frog!! I knew she liked my drawing! I¡¯ll see you all in Quebec! Just gotta sneak past Jane. Sci-Fi: Red 7, standing by! I mean, I¡¯m on my way! SBHSG: I don¡¯t have a way to get there right now, and no locals seem to be heading over either. But I¡¯m with you in spirit! Get the puck in the basket! Home run! Lozenge: Poutine party afterwards? Sci-Fi: Make it so. (bald-captain-gif) Chat window closed. For now. Cassy: The Trick is the Treat In the wake of the apocalyptic arrival of the Antithesis, society changed in uncountable ways. Many, many things from the past were left there, disappearing into only memory, others were simply changed to fit the new societal narrative. An array of holidays, and other days of celebration were included in this societal shift. Some still cling to these artefacts of the old world though, stubbornly holding on, despite the scoffing of others. Excerpt from ¡°How We¡¯ve Changed: A collection of reflections¡± *** Cassy stared at the witch in the mirror. The cheap costume bunched and bulged over her motley, the hat slid off of her bouncy curls and onto the floor. ¡°Hmmm, looks like this one is a bust too.¡± With a flick of a wrist, and a sparkly twirl, the costume found itself folded neatly and placed back into its plastic packaging, which joined several others on a ratty chair. The young man that worked in the old costume store shyly cleared his throat. ¡°I''m sorry to ask Ms. The Clown, but you are a Samurai correct? Could you not get a much better costume through other means?¡± ¡°Of course I could! But that wouldn''t be right! The best costumes always come in plastic bags, fit badly, and probably won''t survive a night of vigorous trick or treating.¡± Cassy started struggling into a ¡°lost girl with red shoes and small dog¡± costume. The blue and white chequered dress was stuck over her face as she continued. ¡°Well, I guess those are second best. The best, best, ones are made by hand. By parents, or even better grandparents, or friends. But we''ve left this a bit last minute for that.¡± Cassy turned to the employee, dress stuck on her head, arms pinned up through the neck hole. She leaned towards him. ¡°Help?¡± *** The store was a mess, racks had been knocked over, costumes were strewn about, and someone had brought several cans of silly string. A group of five humans lay laughing in a pile of discarded outfits and accessories. One clown, one dishevelled employee, and three young people that looked similar enough to each other to be easily assumed as family. The smallest, with curly blonde hair giggled through a mouthful of whip cream from the can in her hand. ¡°Hayden, stop with the whip cream. You are going to ruin your appetite, you know mom gets upset if you fill up on sweets.¡± The eldest, a teenage brunette girl said, no actual heat to her words. Hayden spoke, her mouth still full. ¡°Is ok Becca, Cassy said it''s good for you, a meal in a can, everything my growing body needs.¡± She giggled, as her brother Henry, the middle child, sprayed her with bubblegum scented silly string. Both sprung to their feet, and restarted the game of tag around the store. Rebecca looked at the young man staring around the store in mute shock. ¡°Sorry Phillip, we were just supposed to swing by and pick up some teeth for Henry¡¯s costume. I¡¯ll help you clean up¡± ¡°Nonsense!¡± Cassy crowed, bounding to her feet and striking a pose. ¡°This is my mess to take care of. I was the one that asked you all for help with costumes afterall.¡± Cassy hooked her thumbs into her pockets, and stretched them wide, a cadre of spooky balloons bearing brooms and scrubbers crawled their way out to take care of the mess. ¡°Besides, we still need to figure out a group costume!¡± ¡°Group costume?¡± Rebecca and Philip asked incredulously, in near unison. ¡°Of course, trick or treating is always more fun with friends! And group costumes make it ever more fun!¡± Phillip scratched his head and shared a concerned look with his friend Rebecca. ¡°I don¡¯t know of many group costumes for 5 people Cassy. And there¡¯s not much trick or treating to do around these parts anyway. Too dangerous, and most people don¡¯t have the money to buy candy to give away. We are just getting costumes for a little get together for families on our floor at home.¡± Cassy stared at the young man in shock, her jaw hanging slack, great crocodile tears forming in the corners of her eyes. ¡°No! This can¡¯t be! Trick or treating is a right of passage! A formative part of being a kid, and spreading joy! No no no no no! This just won¡¯t do!¡± Cassy dropped backwards onto her bouncy bottom and stared at the messy floor in front of her, mumbling sad mumbles to herself, and shaking her head. ¡°Phillip, is she ok? Are we ok? I think we broke a Samurai, and as nice as Cassy is, maybe we should run¡­ I¡¯ve heard bad stories about Samurai that lose themselves.¡± Rebecca¡¯s eyes scanned the room, flipping between her friend, her siblings that had collapsed in the corner together, and the despondent Samurai. ¡°I dunno,¡± Phillip replied. ¡°She¡¯s been pretty cool so far, I don¡¯t think she¡¯s going to sick her balloons on us, maybe we should try and help her?¡± ¡°How do WE, help a Samurai, Phil? We aren¡¯t in a movie, this isn¡¯t KISS saves Christmas!¡± Becca whispered loudly. ¡°I don¡¯t know what that is, my family isn¡¯t into antique animation like yours is.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a band, they made a movie¡­ No wait, that¡¯s not important. We need to get out of here, help me with the other two.¡± She continued to whisper, trying to pull Phillip to his feet. Cassy spoke up through her sniffles. ¡°It¡¯s ok, you can go, I¡¯ll clean up. I¡¯d never hurt you.. I just, sniff, want to spread joy, but¡­¡± Cassy pulled a large hanky from her sleeve and blew her nose loudly, it stretched on for nearly half a minute. ¡°Sniff, sorry. This is all so sad¡­ no trick or treating, sniff, everyone should have free candy. Everyone should get to see people in silly, spooky, creative, costumes¡­ Where has the joy gone?¡± Cassy blew her nose again briefly. Phillip and Rebecca stared down at the sad clown, and back at each other with concerned looks. Phil hesitantly opened his mouth. ¡°Well, um, maybe you, er we, us, could fix that? What if we, um, what if¡­¡± He trailed off Rebecca looked around the room thoughtfully, her concerns of getting pulverised by an unstable Samurai dissipating. ¡°What if¡­ What if we reverse trick or treated? We could all dress up, and go around the city giving out costumes and candy, and spreading joy like you want to? I, I mean, if you can do that with your Samurai stuff? We can¡¯t do a whole lot to help with that, but¡­¡± Cassy¡¯s head tilted upwards to look at the two teens. Hey eyes puffy from crying, but a smile was growing again. She blew her nose hard one last time, and wiped it clean with her hanky before it disappeared. Somehow her makeup remained unmarred by tears, mucus or hanky. ¡°That¡¯s an amazing idea! You kids are amazing! Thank you, thank you, thank you!¡± Cassy leapt to her feet and grasped the pair in her arms, lifting them both up into a spinning hug. ¡°We¡¯ve got so much planning to do! And candy tasting! We can¡¯t give out bad tasting candy! Unless it makes people laugh¡­¡± An old TV hanging on the wall flickered to life, Barty¡¯s voice came out through the speakers. ¡°I¡¯ve got plenty of things we can look at to make this the best Halloween in years. Including candy trees! We can plant them in the streets. But first I have an idea for a group costume.¡± The image on the screen settled into showing an old cartoon. It had 4 teenagers and a dog running away from ghosts and ghouls. It came to a stop with an image of them in front of a bright green van with words on the side.. ¡°I would like to be the Van¡± Said Barty through the TV. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. *** Margaret straightened the paper pumpkin on her apartment door one last time. She stepped back to get a better look at the few decorations she¡¯d had the energy to put up this year. She was spry for her age, but 95 plus years of life take their toll, even with modern medicine helping out where it could. She turned to look around at her neighbours doors, both nearby and across the wide open central square of the mega building she called home. She sighed at the complete lack of any other decoration. ¡°What is the world coming to, that no one celebrates the old holidays anymore? Kids need to have some fun, get their minds off of, all that, out there.¡±She waved vaguely at the world around her, and turned back to her door, flicking imaginary dust from her ¡°trick-or-treaters welcome¡± sign. ¡°Grandma Marge, you gotta stop putting that sign up. You¡¯re going to end up with home invaders before you actually get any kids running around for candy.¡± The voice came from a young woman with neon green hair, and glowing pink cybernetic eyes as she exited the apartment next to Margaret''s. ¡°Nonsense Adelaide, I may not have had anyone come calling for candy in a few years, but the year I stop is the year something important dies. Kids need a chance to be kids, to wear silly costumes and get free candy.¡± Adelaide raised her hands in mock fear, laughing. ¡°Ok, ok I get it Grams, Halloween is important, kids need to be kids. Just in case no miracles happen tonight though, the boys will be happy to take any leftover candy off your hands in the morning.¡± ¡°What are your younger brothers up to tonight¡­¡± Margarets words trailed off as loud noises echoed from down below. ¡°What¡¯s going on now, it better not be...¡± Margaret and Adelaide leant over the railing looking down to the bottom of the communal atrium. Adelaide looked to the older woman, ¡°Was there a halloween parade nearby? Did you spend your life savings to get some of the performers to stop by?¡± Margaret cackled, as she threw her back. It started quietly, down in the root of her stomach, rising up through her body, and growing with intensity until it echoed off the walls. As her cackle faded, she turned to Adelaide, a sparkle in her eyes the young woman hadn¡¯t seen in a decade or two. ¡°Oh this wasn¡¯t me girly, that down there is the true spirit of halloween, coming back from beyond the grave!¡± She broke once again into maniacal cackles. She grasped Adelaide''s hand, and pulled her toward her apartment door. ¡°Now help me finish putting my costume on, I¡¯m not missing this.¡± The decorated apartment door clicked shut behind the cackling older woman and her flabbergasted neighbour. *** A clown stood atop a colourful replica of an antique gasoline van, her clown costume was only partially covered by an ill fitting costume of brown dog, complete with blue collar with a gold emblem. ¡°Rappy Raroweeeeeen!¡± Cassy the Mystery Dog Clown crowed as she tossed handfuls of candy into the gathering crowd on the ground floor of the mega building. Barty the Mystery Van blared Halloween hits from past and present out of pulsing speakers along his rim. Both sliding doors stood open wide, the four others from the costume store leaning out of them. Each dressed as another member of the spooky mystery solving gang from long past. They grabbed bags of candy, and packages of auto dressing costumes from the never shrinking pile in the vans centre, and tossed them into the crowd. Phillip straightened his ascot and turned to the girl in a purple mini skirt. ¡°How many mega buildings have we done so far Becca? I¡¯ve lost count. And how are we supposed to hit the whole city with just us?¡± Shouting to be heard, Rebecca responded, ¡°This is number five! And it¡¯s not just us! Cassy has balloon crews in mini-vans running all over the city making sure everyone has enough candy to make them sick, and giving costumes to them all too!¡± On the other side of the van, Hayden and Henry spent as much time shoving candy into their own faces and pockets as they did out into the onlookers. ¡°Do you think mom would let us do this everyday?¡± The young boy in green asked his sister in orange. ¡°Not a chance, we¡¯ll have to convince Barty or Cassy to kidnap us¡± They shared a glance, and broke into a giggling fit together. Cassy stopped her tossing as an opening elevator caught her eye. ¡°That¡¯s not one of our costumes! Barty!! Looooook! That¡¯s a one hundred percent, home grown, handmade, amazing witch costume! Halloween lives forever!¡± Cassy clicked her heels, springs popping out from the bottom of her paw covered shiny red shoes. She leapt from the Barty¡¯s roof to land with a squeaking slide in front of the older women in a classic black witch costume, and the green haired girl next to her. ¡°Hi! I¡¯m Cassy the Mystery Dog Clown, you are a witch, you look amazing!¡± Cassy gushed as she went in to give the older woman a huge hug. She paused, arms open wide, and sent Margaret a questioning look for consent to hug. Margaret stepped forward into the hug, pulling Cassy in tight. ¡°You are only supposed to wear one costume at a time dear. It¡¯s never good to be indecisive.¡± Cassy giggled happily, eyes twinkling as she stepped back, and spun in a small circle. ¡°I am only wearing one costume though?¡± Adelaide worked her slack jaw back into action. ¡°You, you¡¯re, you¡¯re a Samurai! You have to be! How else¡­ Why are you giving out candy?¡± Margaret and Cassy shared a look, grins spread across their painted faces, one of green, and one white pancake, they hollered in unison, spreading arms wide. ¡°Because it¡¯s Halloween, and Halloween never dies!¡± ¡°So witchy lady, wanna help me give candy to the entire city?¡± Cassy asked, extending a hand. ¡°I¡¯ll even let you plant some candy trees,¡± She added in a stage whisper. The Wicked Witch of Mega Building R22 grasped the hand of the Samurai dressed as a clown dressed as a dog. ¡°It would be my greatest pleasure, perhaps we¡¯ll even find you some Cassy Snacks.¡± She winked, with a cackle. *** Several hours later. Some time in the night Adelaide had gained a costume of her own, that of a winged monkey, to match her friend in theme. She still wore it as she entered Margaret''s apartment, the Wicked Witch leaning on her heavily. Margaret''s legs wibbled and wobbled, her eyes drooped with exhaustion, but the smile refused to leave her face. ¡°I¡¯m going to be stuck in bed for days,¡± Margaret said sleepily. ¡°But It was worth every second of fatigue. I haven¡¯t had a night like that since I was your age my monkey minion.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll get the boys to swing by and give you a hand while you recover.¡± Adelaide laughed as she helped Margaret out of her costume and onto her bed. ¡°Mom and I will make you some of the soup from your recipe book. Maybe something with simulated pumpkin in it?¡± ¡°That would be lovely dear, but don¡¯t put yourself out too much for little old me.¡± Sleepy Margaret replied as she curled beneath her blankets. ¡°Nah, it¡¯s no trouble. Besides, we¡¯ll need something to eat while we figure out how we are going to top this next year. It¡¯ll be hard without Cassy to help out.¡± Abigail looked back, her hand on the door knob, Margaret was already fast asleep, still smiling. She quietly closed the bedroom door behind her and left the old woman to her rest. Abigail almost tripped over something as she left the apartment, sitting in front of Margaret''s outer door, was a pair of potted bonsai candy trees, their colourful branches drooping with hard candy fruits. Attached to each was a note, one addressed to Margaret, and one to Abigail. Rappy Raroweeeeen! It¡¯s been a blast! See you next year! You should start working on a new costume right away! Cassy the Mystery Dog Clown. PS from Barty: The ¡°candy¡± is actually super nutritious, eating one everyday may help old witches see many more spooky holidays. *** Not too far away, in a brand new grove of trees, heavy with fresh bags of candy, sat a green van, it¡¯s sliding doors wide open. In through the doors four costumed kids lay snoring in a cuddly pile, each lost in their own sugar coma induced dreams. Atop the van, sat Cassy the Clown, divested of her own canine costume, staring up at where the stars might have been if not for the city''s light pollution. ¡°Next year Barty, we gotta go bigger. One city spookified is not enough! Do you think I should recruit more people, or maybe clone myself¡­ some sort of Cassy Cloning Clown Car¡­ Nah, that¡¯s too much sameness. Unless each clone was a little different! We could have a frog clown, and a rodeo clown, a mime! Nah, silence is too hard¡­¡± Barty spoke softly through the speakers around the van''s rim. ¡°I think one Cassy the Clown is plenty good enough. I¡¯m sure with a whole year to prepare, we could find friends all over the world to help spread spooky cheer next year.¡± Cassy lay back, spreading her limbs like a starfish. ¡°Yeah you¡¯re probably right Barty. One Cassy is enough. For now...¡± Cassy¡¯s giggles drifted off into the slow breathing of sleep, as winds whistled through branches full of sweet treats. A stray gust grabbed a branch and ripped free its offering, a bag full of sugary Cassy Snacks, which landed square upon her clowny visage. ¡°Gah! Wassat? Sgt. arm the cannons!... Oooh Cassy Snacks.¡± Cassy shoved her mouth full of her current favourite treat, rolling over and drifting back to sleep. Half chewed candy drool dribbled on to Barty¡¯s shiny new roof. Spooky? Side Story: Damp and Humid (No Whimsy) Damp and Humid: A Litany. In the decade following the arrival of the samurai and the antithesis. Several aquatically-minded samurai set out to keep the oceans safe from the threat. They planned cities underwater, or standing tall in the shallows. So they might better monitor the depths. They offered homes to those displaced by the spreading scourge. Including offers of minor augmentation to help them survive and even thrive in conditions most humans could not. Of the many planned, less than a dozen were started. Fewer were completed. Today only 4 remain even marginally active. None of which could be said to be ¡°thriving¡± as their founders had hoped. Antarctic 1, suspended on a repurposed space elevator part way between New zealand and its namesake. And Nemo¡¯s rest, a sprawling mass of structures at point nemo in the pacific ocean. Remain the two most successful. Excerpt from ¡°The best laid plans of overly Idealistic samurai¡± Eric glared at the dull grey, always damp hallway walls of his home, Antarctic 1. It was a shit hole, that was slowly falling apart. They¡¯d lost the ability and resources to keep up with the maintenance demands of their deep ocean dwelling some years ago. Eric walked through the passages of the inner habitation ring as he started his day. Memories stirred of when he was younger, the halls had been full of people, including his parents and older sister, there had been hope then. One Samurai or another would choose to watch over them while farming points in the surrounding waters. Each would take on the role of conservator, taking over from the founder that had died early in the city''s history. A small portion of the points earned were invested into keeping Antarctic 1 afloat. As time had passed though, and Eric had gone from naive child to the young adult he was, the waters around his home had begun to die. It began with the local sea life becoming more and more sparse, the antitheses that preyed upon them soon followed, and with no points to keep them there the Samurai disappeared too. In the wake of losing what looked like the city''s last conservator, the residents began to leave as well. Eric had watched as all the familiar faces slowly disappeared. Friends, acquaintances, and 2 years ago even his Father and sister had left. Anyone that could live in the lower pressures of the surface world, or could afford to undo the alterations they had received through technology, or like Eric, had inherited from his parents, had left. The only people that remained with Eric in the city below the waves were the ones who couldn¡¯t survive on dry land, and the die-hards. Those who hadn¡¯t given up hope, or just refused to leave the place they called home. Eric stopped in front of Aunt Tess¡¯ door. She wasn¡¯t his real aunt, Eric didn¡¯t think anyone down here was related to her, but everyone called her Aunt Tess, she¡¯d come down here with the founder, and she had no plans of ever leaving. He placed a metal basket with a few mechanical nicknacks, and components he had repaired for her, to the side of the door. Eric was an underwater engineer, or that¡¯s what he called himself most days. He did his best to keep his small section of the city functional, despite his lack of formal training. He figured he could likely design and maintain a better submarine than anyone with a fancy degree. Normally Eric would have stopped to check how Aunt Tess was doing, maybe install one or two of the things he¡¯d repaired for her, today though he had something important to take care of. Today he needed to head further out from the core than he usually liked to go. Out past the parts he and the scant thousand remaining citizens struggled to keep livable on the day to day. Even out past the unfinished rings he and the rest of the younger denizens visited to scrounge for parts. Despite his misgivings, and the boredom of the long trek. Eric was determined to get out and fix the issue that filled his cabin with a barely audible squeal whenever the lights were out. He hadn¡¯t slept in days. Days of running every diagnostic, and every repair he could think of. He¡¯d finally eliminated every option but ¡°something is wrong at power junction N27T-I¡±. Some little thing there was for some godforsaken reason was making something in his walls squeal. Just because he knew how to fix the things, didn¡¯t mean he knew what they were called. Growing up underwater Eric had learned quickly that words like damp and humid lacked enough nuance, everywhere was damp and or humid. That said, the damp and humid of the core was a pleasant one, like a warm hug from a soggy teddy bear. As Eric trekked further and further from warmth and safety, however, it was rapidly moving toward ¡°cold extra mushy porridge someone had shoved down the back of your underpants¡±, damp and humid. It wasn¡¯t a long journey. As the octopus crawls it should have been less than a couple hours all told. Sadly the power was low. The halls were dim and cluttered, and half of the doors didn¡¯t work. Those that still functioned, most needed help to open, either from the long pry bar, the backup battery Eric carried with him, or a bit of old fashioned elbow grease. *** Eric was unhappy, he¡¯d been making good time for a trek into the outskirts. Until he came face to face with a sealed emergency bulkhead. Section K12 had sprung a leak, and then collapsed. That must have been the shuddering they¡¯d all felt a couple weeks back. He couldn¡¯t go back to K11, or K10. None of the doors worked. The power systems had been torn to pieces, for parts, ages ago. A quick link of his augs to the local network helped him find a route. It looked like K13 was still at survivable pressures, and the doors were likely functional. Eric debated to himself if going to the cursed 13th outermost ring was worth it. ¡°Who the hell thought, let''s make our precarious underwater habitat have the most unlucky number of rings?¡± Kicking a twisted hunk of metal down the hall, Eric shouted into the darkness. ¡°worked out real fucking well for you didn¡¯t it? Dead-ass idiot samurai...¡± Erik checked the time in his aug¡¯s hud. If he tried to head back and circle through K9 he wouldn¡¯t have time to make it back to his bunk before the sun went down and the city went into low power mode from lacking juice from the surface solar panels. ¡°I refuse to spend another night with fluff stuffed in my ears.¡± Erik had turned around and walked back to the last intersection. To the right was home, and a squeal filled sleep. To the left, L13. A leaky, over pressured, under powered nightmare. Erik smacked his own cheeks, bouncing a bit on the balls of his feet. Shaking out his hands. ¡°Fuuuuuck, stupid god-damn....¡± Erik¡¯s swearing faded out into mumbling as he faced down the dark passage to L13. Doing his best to psych himself up to do something he knew was unconditionally stupid. Antarctic 1 had been built with a gradient pressure system. To spread the pressure load across a greater area. Ring 13 would kill an unaltered human. It would kill Erik too, if he stayed too long, but for the brief time he had to pass through it, it would just be rather uncomfortable. As long as there were no more obstacles, or unexpected issues to slow him down, the pressure shouldn¡¯t cause any long term issues. ¡°Yes Eric, nothing could go wrong now. The outer ring of your crumbling home should be problem free!¡± He said sarcastically into the emptiness of the dim hallways. The 13th ring had never been finished. All the pieces were there, but few had been fully hooked in. The final section of the city M13 had been put into place almost 20 years ago. Not long after Erik was born. It still didn¡¯t show up on the main diagnostic system. Erik let out a determined sigh. ¡°Tess is going to stick me on waste management for a month when she finds out about this.¡± His last bit of hesitation disappeared down the dim metal hallways with the fading echoes of his words. His feet carried him further away from comfort. Into the damp and humid he had yet to name. The signs of scavenging grew fewer as he neared the airlock between rings. Most people were unwilling to head this far out for spare parts. Any open panels had likely never been attached in the first place. Whatever future alien composites the samurai had made the city from didn¡¯t rust. Nor did it allow anything to grow upon it. Erik¡¯s feet left scuffs in the sludge of salt and dust that mixed with the thin layer of water these outer rings could never seem to get rid of. The city shuddered rhythmically around him. This far from the central elevator, you could feel the ocean''s currents making the city bob and weave all the more. The ever present hum of the life support systems faded out in the uninhabited areas, where they¡¯d been mostly turned off. It created an eerie silence that allowed Erik to hear all the little creaks and groans of the city shifting around him. Living down past where the sun''s rays could shine always gave a feeling of surreality. Out this far from home though? It was different. It was colder, darker, quieter, and yet so much louder. Erik could hear his breath as his body pushed harder in the denser air, he could feel his heartbeat pulsing in his head. Every creak and groan grated on his ears, as he wound through the empty halls and passageways to reach the airlock to L13 ¡°Thank God, it¡¯s open on this side¡± Erik panted out as he leaned against the door into the airlock. Thankful he would only have to wait through one pressure change cycle. Stepping inside, he shut the door behind himself. Pressing the big button that would start the pressure change. ¡°Really wish they¡¯d left some of the pressure suits out here. This is going to suck. I forgot how hard it was to breathe in these outer rings.¡± Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. ¡°Fuck my life¡± Erik leaned against the wall, head back, eyes closed. Breathing deep and slow as the pressure slowly grew. He could feel it squeezing tighter against his skin. His lungs had to work harder to pull in every breath. The sounds around him grew dimmer, until his ears popped and equalized. 3 minutes feels like forever when you are waiting alone in an airlock, dreading the trek ahead. With a final hiss, the outer door unlatched. Swinging slowly open, letting the stale air from the outer ring into the airlock. ¡°L13¡± Erik spoke aloud, his voice sounding strange in the thick air. ¡°Second to last section put in place. I don¡¯t think anyone has been in here since they put M13 in¡± It was, to put it nicely, a mess. Crates of parts and pieces stacked haphazardly about the room. Pallets of wall panels spilled across the floor. Pipes and wiring hung loose in the hollow superstructure. All in the dim glow of the inconsistent emergency lighting. Erik was surprised when L13 pinged his augs. It was apparently assuming he was part of the construction crew and asking for his credentials. ¡°Of all the bloody things to still be functional out here. The construction network.¡± Erik laughed to himself. His small laugh turned into a cough. The thickness of the air caught him off guard. Flicking through the local net, Erik managed to get past the insistent job assignment pings and find a local status readout, and a map of what the layout should have one day become. Life support: Minimal Power: Status unavailable. Please reconnect at the main junction. Pressure: Above recommended. O2: Below recommended. CO2: Above recommended. Inner Hull: Optimal Outer Hull: 80% Shutters: Jammed The list went on, most reading unavailable, or unpowered. More than a few flashing red. Broken or missing. Somewhat troubling were the air readings, the city must have been shoving the CO2 it couldn¡¯t scrub to the outer rings. Of a much more immediate concern, 9 of the 12 doors to the neighbouring sections of 13 were among the flashing red signals. ¡°Only one door to K13. And it''s the second furthest out. Bloody hell.¡± Erik could feel the fatigue already. The long day through the old city with bad air and increasing pressure. Not to mention the week of fitful sleep because of that damn squealing. Erik ran his hands down his face, leaving filthy streaks behind from the old grunge caked on them from the day of crawling through the city¡¯s fringes. ¡°Nothing for it I guess. I¡¯ve come this far.¡± As he started walking through the chaotic construction remains he wondered if the outer shutters were jammed open or closed. Only 13 had actual windows, he¡¯d only seen the world outside the city through screens and images in his augs. The trip to the edge of 13 wasn¡¯t long. It was, however, not pleasant. Erik could feel a headache slowly growing. His ears were starting to ring, his eyes ached, for the first time he was glad his inherited changes were as strong as they were. ¡°Although if they were weaker, I could have left with Dad and Evelyn, and I wouldn¡¯t be stuck down here, in Poseidon''s anus, risking my life for a single, god damned, good night''s sleep!¡± His voice grew louder as he ranted, it bounced hollowly off the floor and ceiling. His brief bout of near shouting left him leaning against a pillar gasping for breath. While working to get his breath under control, Erik noticed for the first time that the light was different. Peering forward he could see the edge of the city. The shutters haphazardly jammed between open and closed, revealing his first look at the ocean beyond. ¡°Are the external lights on? Why they hell is it dim as fuck in here, but the externals are working?¡± He muttered to himself as he walked closer to the thick not really glass outer windows. Mesmerised by his first glimpse of a world not made of steel and plastic. ¡°I thought we were too far down for sunlight. What is going on?¡± Erik had reached the edge. His face pressed against and slightly into the oddly malleable clear outer panels. He remembered reading something about them, some special material designed to... Something moved outside. It was big. ¡°Is that a whale?¡± ¡°No, whale¡¯s are gone... all the fish are...¡± It moved again, curving closer. Luminescent patterns rolling to life along its sides. Erik¡¯s brain finally struggled through the fog of fatigue. The surrounding oceans were dead, even the Antithesis didn¡¯t like them. Then why the bloody fuck was he staring at one the size of a fucking whale? And why was it coming toward him? And why wasn¡¯t he moving? He should run. Run where? 12 was too far. 12 had the stupid slow airlock. Wait, did they see motion? Heat? Should he run? Should he hide? What he shouldn¡¯t do is panic. He knew that much. He was panicking. He was nothing but panic. He should really stop... The monster opened its massive maw wide. Erik could almost see the shockwaves in the water from the sound he couldn¡¯t hear it making. The shockwave wasn¡¯t the only thing coming out of it though, smaller, faster objects were launching out of it towards the city as well. Erik¡¯s lizard brain took over. The door to K was closest, his feet moved before he told them to. Adrenaline pushing his tired body past its limits, every muscle in his body burned, his lungs ached and protested the too thick, too damp, too humid air he was forcing into them with gulping breaths. He kept his eyes focused on where he knew the door to K would appear through the murk. Ignoring the increasing brightness of the light shining through from the water outside. The city shook. Erik lost his footing, falling to the floor and careening off of a heavy stack of metal boxes. Thankfully, while they shifted precariously, none fell onto him. Not so thankfully he¡¯d torn open a gash on his right leg, a sharp screw still hung tangled in the threads of his now ripped pants. Eric''s vision swam, the world spinning around him. He was disoriented, and his body was starved for clean air. He lay there a moment, mouth gaping, eyes wide staring at the ceiling, unable to pick himself up. Shock at the new notification flashing in his augs, paralysing him. K13 compromised. All access to K13 is sealed. Local Hull integrity falling. Please Evacuate L13 The system status list scrolled past his eyes as he lay bleeding on the floor. Unable to parse the reality they were showing him. A wall of flashing red text. The list of doors began to scroll past, he saw his last hope. Door M4: Open Not just operational, open. No guessing, no prying, or powering. An escape. Maybe... just had to cross almost the entire section while bleeding, and gasping for air. Before the hull failed, or another plant jarred something loose. Erik crawled to his feet. The gash on his leg pushed to the back of his mind. His eyes focused on one word. Open. Open. Open. Stumbling, dragging his wounded leg,he moved as rapidly as he could, hypoxia slowly stealing the edges of his vision. The city shook again. More red warnings flashed across his vision. Not M4, faithful M4 stayed green. Stayed Open. Shining bright in his augs. The last thing keeping him moving. Erik liked M4, if he survived this maybe he¡¯d name his first kid M4. Oooh! Maybe he could name one of the shadows crawling on the windows M4. Poor thing stuck out there in the cold, he should let it in... Erik stumbled to his knees again. His vision narrowed to a pinpoint. The stale air continuing to take its toll. The ringing in his ears had stopped, instead he could feel something leaking from them. Head bent over, staring blankly at the floor, he realised he¡¯d stopped breathing. His lungs felt heavy and full of sand. With a concentrated effort he forced a breath into his lungs, and after the choking coughs stopped, he forced another. Eric pushed himself back to his feet. Holding tightly to a pillar, clawing at it for leverage to help him rise. The city shook again. Hull Integrity: Less than 20% Erik forced himself to move, he was almost there. Eric¡¯s journey across the section was a haze of stumbling delirium. He was scratched, bruised, bleeding, and ached all over. But M4 was right there. 15 metres, maybe less. His world shifted, he stumbled and slid, but kept his feet. His bleeding ears barely caught the sound of something buckling to his right. A glance showed him the strange clear material of the outer window chipped and cracked, buckling inward. A swarm of the dark shadows scuttled on its surface, clawing their way deeper, widening cracks and gouges. 5 metres to the door. He pushed his body harder. Drawing every last ounce of will he had left. His wounded leg numb and dragging. The lights flickered, the city shook. The outer wall screamed. Eric stumbled, he reached out to grab a hanging cable. He instead met a jet of water cutting through the room. There was a brief pink mist and Eric lost feeling in his left hand. He put it out of his mind. He was almost to the door. M4. His new best friend. Still somehow, miraculously open. He lurched through the open door, falling to the ground just past its frame. M4 closed behind him. K13. Critical structural failure. Flashed as a message across Eriks augs, as the city shook. Erik was losing blood. Erik was hypoxic. He was still not safe. His augs pinged in his fading vision. Critical structural failure of ring 13 sections I through M imminent. Recommend jettisoning Section M13 to safeguard surrounding areas. Eject Section M13 from Antarctic 1? Yes? No? Erik wasn¡¯t the most altruistic of people, but there were people here he¡¯d rather not see crushed by dark waters. Besides, he figured he was dead already. Might as well try and save a few lives before the end. He pinged back ¡°Yes¡± as his world went dark. *** The world was dark, and everything was pain. Eric wasn¡¯t sure if that was good or bad. Could the dead feel pain? Eric heard trumpets. And a voice. He thought his ears were toast from the pressure... ¡°Greetings Vanguard! You are dying. Might I recommend a few purchases to prevent that?¡± End Cassy gets socked. Steven woke in a cold sweat. It took him a moment to realise the incursion sirens from his dream had followed him to the waking world. He was out of bed throwing on clothing before he¡¯d finished waking. The other side of the bed being empty caused him a moment of panic, before he remembered Paige was with the boys in the city, it was just him and the little terror named Olive. He smiled a bitter sweet smile as he grabbed his emergency bag and ran for Olive¡¯s room. She¡¯d been a bit of a whoops, coming 10 years after he and Paige had thought they were done having kids, and she was more of a handful at 5 years old than her three older brothers combined, but that might be because the whole family treated her like a princess. Steven wished she¡¯d gone to visit Paige¡¯s parents with her mom and the boys, but she was a daddy¡¯s girl, and had insisted he would need her help here at home. Putting what if¡¯s aside he opened her bedroom door, Olive stood sleepily by her bed, still in her pj¡¯s one hand clutching the strap of her own Grasshopper themed emergency bag. The Samurai, not the insect, Olive loved Grasshoppers educational media. ¡°Good job little one, you were almost faster than daddy. Are you awake enough to get down the stairs, or would you like up?¡± Olive''s only response was to stare groggily up at her father and raise her arms. Steven stepped forward and scooped the tired girl into his arms. He hurried down the stairs to the main floor, down through the basement and into the never before used bunker his mother had installed in the house when he was a child. He sealed the big metal door behind them, and deposited his sleepy daughter onto the large bed in the corner. Before he could join her for the snuggles her wiggling arms desired, he checked and double checked that everything they would need to hopefully keep them alive was as functional as it could be. Steven stopped himself from checking a third time, it was only anxiety keeping him going, and even if something was wrong, it was too late to do much now. He crawled in beside his now slumbering daughter and did his best to drift off as well. *** The clock on the wall said it was past dawn, they had been underground for just over 6 hours, most of which they¡¯d both managed to sleep through. Father and daughter had just finished a breakfast of sugary cereal with shelf stable milk. The sweetness of the cereal had hidden the odd aftertaste from the unspoilable ¡°dairy¡± product. Olive was in the small curtained off bathroom, brushing her teeth and changing out of her pj¡¯s. ¡°Olive sweety, are you ok in there? That¡¯s an awful lot of banging.¡± ¡°Yup! I got it! I¡¯m a big girl! I clean my teefs super best!¡± Steve had changed out of his own while his daughter hogged the small bathroom, he sat and waited at the small table, looking over the bunkers control tablet. The curtain being abruptly pulled aside had him looking quickly up toward his daughter. ¡°Olive, what are you wearing? Those are entirely too many socks.¡± Steven laughed as he looked at his 5 year old. She wore a well loved T-shirt with a cereal mascot raising a spoon emblazoned across it¡¯s front, and a pair of comfy blue sweatpants. The rest of her ensemble however caused Steve to raise his eyebrows. Olive was wearing at least two pairs of socks on her hands, and he could identify at least 5 different bands of colour around her poofy feet. ¡°I¡¯m Sock Girl! I¡¯m a super hero!¡± Olive stated proudly, putting hands on her hips and striking a pose. ¡°Oh is that so? And what powers does Sock Girl have?¡± ¡°Sock Powers!¡± She declared with equal pride. ¡°And dance powers!¡± She struck another pose. Steven grinned from ear to ear. Even hiding underground with who knows what crawling above their heads Olive was indomitable. He snapped a photo with his augs and sent it off to the rest of their family. Paige responded quickly. The incursion wasn¡¯t close to the city, but it might come their way, so the government was moving the elderly and at risk into the shelters just in case. She, the three boys and her parents were already in line. They were all glad that he and Olive were safe, and apparently having fun. They would try to keep in touch as long as they could. ¡°Mom and the boys are having fun with grandma and grandpa, they think Sock Girl is the best hero ever, but she¡¯s lacking in snuggles!¡± Steven ran towards Olive, hands out grasping, as he finished speaking, scooping a now giggling toddler into a tickle fight. The Antithesis might be overhead, but he¡¯d be damned if Olive would think this was anything but a special camping adventure for the two of them. *** The day had been blessedly quiet, no proximity warnings had gone off, but the local incursion warnings were still telling people to stay put and stay safe for now. Steven had allowed himself brief glimpses of the satellite map of the area during the moments Olive was distracted with one activity or another. The Samurai were doing their best, but it was slow going, there weren¡¯t many that stuck around to protect rural areas like this, and outside help was still ¡°on its way¡±. Much of the countryside was still awash with the red dots of models 1 through 10. ¡°Finish up your smashed taters Olive honey, then after we wash up, we can have story time before bed.¡± Olive was still wearing far too many socks, but had at least bowed to her fathers wisdom and removed the ones from her hands while eating. ¡°A Sock Girl Story!¡± ¡°Hmmm, I don¡¯t know any Sock Girl stories, maybe we can make up our own together!¡± ¡°Yay! Sock Girl Story!¡± Olive was halfway off her chair before Steve could remind her she had to finish her potatoes. Not long after, Steven and Olive were snuggled up cosy in the bunker''s big bed. ¡°So my little pickled princess, where do we find Sock Girl today? Fighting the evils of static cling?¡± ¡°Nooo, we have to start at the big inning!¡± ¡°Hmmm alright, we¡¯ll start at the start.¡± As her father spoke Olive''s mind drifted, and the world of Sock Girl shimmered into place in her imagination. *** It was a warmer than usual August afternoon, August 12 2094 to be exact. A normal day for many, but for budding young hopeful hero¡¯s to be, in western mega city 18, it was a very special day. Today they would get their chance to show off in front of three seasoned heroes, and if they managed to impress them, maybe get recruited to be trained to be heroes themselves. Three judges sat in folding metal chairs behind a plastic folding table in a dirt floored arena with concrete walls. They weren''t wearing their showy super suits, but rather loose fitting coveralls and masks designed to hide their identities. Several years ago the judges had started wearing the incognito uniform, after a few too many disgruntled hopefuls had lashed out at those judges who had rejected them. The judge closest to the door waved at the staff member to let the next applicant in. ¡°Another year, another long day of duds. If I hear one more comment about who they think they would make a great sidekick for, I might launch them into orbit.¡± The middle judge opened their mouth to reply, but stopped as their next potential recruit stepped into the room. The child looked too small to be of manifestation age, she stood barely past 4 feet tall. She shuffled in, shoulders slouched, her eyes, the only part of her visible, flicked everywhere but at the judges. She was covered from head to toe in an array of fabrics with weaves and patterns of great variety. Upon a closer inspection it became evident to each of the judges that she was covered in layers upon layers of socks. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. *** Olive stopped her father. ¡°What kind of socks Daddy? Does she have Grasshopper socks like me?¡± She wiggled her fingers from inside her somewhat holey Grasshopper socks. ¡°I dunno sweety, Grasshopper is a Samurai here in our world, is she a Super hero there too?¡± ¡°Of course! She teaches all the young heroes how to best hero!¡± ¡°If she¡¯s that amazing, Sock Girl must have several pairs of Grasshopper socks, but she keeps them close, right against her t-shirt, because they are so special. She also has so many other kinds of socks, like¡­¡± *** ¡­Tube socks, ankle socks, boring white socks, everyday black socks, stripe topped sport socks, socks with unicorns, socks with socks sewn on them, every kind of sock imaginable wrapped around her like a cosy mostly cotton cocoon. ¡°Please step up to the white line in front of us and tell us the hero name you have chosen, and a bit about your power.¡± The middle judge stated while gesturing at the aforementioned line in front of the table. The girl covered in socks shuffled over and stood hesitantly, her sock covered hands twisting nervously in front of her. ¡°I, um, my name is, I''m um, Sock Girl. I, um, control socks.¡± ¡°You control socks? Can you elaborate for us?¡± Asked the centre judge, pen poised over paper. ¡°Um, it''s, I, I control socks.¡± She repeated, a bit quieter this time, shrinking slightly in on herself. ¡°Perhaps a demonstration might work better.¡± The judge that had yet to speak said gently. ¡°Send in some opponents please¡± A door behind the judges opened, and five staff members wearing protective padding, and wielding padded batons jogged out to stand in a line to the judges right. ¡°Now, the staff are going to try and tap you with their batons, they are designed not to hurt you even if accidentally swung too hard. Use this time to show us what you can do please.¡± With a nod from the judges the 5 staffers stepped forward. Sock girl stepped to the left. So did the five surprised staffers. She took a step back, so too did the staffers stumble backwards. One almost falling on their face, as they became unbalanced. The five staffers paused, glancing at one another, communicating silently. The three in the middle stayed back, the two wings stepping forward. The girl covered in socks spun herself about and landed with her back to the staffers. The staffers struggled to stay upright as their own feet twisted them about to match her movements, landing them all facing toward the judges and away from the young girl. Sock girl, and the five, tapped their right foot to the ground, starting up a beat. One. Two. One, two, three, four. *** Steven and Olive tapped their feet in time as the story continued, giggling all the while. *** Sock girl struck a pose and proceeded to prance about the room, spinning circles around the five staff in padding. Some of the steps she took, they were forced to mimic, others they were not. Sometimes all together in unison, sometimes in pairs, or alone. As Sock Girl moved gracefully about the room, the staffers stumbled, tripped, and wobbled about in her wake. They fell down to the ground, and upon each other, only to climb back to their feet and do their best to reach the young girl with their batons. Each of their faces obscured behind their plexi-glass shields twisted through an array of emotions, from outrage to barely holding back laughter. The largest of the five, their face reddening with rage or perhaps embarrassment after a topsy turvy tumble, decided to finally use their head. He reached down for his shoes, hoping that getting his socks off would free him from his torment. *** ¡°Nooo! He can¡¯t take his socks off! Then Sock Girl will be powerless against him!¡± Olive cried in mock horror. ¡°Have no fear sweet Olive! Sock Girl always has a plan!¡± *** He barely had one shoe undone before Sock girl was gliding past him, shaking a sock covered hand as if scolding him. A mismatched pair of argyle socks, one pink and green, the other orange and violet, slithered out from between layers of her socks, and slipped through the air, right onto his hands, snugging tightly so as not to fall off, and pulled his hands up and away from shoes and laces. Sock Girls dance resumed, it increased in cadence and gained in complexity. More and more of her absurdly eclectic collection of socks slipped out from her outfit. Baby socks, with cute little bows, thick woollen warm winter socks, and socks with happy frogs on them, flitted effortlessly through the air to cover hands, wrap around limbs, and support necks. In mere minutes where there was once a girl and five assailants, there were now 6 people wrapped in socks, dancing in unison to a song only one of them could hear. In singles and in pairs they elegantly traipsed from one side of the arena to the other. Graceful ballroom footwork, lifts, and dips, were followed by centuries old moves from the classic age of disco, which flowed seamlessly into moves from the latest pop video sensation, and on and on to other forms, all mixing together into a bizarre, yet captivating performance. A judge cleared their throat loudly, perhaps not for the first time. Sock Girl paused, remembering with shock, where she was. The socks wrapped around the staff members went limp and slipped to the ground. All but one of the five staff lost their balance and followed the socks down. The socks slithered meekly back to the young girl, slipping back into their place. She, the moving mass of cottony comfort, turned toward the judges table, head hanging in embarrassment; she whispered. ¡°I''m Sock girl, I control socks¡± and slipped from the room as fast as her socks could carry her. Three judges shared glances, and subtle nods. Three hands reached for three pairs of stamps, beside three stacks of paper. Three stamp handles were grasped lightly, and three stamps were lifted. Three arms stamped firmly down onto three pages topped with the name Sock Girl. Three stamps were lifted from their pages, revealing the bright blocky letters left behind. ¡°Approved.¡± Three sheets were placed into three folders, and the next applicant was beckoned inside. *** Steven looked down at his daughter''s softly sleeping face, he wondered when she had fallen asleep. He¡¯d gotten so caught up in telling the story of her current favourite hero, he hadn¡¯t even noticed. He tucked her in gently, and got up to get himself a glass of water before heading back to rest his own head. On the way he stopped to check the map of the incursion. He stared at it for a long moment. He whispered in the dim lights of the bunker. ¡°How did Olive turn the map into a crayon drawing?¡± Crawling back into bed, he puzzled to himself about the sticker of a clown riding a bike that had been stuck to the centre of the tablet screen. *** The smell and sound of sizzling bacon woke Steven from his slumber. Olive was not in bed. Olive was in the kitchen! Where did she get bacon! Steven bolted upright and out of bed for the second time in two days, pushing past the curtain, and nearly ending up wrapped in it, he stumbled into the main bunker to an odd sight. Olive was walking on the ceiling, holding the hands of a stranger below her, both of them were absolutely covered in socks. ¡°Daddy!¡± Olive cried, upside down. ¡°It¡¯s the real Sock Girl! She came to camp with us!¡± The stranger responded. ¡°Nah, you¡¯re the real Sock Girl, I¡¯m Cassy the Clown, playing dress up as Sock Girl!¡± ¡°The Greatest Super Hero Ever!¡± The girls shouted in unison. Steven peaked around the giggling duo into the kitchen, a pair of Argyle socks, with googly eyes fitted firmly to them, were wielding spatula and fork, tossing french toast and bacon onto three plates. Steven took stock as best he could of the room around him, noting the light by the main door had switched to green for ¡°all clear to exit¡±. ¡°Well, you may be a super hero Sock Girl, but I¡¯m still your father, so socks off of hands, and get washed up, it seems we will be having breakfast with a Samurai.¡± ¡°Clown¡± Olive replied deadpan, as Cassy lowered her to the ground. As she headed to the washroom she looked back at her father with a giggle, ¡°Clowns are better than Samurai, any day.¡± ¡°But?¡± Steven started, his grin growing. ¡°Nobody is better than Sock Girl!¡± The three finished, almost in unison. A ping appeared in Steven¡¯s augs, the rest of his family were safe and heading home. A spatula slipped out from under a piece of french toast, an argyle sock fell backwards into a half full sink of soapy water, an old, only used once, bunker, filled with laughter. Update. Not a chapter. Hey all! First off, thanks for reading my stories so far, it''s been thrilling for me to watch my follow numbers go up, and be amazed at reaching 200+ people that actually want to read about Cassy and her friends. I''m humbled truly. Seeing your comments and interacting with some of them is pure joy for me. Thank you Thank you Thank you! Second, sorry for the lack of stuff in the last bit. I was doing pretty good at getting one episode a week out, but life happens, and the muse has been fickle. I am a student optician, but between semesters right now. The vast majority of my writing takes place when work is slow and I have the whimsy to spare. We aren''t in the holiday season quite yet, but the mall is still getting busier and noisier. I''ll do my best to keep the joyful confetti cannons blasting through the holidays, including more holiday themed episodes, hopefully.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. This was going to be an art from Cassy''s fridge post, because I''ve been doing that, but RR is finicky with art. I''d need to learn Imugr or similar thing, and host them... which is a lot for ann 80s baby like me to figure out. I have started a little discord to put them on though, I''ll put a link in the afterward. Pop on by if you like childrens crayon art done by a 40yr old lol. OR if you want to chat about Cassy and her friends under the Big Top. Once again, thank you all So so sooo much for following Cassy''s adventures with me so far, and hopefully for many many more. Ya''ll are the best. Cassy: Misfit Menagerie, the Makening "Nyx! Spooky just did an inventory and told me half a dozen bears and squirrels are missing. How is that possible?" ¡°They''re not missing, I know exactly where they are.¡± ¡°And that is¡­¡± ¡°They ran away to join the circus.¡± ¡°If you''re not going to take this seriously I''ll just find them myself.¡± Conversation ¡°overheard¡± by Issi. ***** Tin toy Tom was in over his little metal head. It had started off so simply, and so innocently. On some forgotten battlefield, when he was a shiny new tin toy soldier in the great circus of the amazing Cassy, the most stupendous clown to ever clown. Tin toy Tom had found a broken member of another Samurai¡¯s fundraising team. Something called a tripod 50mm autocannon. One of its legs was broken, and its shiny barrel was bent. It was hurting, and sad, and alone¡¯ its master had left it for scrap, deeming it useless. This just wouldn''t do! Cassy never left anyone that could be saved behind! That''s not what family did, and the circus was the best family ever! Tom had sent out the call to the family, tin and rubber alike, together they had fixed up the auto cannon as best they could. The bent metal leg was replaced with a much nicer, and bouncier, balloon leg. The crew didn''t have access to the ammunition that the broken barrel was designed for, so it was removed, and a new much brighter one was fabricated from empty cans of whipped cream and silly string, which also became its new ammunition. Happy with their work, the crew of tin toys and toddling balloons had given the turret one last hug and toddled off, thinking they would never see it again. They were wrong. *** Later that day, the incursion was still going strong. Tin Toy Tom and his platoon were hard pressed, holding the line atop a candy floss rampart. If the brussel sprout baddies made it past them, it was barely a few blocks to the entrance of a badly built corpo sponsored shelter. Each and every tin toy and bouncy balloon knew that human lives depended on them, they shared nods to one another, their painted on smiles, and googly eyes, managed to pass along so much more. ¡°It¡¯s been an honour to shred lettuce beside you.¡± ¡°Tin never gives in!¡± ¡°Balloons always bounce back!¡± ¡°For Bike!¡± ¡°For Trashy!¡± ¡°FOR CASSY!¡± As Tom¡¯s platoon readied themselves to join the carnival in the sky, the ground shook, and the air shuddered with a wumph; once, twice, three times. Familiar Clown branded canisters crashed upon the herbaceous horde, exploding in great waves of alabaster whipped cream, and writhing nets of rainbow hued sticky silly string. In the shocked silence that followed, a new sound was heard, coming from the left flank. ¡°Thump, thump, boing, thump, thump, boing¡± The 50mm Auto cannon came skidding around a corner, barely managing to stop its slide into a nearby store front, before gambolling eagerly toward the candy floss rampart. ¡°5mac! You¡¯re a lifesaver!¡± Tin Toy Tom called out cheerfully. ¡°Back to work soldiers! Somebody get 5mac some more ammo, we¡¯ve got funds to raise!¡± The newly dubbed 5mac wagged their rear leg, much like the tail of an excited puppy, and planted himself firmly to restart the barrage. Tin toys and members of the balloon crew scrambled up his sides, and hopped to, with renewed vigour to fight and keep smiles safe. *** When the incursion ended, 5mac was not the only new recruit to the carnival. A few other smaller turrets, each with their own ad-hoc circus style repairs had joined him. Along with a smattering of nearly scuttled scout drones another samurai had left behind. Barty dubbed them ¡°The Menagerie¡± and put Tin Toy Tom and his platoon in charge of them. Tom thought it a bit overkill, giving such a small group of unique recruits so much consideration, they were just allies helping each other out, it wasn¡¯t like there were hundreds of them or anything. *** In the coming months Tom realised Barty was much smarter, and far better at predicting the future than he was. Everywhere they went, every incursion entered, every call for help answered, every carnival thrown, and even the simple social calls Cassy loved to make, saw The Menagerie grow and grow. Some were like 5mac, broken and discarded minds and machines that the carnival repaired in the field, others wandered in of their own accord, filled with a new buzz of joy, and desire to live new lives, and spread happiness around the world.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. In Toronto, they picked up a baker''s dozen of walking bombs. The battle had ended before they could fulfil their purpose, to run at the plants and sacrifice their lives, like batch after batch of their brethren had done. Left abandoned, with their purpose gone, they joined the menagerie, craving something more. Their new friends helped them become more than disposable death. Shrapnel shells were replaced with mirrors and prisms, detonation circuits with bright lights that shone through, high explosives were replaced with highly compressed glitter. Now when they exploded it was to dazzle and delight the masses, or sew confusion and chaos among the enemy. When passing through the honeyed fields of Wisconsin, they had a brush with the great samurai queen of bees, Bee-Dazzler. She and Cassy had traded tips on sweeteners, and the best way to light a stage. In their distraction, both failed to notice a happy queen building a nest in 5mac¡¯s oversized ammo box. 5mac was overjoyed at becoming a co-parent to a swarm of sparkling honey makers that doubled as close range support. Not to mention the new honeycomb shells, and sticky honey coated rounds that were added to his repertoire. Mostly though, it was Ammo-Bee-Queen¡¯s companionship that brought the simple cannon joy. While Cassy played holographic twister chess with Mistress of Games in Humboldt Saskatchewan, half of a chess set, 5 red checkers, and a couple, consisting of a cuddly snake and a wooden ladder, slipped in among them. The entire menagerie worked on new game ideas for them all to play together, Issi was consulted frequently. After a chaotic day with Issi in Calgary, several of Teddy¡¯s bears, and a cluster of squirrels snuck off to join the circus, wyth Nyx¡¯s permission of course. Teddy¡¯s brigade were loyal to a fault, but when the Clown calls to you deep down inside, you just have to listen. One particularly inventive squirrel even built a cosy nest in a corner of Time Flies round cockpit, that Cassy has yet to notice. Cats from Quebec. Potato vending machines from L.A. A swarm of moths from Vancouver. Mobile smart tents from Hamburg. Hard light dancing holograms from Brazil. A massive blue mechanical bull from somewhere in the middle of what was the USA. A never ending multitude of weapons built for extermination and war, still willing and eager to fight the good fight, and keep the world safe, but who wanted just a little more from life. Mobile weapons platforms that thought, maybe I can spread more than death and destruction, maybe I could ignite a little spark of joy in people too. Not just saving their lives, but helping make their lives a bit more worth living. Tin Toy Tom¡¯s little act of mechanical kindness had taken root, and refused to stop growing. Who knew a little kindness could cause such wonderful problems? *** Tom slumped down on to his cold metal bottom atop 5mac¡¯s turret, he peered out a bit forlornly at the hodge podge horde surrounding them. ¡°5mac, I think I¡¯m in over my tinny head. This is too much! How is one tin toy supposed to keep this from spiralling out of control? Or more out of control I guess¡­ Did you see that big walking robot? A Goodam, or something? It flew itself here from Japan! We¡¯ve never even been to Japan!¡± 5mac squeaked his new rubber bone barrel in commiseration, and tried to make comforting sounds with the panflute of kazoo¡¯s stuck with honey to his exhaust port. ¡°I know buddy, we couldn¡¯t stop it if we wanted to, and Cassy knows I would never want to. Gotta spread the joy, can¡¯t limit it because it¡¯s too much for us to handle. But we¡¯re so big, and so slow! The main stage moves so quick, we just can¡¯t keep up. I know TF, bless her ticking heart, tries not to outpace us, but she can¡¯t risk being late either¡­¡± As Tom spoke, a very large mechanical bee had landed in front of him and began dancing. ¡°OH, hey Queeny. What brings you out here? What¡¯s got you so excited? You gotta slow down, I¡¯m a bit rusty at translating bee-anese waltz.¡± Queeny hung her wings in exasperation, waggling her antennae with disappointment. She repeated her dance, slower, and with fewer steps. Tom watched her closely, straining his painted on eyes, and scratching his tin hat. ¡°Barty, can you give me a hand here? Bee-anese waltzing makes me dizzy.¡± One of Drone Drone¡¯s drones, that had been following since the fridge incident, flew down to hover nearby, Barty¡¯s voice chimed from a speaker stuck to the drone with silly string. ¡°Hmmmmm, I think, what she¡¯s trying to say is ¡°When a hive gets too big, it makes more queens, and they split the hive. Also something about different types of bees¡­ workers work, soldiers fight, queens look fabulous¡± ¡°Oooooh, now I get it! Not all of us should try to keep up with Cassy. Maybe some of us, those not suited for chasing after our amazing leader, could split off and start a separate hive, er, carnival! That¡¯s an amazing idea Queeny. You¡¯re the best bee ever!¡± Queeny danced happily, and allowed Tin Toy Tom to give her a gentle scritch behind her antennae. ¡°Signal a full stop 5mac, and convene the Misfit Menagerie Moot, we¡¯ve got decisions to think about¡± 5mac tilted back his turret, Tom just managing to grasp hold and not slide off, and whumphed 2 firework rounds into the sky. The mass around them ground to a halt, and silence settled over them, as Tin Toy Tom began the discussion that would last for days. *** Cassy sat cross legged in Time Flies cockpit, a still damp popsicle stick hanging loosely from her lips. ¡°Hey Barty, two questions. First, why does it feel like I''m earning points somewhere, and second, why does the crayon positioning system show half of the menagerie out in the middle of the ocean? Also, third question, why aren''t we splashing in the ocean too?¡± ¡°Oh! I knew I was pretending to forget something. The Misfits Menagerie was feeling a bit bloated, so they decided to split up. The faster ones, that enjoy the chase, will keep following us around. The rest decided they''d rather the carnival moved for them. They headed out to the great plastic zone in the ocean, to clean it up, and use it as building material for a floating carnival! It appears that the silly plants are trying to contest their ownership of the plastic.¡± Barty replied through the sound system. ¡°Neat! Good for them. Do they need any help? We could totally zip over there and drop a few bubbles in the water.¡± ¡°We could, but we might miss the cheesy potato festival.¡± ¡°True¡­¡± ¡°I hate making hard decisions!..¡± ¡°I''m sure they''ll be fine, I''ll keep a close watch.¡± ¡°Alright, cheesy potatoes first, help building the moving island of Misfit Menagerie later. Thanks Barty, you''re the best brain buddy a Clown could ask for.¡± Cassy relaxed back into her bean bag chair and stared out the top of Time Flies clear dome.¡°Hey Barty. What do you think the cheesy potato situation is like in Japan? Think it''s worth a visit?¡± Cassandra Arthur Murphy: Age 7. Does a Christmas story need an epigraph? Does a prequel chapter? I guess this¡¯ll do. EPIGRAPH! Cassy time. ***** Cassandra Arthur Murphy was trying very hard to sit still in the back seat of her parents shiny hover car. Papa Murphy had switched it over to manual when the winter storm that snuck up on them started buffeting them about, and her bouncing around excitedly might distract him, mama had said. Sitting still was not something 7 year old Cassy was good at, but she was trying her best. It was almost Christmas, and they were almost to Vermont, where gram gram lived. She gave the best hugs, and made the best cookies, and somehow made even boring tea taste like heaven in a cup, without adding half the sugar bowl! They had almost cancelled the trip this year, Vermont had been on the edge of a plant incursion 2 months ago. Mom and Dad were worried that it might still be dangerous, but Gram gram had told them there was no way she was missing Christmas with her only grandchild, and that the local Samurai had everything cleaned up and safe. Mom had still been reluctant, she was a big worrier, Cassy thought sometimes worrying was her moms favorite activity, outside of working all day. Dad was with Cassy though, the hugs and cookies were worth a little trip, plus they didn¡¯t get much snow at home, and it wasn¡¯t Christmas without snow angels in the morning. Cassandra was jolted from her reverie as the hover car began to plummet, her mother screaming in fear and clutching to her husband''s arm. Cassy would have joined her if she hadn¡¯t caught her fathers grin in the rear view mirror, he was just playing, Cassy broke out into happy giggles instead as the drop settled out. Her fathers deep hearty laughter echoed from the front seat. ¡°Almost there kiddo, get your hugging arms ready!¡± Mrs. Murphy punched Mr. Murphy playfully in the shoulder. ¡°You absolute as¡­ You, you, clown of a man! Just wait till I get you alone, I¡¯ll teach you a lesson or two.¡± Esther glared at Lance, not trying to hide her smile. Cassandra spread her arms as wide as she could, and brought them in tight to hug herself tightly, repeating a few times. ¡°Warming up the hugging arms papa, Gram gram is going to be so impressed by how good my hugs are this year.¡± ¡°Mom? What¡¯s a clown?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure hunny, it¡¯s just a word we use for people who act silly. We can look it up tonight if you like?¡± **** Marylinn Murphy looked to the display on the wall, her son and his family were almost here. The timing would be perfect, the latest batch of gingerbread cookies would just be cool enough to decorate when they arrived. Her eyes scanned the rest of the house, looking to make sure everything was just right, and that no signs of the damage the nasty plants had done persisted. Oh, there were a few wood panels that looked newer than the others, and she¡¯d had to replace some of the old knick knacks that weren¡¯t salvageable. Thankfully her two favorite works of art had survived, a watercolor Lance had done of her and her late husband Victor a couple years before he had passed, and slightly crumpled crayon image of Super Gram! Cassy had given her last Christmas, now framed on the fireplace mantle. The accidental chocolate finger print still visible in the corner. Cassy had almost thrown it out, worried she¡¯d ruined it with her sticky fingers, Marylinn had insisted the fingerprint only made it better. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. ¡°Oh Vic, you and Cassy would have had so much fun together, I wish¡­ Oh I wish so many things.¡± Mary put down the framed photo she had picked up. Victor dressed as Santa, Cassy not yet 1 years old on his knee, their first and last Christmas together. Mary pinched her own cheeks and gave her head a shake. ¡°That¡¯s enough of the maudlin Mary, It¡¯s time for some joy.¡± Pulling a smile to her face, she headed back to the kitchen, there wasn¡¯t enough flour on her hands and apron, the first hugs of Christmas should leave reminders. **** ¡°Cassy love, don¡¯t forget your pillow in the¡­ And she¡¯s gone¡± Lance looked to the already open front door as his daughter finished the arc of her leap with a puff of flour in his mothers arms. He was worried she¡¯d get bowled over and hurt herself, but she stood remarkably firm under the 7 year olds onslaught. ¡°I¡¯ve got the pillow Lance, and I¡¯ll grab the rest of the bags. We can let the two of them have fun while we get things up to the rooms.¡± Esther leaned in and gave her husband a soft kiss on the cheek, both of their arms full of bags. ¡°You know those two will be inseparable until she works off the energy from sitting still for so long.¡± ¡°Nah, I¡¯m pretty sure mom would have kept pretty busy the last couple hours, you know how she likes to go overboard.¡± ¡°You goof, you know I meant our daughter.¡± She gave her husband a playful glare as they walked through the snow to the still open front door. ¡°And don¡¯t think I¡¯ve forgotten about that stunt back there, you¡¯d better sleep with one eye open mister¡± ¡°Always do around Christmas, gotta try and catch Santa, or one of his recon elves sneaking about.¡± Lance replied with a grin, wiggling his eyebrows. ***** It took more than a few hours for Cassandra¡¯s enthusiastic energy to expend itself, even while decorating the cooled chocolate gingerbread cookies she struggled to sit still, while keeping up a constant stream of life updates for her beloved Gram Gram. After cookies Cassy helped make supper, Lance and Esther tried to help as well, but they were given hot cocoa with a little dash of irish and told to enjoy the fire. Grandma only had to warn them about doing work instead of relaxing once. After supper was concluded, a healthy meal with far more veggies, and far less candy than Cassy would have liked, the table was cleared off and games took it over. The young girl did her best to play the complex games the adults were enjoying, but soon grew bored. Sticking with Gram Gram¡¯s preference for tangible activities, paper and crayons were provided as a distraction. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Several rounds of contract rummy, and a few hands of wizard later, the house was growing silent, everyone feeling the toll of the long and exciting day. The adults found Cassandra sprawled out asleep in front of the fireplace, a string of chocolate tinged drool just barely missing her latest masterpiece, a giant gingerbread person crushing veggies beneath their feet. Esther wiped the drool from her daughter''s cheek as she lifted her up off the floor, whispering as she asked, ¡°Where did she get the chocolate?¡± ¡°She snuck in and grabbed a few out of the box when you two were debating the rules of stealing wild cards¡± Grandma replied quietly. Lance gave his mother a hug, laughing softly. ¡°No wonder she loves it here, you let her get away with anything.¡± Cassy began to stir in her mothers arms, the three adults shared sheepish grins and waved goodnight as they headed for bed. If Cassandra woke now, she¡¯d be up for hours. ***** The following day was the eve, of the eve, of christmas. It began with the 4 family members bumping elbows in the kitchen in a competition to see who could make the best pancakes, the married couple or a grandmother and her grandchild. The results were inconclusive at best, but it was agreed by all, even the youngster, that oops all chocolate chips was not a good recipe. Far too hard to flip, and burnt chocolate was never pleasant. Breakfast was digesting, and 8 hands were making quick work of the kitchen clean up, when there was a knock at the front door, which promptly opened, a youngish looking man dressed head to toe in bright orange stepping through. ¡°Hey Gram Gram, how¡¯s the morning? Thought I¡¯d stop by and check how the repairs were¡­ oh you have company.¡± The orange clan man stopped sheepishly as the door closed behind him, waving awkwardly at the 4 faces peering out of the kitchen at him. ¡°You are very orange¡± Cassy said into the awkward silence. Grandma Murphy gave the orange man a surreptitious glare, quickly switching to an exasperated smile. ¡°Don¡¯t you lie to me young man, you were probably skiing by on those darn rocket ski¡¯s of yours and smelled pancakes on the wind. Well too bad, Cassy and I are saving the leftovers for a midnight snack.¡± Grams and Cassy shared a wink and a giggle. ¡°Family, this is Orange-you-glad, a nice young Samurai that helped out when the shrubs got rowdy.¡± ¡°Orange, this is my son Lance, his wife Esther, and the greatest granddaughter in the world, Cassandra.¡± ¡°Shoot, sorry Gram Gram, I forgot they would be here today. I¡¯ll just ping Candle, and see if they want to pat¡­¡± Orange stopped speaking as Grandma Murphy coughed loudly. ¡°Actually, there is something you could maybe help an old lady out with Mr. Orange. Let me get my coat on, and I¡¯ll show you. The old wood shed took a beating in the last big snow.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure the Samurai has other things to take up his time than the old woodshed Mom, I can take a look at it later if you like¡± Orange-you-glad was looking quickly back and forth between mother and son, a shared look with the older woman had his face lighting up briefly, though quickly hidden. ¡°Oh, no, it¡¯s no big deal. With no evil plants around, helping out residents in need is all part of a days work for us local Samurai. No big deal at all, Gram Gram and I will be right back, she¡¯s safe with me. Have no fear.¡± Gram Gram shook her head at the young mans awkward rambling, as she did up the last buttons on her coat. ¡°Come along youngster, I¡¯ll show you the shed.¡± A clang from the kitchen and a missing Cassy had both parents turning around, as the others headed out into the snowy cold. As they trudged away from the house Orange turned to Gram Gram. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I showed up unannounced, I forgot what day it is, but what was that all about? You are acting strange¡­¡± Grandma stopped and glared upward at the young man. ¡°They don¡¯t know about what really happened during the incursion. I don¡¯t want them to know, not yet at least. I just want to have a normal Christmas, at least one more, before, you know¡­¡± She gestured broadly, a sad smile on her face. ¡°So, they don¡¯t know that you are¡­¡± ¡°No, and for now, I¡¯d like to keep it that way. That young girl in there is the most precious thing in the world to me, and the longer I can keep the harsh realities from touching her¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s ok Gram Gram, I get it. I¡¯ll see if Candle or Sasquatch can help me out today. We¡¯ll make sure you have a quiet Christmas with the family.¡± Gram Gram gave him a pat on the cheek, and a bright smile. ¡°You¡¯re a good kid, so are the others, tell them I said thanks.¡± ¡°Oh, and can you knock over the woodshed before you go? Can¡¯t have Lance calling me a liar.¡± She laughed. ¡°For the woman who makes the cookies that literally save lives? Yeah I can knock over a woodshed or two.¡± ¡°And here, for the family.¡± With a flourish, Orange-you-glad pulled a wicker basket full of satsuma from under his jacket. Grandma accepted the basket with a smile and a bow. ¡°I graciously accept your gift, oh great and powerful Samurai.¡± ***** The Murphy¡¯s stayed in Vermont with Grandma for a full week. A week full of amazing food, far too many sweets, and not nearly enough hugs, at least as far as the eldest and youngest Murphy''s were concerned. More than one evening ended with Cassy curled up on, or against her grandmother, often in a sugar coma. Cassy got many fancy and fun toys on christmas morning, but far her favorite was from her grandparents. The elder Mrs. Murphy had gifted Cassy a beautiful old watch that she had once given to her husband Victor. The rear cover was engraved with the phrase ¡°Time Flies when I¡¯m with you.¡± It was far too big for the young girl, but she insisted on carrying it everywhere. On boxing day, Orange showed up again, accompanied by a young woman in a fuzzy white parka, and a man barely taller than Cassy, who sported a huge and very bushy beard. They introduced themselves as Candle and Sasquatch respectively, and revealed an array of toboggans and sleds waiting behind them. Grandma had given each of the trio a glare, but had given in to the bright expectant eyes of her son and grandchild. The day was spent sliding both up and down the slopes around them. No self respecting Samurai would make a sled you had to walk back up the hill with. Somewhere in the comfort and chaos Cassy had remembered her mothers words in the car, and asked her grandmother what clowns were. The duo spent most of an evening searching the mesh for answers, and laughing together at ancient films of clowny antics. A new framed crayon picture now stood on the fireplace mantle. Cassy the Clown, first draft, with two very deliberate chocolate thumbprints in the corner, one for each of the contributing artists. All too soon however, the Murphys¡¯ vacation in Vermont came to a close, Lance and Esther had jobs to return to, and Cassy had school. Tears were shed, many many hugs were given. It was never certain who¡¯s arms were harder to pry from the other, Cassy or her grandmother, all the same they were pulled apart and Cassy was buckled in. As the car lifted off to head back home, Cassandra Arthur Murphy sat quietly in the back seat, a note pad and crayons in her hand, an old watch hanging loosely from one wrist, and images of clowns in motley dancing in her head. On the ground a teary eyed grandmother waved at the car until it faded into the mountain mists. ¡°Well Wylfredd, I guess vacation time is over. Back to the grind. How are Can''t Hold A Candle and the others doing?¡± A voice echoed in her mind. ¡°Certainly Samurai Gram Gram, it was lovely to relax, but work must be done. The children are out hunting stragglers two peaks west, they seem to have everything in hand, although I¡¯m sure they would welcome some cocoa and cookies.¡± Gram Gram let out a huff. ¡°I¡¯ve told you, Wylf, no need to be so formal. We¡¯re partners in this.¡± ¡°As you say Samurai Gram Gram, as you say.¡± Cassy and the Christmas Co-op Christmas? What¡¯s that? You mean the season when corporations gouge customers because some ancient tradition society refuses to give up on, forcing everyone further into debt to avoid becoming a social pariah? We stopped doing that when dad lost his job when I was a kid, that was the year they had to tell us Santa wasn¡¯t real either. I¡¯ll stick to celebrating the spaghetti monsters first boil thanks. -Some grumpy guy in an overly cheery mall at some point, probably. ***** Cassy was hanging upside down from the underside of Time Flies, dressed in her winter camouflage motley. Which really just meant predominantly whites and blues instead of every colour conceivable, her puffball pigtails waved gently in the breeze. The snowy plains of northern Saskatchewan below her were filled with the chaos of fund-raising. All the usuals were there; toddling balloon animals, crisp lines of tin toys, mechano arms with joy buzzers held in hand, great plastic flowers spraying colourful chemicals. Bike and Sgt. Fluffle raced around the outer rim, launching pies, t-shirts, and confetti bombs into the fray, while Trashy the Bag munched his way through the horde. There were newer friends too, rolling balls of socks that wrapped around wrung the juices out of the plant monsters below. Along with the many myriad members of the Misfits Menagerie, lead bravely by Tin Toy Tom from his command post atop 5mac¡¯s squeaky dog bone turret. Cassy held the mallet end of her hammer to her shoulder and sighted down the shaft like it was a rifle. ¡°Pshew¡± She vocalised, while mimicking kickback. Down below a model 11 that had been starting a diving run burst apart in a shower of glitter and confetti. ¡°Yus¡± Cassy hopped down and up, pumping her fist. ¡°Who said hammers don¡¯t have good range?¡± ¡°Oh! I just had the best Idea Barty. We are close to Calgary. We should sneak Issi out of the house and then go see if we can find Santa¡¯s workshop! Just as soon as we finish cleaning all this up. Good carnivals don¡¯t leave messes, just happy memories.¡± ***** Issi was curled up in her favorite froggy blanket, clutching her favorite froggy toy, while following along with Mr. Froggingtons lesson on her favorite froggy tablet. A look of deep concentration on her face. ¡°No, I get the rhyme scheme My Froggington. I just don¡¯t understand why there is a red fish and a blue fish together. Last week you said schools of fish were only one species.¡± Mr. Froggingtons eyes flashed brightly for a moment. ¡°We can discuss the vagrancies of literary licence later perhaps, at the moment it appears you are getting a call from Ms. Cassy.¡± ¡°Yay!! Put her through!¡± Issi cried excitedly, her red fish blue fish conundrum forgotten, for the moment. Issi¡¯s favorite frog tablet¡¯s screen fuzzed briefly, and literally, for a moment, cleared up to show a scene of Cassy the Clown laying splayed out like a starfish in the snow. ¡°Hey Issi! I taught the crew how to turn confetti into real snow! Didn¡¯t want to leave a bare patch out here, fresh snow is so much prettier than brown grass.¡± ¡°Hi Cassy! Where are you? What are you doing? Got any new frogs?¡± Cassy held up three fingers, and ticked them off as she spoke. ¡°Northern Saskatchewan, Making snow angels, cheese shaped frogs¡± Cassy swished her arms a few times in the snow, staring up at the falling flakes. ¡°So, I was thinking, wanna get kidnapped and try to find Santa¡¯s workshop?¡± Issi giggled at Cassy¡¯s words, kicking her feet as she laughed. ¡°Hehehe, you don¡¯t have to play pretend with me Cassy, I know Santa isn¡¯t real.¡±This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. Cassy¡¯s white gloved hands reached out and grabbed the sides of the screen, pulling it close until all Issi could see was the suddenly sad clown''s face. ¡°Oh No! Not you too Issi! The evil money grubbing greedy evil greedy terrible money evil grubbing corporations and their terrible no good absolutely bad marketing schemes stole Santa from you, just like everyone else! I didn¡¯t realize it had gotten so bad, that even the tiny tots have forgotten how to believe! Well don¡¯t you worry, we are going to fix this. Even if I have to call in every friend and favour, if I have to make toys until my gloves bleed, even; even if I have to spend the entire moon shoe budget, we are going to bring back the truth of Christmas again, and make everyone Believe!¡± By the end of her impassioned speech Cassy was standing proudly as tall as she could, one gloved hand raised high in a fist, a determined look on her face as she stared off into the distance. It lasted barely a breath before she melted back into her usual grinning self. ¡°So Teddy¡¯s got a big workshop right? Think she¡¯d mind if we borrowed it for a little while?¡± Cassy¡¯s grin was infectious, and Issi¡¯s face soon mirrored it. Maybe Christmas for the undercity could be more than scrounging through leftovers, and fighting over the least worn out toys dropped from the city above this year. ¡°I¡¯m sure she¡¯ll be thrilled to help out. We¡¯ll make this the best Christmas the city has seen in¡­ EVER!¡± The clown tilted her head in puzzlement. ¡°City? Santa does the whole world Issi, if we are going to try and help people believe again, so will we.¡± ¡°Oh, yeah. We are going to need sooo much more help. I don¡¯t think even all of Teddy¡¯s bears working together can handle a world of toys. We are going to need more friends. ¡°Right you are Issi, we need all the friends to come together for this.¡± A mad glint grew in the corner of Cassy¡¯s eyes, she threw her arms wide and her head tilted back, a deep echoing laughter crawled up from her chest. ¡°Muaha¡­ oh wait. No maniacal laughter, it¡¯s fun, but it scares the audience.¡± ¡°Barty!¡± She cried striking a dramatic pose. ¡°Empty the wallets, dump out the coin purses, and the money bags, sell the Van Gough, and the van stop, but not the mystery van, it¡¯s too cute.¡± ¡°Plus it¡¯s great for road trips.¡± Replied Barty through a speaker hanging from a nearby drone. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s great for road trips! This won¡¯t be a road trip though, for this endeavor;¡± Cassy paused dramatically, ¡°We don''t need roads.¡± ¡°Do you think they¡¯d let us drive it along the Great Wall in China?¡± At this point Issi¡¯s full bodied laughter had rolled her out of her favorite frog blanket. ¡°You are getting distracted Cassy. How are we going to save Christmas?¡± She asked through fits of giggling. ¡°Right, thank you Sub-Boss Issi, I knew there was a reason I promoted you.¡± ¡°Barty! Purchase. The Friend Finder!¡± ¡°Purchasing Friend Finder! The camera on Issi¡¯s tablet panned to face away from Cassy where a large clear tub materialized in a burst of confetti, flying forward to peer inside as white gloves lifted the top. Inside was spool upon spool of colourful thread, and a small paperback book, with ¡°How to make Friendship bracelets¡± In bright bubble letters on the cover. ¡°How does thread and a book help us find people to help?¡± Issi asked, somewhere between incredulous and hopeful. ¡°Easy! You make a bracelet while thinking of the sort of person you want to be your friend, or get help from. Once you are done, you release it into the sky, and it brings you back the friend you need most! I¡¯ll show you soon, we are on our way to Calgary now!¡± The tablet screen fuzzed again in a brief burst of white plush fur, returning to the lesson from before. ¡°Um, I guess we are going to have a lot of company Mr. Froggington, should we let Jane know?¡± ***** In a little cabin in the mountains of Vermont an old Samurai perked up in her rocking chair. ¡°Wylfredd, break out the cocoa tanker, and the extra large cookie sheets. My grandma sense is tingling.¡± ¡°Affirmative Samurai Gram Gram, preceding to warm up engines and ovens. Shall I inform them we are coming?¡± ¡°And ruin the surprise Wylf? Where would the fun be in that?¡± ¡°Correct, you are Samurai Gram Gram, you are as wise as always.¡± ¡°Ten years, and still such a stick in the mud, and was that a crack at my age?¡± ***** The Story Continues in the hands of other authors¡­ Cassy: No good deed, yada yada It¡¯s all fun and games until someone loses an eye, then it becomes a sport. Terrible 20th century saying. ***** Sci-Fi sat in a sterile hospital tent, her head hanging low over a pair of scuffed and dull oversized red shoes in her hands. They belonged to the person on the bed, though they lacked the parts below the knee needed to wear them. If it weren¡¯t for the brightly coloured curly hair sticking out from the top of the heavily bandaged person she might not have known it was Cassy laying on the bed. The Big Top had assembled at the clarion call of the Cat from Montreal. Every friend of Cassy¡¯s that could make it had followed the whimsical clown into the path of the falling moon. Sci-Fi laughed, perhaps a bit bitterly, to herself. Since meeting Cassy those months ago, the fear of fighting the antithesis had left her. The Clown had managed to make it all feel like a surreal game. No matter if they were in the thick of an incursion, or rebuilding a city, or teaching kids the best way to throw pies at balloon animals, it all felt like one of her carnivals. When they¡¯d arrived in the Montreal A.O., a member of the joint forces had contacted them, told them what quadrants were theirs to protect. The motley crew of The Big Top, and their leader in motley, had fanned out, each pulling out their best and brightest toys, tools, and surprises. Sci-Fi had spent every last point she had on a new mech suit. It wasn¡¯t as cool and fancy as the giant anime style one that marched with the menagerie, but she was proud of it all the same. She¡¯d taken inspiration from another classic series of movies. Most people loved the movies for the parts where the main character played ¡°super hero¡± when jacked into the machine''s virtual world. She loved the parts where the last bits of humanity survived in a deep underground city. Those mech suits with their ape like arms, and massive rotary cannons had always put stars in her eyes. Bonus being she wouldn¡¯t have to wait for a kid with a wheely cart to bring her ammo refills. Cassy had pulled a massive tent out of her pockets, and plunked it down in the middle of the forested area they had been assigned. The tent did its best to mimic military camo, but no one would ever mistake it for anything but the circus tent it was. Wooden hand scrawled signs had told its purpose, supply and medical aid. The surrounding area was soon bustling with minions, Cassy¡¯s and the Game lady¡¯s alike. The first waves from the moon fell soon after they arrived, Cassy had pouted about not having time to give one last rousing speech to the troops. She had found time to change her outfit though. She was General The Clown today, her motley matching the almost camo pattern of her tent, a helmet and licorice cigar to match Sgt. Fluffle finished off the look. In the battle that followed, Sci-Fi had lost track of the General more times than she could count, but every time she¡¯d felt overwhelmed by the chaos and death around her, when she¡¯d thought this was going to be her last hurrah, the crazy grinning Clown had bounced on springing shoes, or swooped in hanging upside down from her impossible flying watch, and relieved the pressure just enough that Sci-Fi could keep on going. The battle was hectic, but she was surrounded by friends: The kids sent from the potato king in L.A. With their potato planes, that looked like a cross between a WW2 mustang and a potato, firing spuds of every imaginable variety into the planty masses. Mistress of Games, getting more and more haggard every time they crossed paths, was throwing out drones and game pieces from every conceivable source she could find. Sci-Fi wasn¡¯t sure what was injuring her more, the antitheses, or the horrors she was creating as she combined greater and greater varieties of games into a single chaotic ruleset. Italian plumbers playing holographic twister while swinging cartoon snakes would make most players start pulling out their hair.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. When things had gotten their worst, Sci-Fi had done her best to stick by the young girl in the glorious mechanical frog. She hoped Cassy¡¯s programming was filtering out the worst of the horror and gore around them. If not, she might have to start being concerned about the sheer amount of joyous giggling bursting from the frog as it crushed and swallowed the monsters falling around them. A shifting from the figure on the bed had Sci-Fi¡¯s eyes snapping up to check on the bandaged clown. Still unconscious, just another sleep tremor. The wiggling of the IV lines and sensor leads brought back memories of the battle, she shuddered at the recollection. Cassy had brought her friend from Antarctica with her, a long way to travel for a guy she thought just made fancy, and very delicious, candy. She had been terribly wrong in her perceptions of the man. His happy Hawaiian shirt had disappeared under a dull black layer of shifting flesh, the mass of tentacles that composed his body below the waist had grown and grown. Lozenge might have started off as an aquatic Samurai from the ice cold oceans of the south, but he still managed to be utterly terrifying in the frozen forests of the north. The brief glimpses she had gotten of him during the fray had stirred images of what would happen if Cthlulu had discovered the joys of chemical weapons. She had stayed far far away from his area of control. It wasn¡¯t until the all clear had been called that she had realized she hadn''t seen or heard from Cassy for some time. On her way back to the supply tent she had found the shoes she now held, although there had been some red sticky syrup on them at the time. She¡¯d cleaned it off, Cassy¡¯s shoes were supposed to be bright and shiny, like her personality. The others were all off helping with clean up, or rebuilding, or giving aid to the injured. They¡¯d all offered to buy healing things for Cassy, but Barty had spoken through a hovering drone. She had already consumed some powerful stuff, and just needed time. Besides, he had added, Cassy would prefer they spend their time and points on the other people that needed it. Sci-Fi shifted on the folding canvas chair, one of the shoes slipping slightly in her grasp, as it released a pair of red springs, with a sad little sproing. She sniffled softly, and wiped an arm across her face. ¡°None of your stuff ever makes sense, you do the impossible with silly balloons and whipped cream. Heck, one of your best friends is a sapient trash bag! Why isn¡¯t the magic working now? Why are you stuck here? We could, the world could¡­ I, I could use a bit of laughter right now.¡± Cassy shifted on the bed, her voice came out muffled behind bandages. ¡°If people need some joy, why are you sitting here moping? Get out there and tickle people! I bet one of your shows has a great episode about high tech tickles.¡± Sci-Fi¡¯s head snapped up, the shoes dropped from her grip and she pounced, crying, on her friend. ¡°Hey Barty, why am I covered in so many bandages, you said it was just my legs missing, and some massive head trauma I¡¯d need to sleep off.¡± A speaker on the ceiling carried Barty¡¯s voice. ¡°I thought you might want to see my ideas for next halloween! Classic monsters from centuries past!¡± Cassy wrapped heavily bandaged arms around her crying friend, and gave a look down at her missing shins. ¡°Barty. I think we might need to change the name from Moon Shoe Budget, to Moon Leg Budget¡± ¡°Noted¡± Her AI replied softly. ***** Half an hour later. Sci-Fi was still hugging Cassy on the hospital bed, although the bandages around her face had been unwrapped. ¡°I could really go for some Ice cream about now. Mind giving me a piggyback ride to the mess tent Sci-Fi old friend?¡± Cassy said with a grin. ¡°How is your makeup still perfect under all those wraps¡± Sci-Fi asked, as she lifted her friend into a piggy back ride. ¡°Makeup? What makeup? Wait. Is there something on my face? You¡¯d tell me if I had something on my face right?¡± ¡°What face? I can¡¯t see anything past that huge red nose!¡± ¡°My Nose! A model 1 flew off with it! We must find it!¡± ¡°It¡¯s on your face Cassy¡± ¡°Oh, so it is. Yay! Must have been a nightmare, it¡¯s hard to tell the difference sometimes¡­¡± The two girls giggled together as they ambled toward the mess tent. The few trees still standing appreciated the sound greatly. Cassy: How Rube! A Rube Goldberg machine is a type machine or contraption intentionally designed to perform a simple task in an indirect and overly complicated way. Usually, these machines consist of a series of simple unrelated devices; the action of each triggers the initiation of the next, eventually resulting in achieving a stated goal. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rube_Goldberg_machine ***** It had to be just right, or nothing would work. The shelters would be opening any minute now, and there were still Antithesis stragglers traipsing about the city. Cassy had one chance to pull this off; the ultimate display of Antithesis destruction, city reconstruction, with a healthy dose of whimsy and joy. Today''s adventure had started when an irate Issi had shared screen grabs from some of the Samurai forums, ones that Barty had been intentionally keeping from her. Apparently people on the Mesh weren¡¯t as nice as Cassy the Clown had thought they were. In fact they could be down right rude, and sorta mean. Saying terrible things like: She wasn¡¯t a real Samurai, just a mascot the others dragged around. She kidnapped children. She couldn¡¯t fight the antithesis on her own. Her candy rotted teeth. She was all honk, no harm. They had used other words for that one, but she refused to repeat them, even in her head. They said her motley was dumb, her antics were lame, and her catalogues were useless. She¡¯d had to ask Barty about that last one, she didn¡¯t recall carrying around any catalogues. According to Barty, ¡°catalogues¡± were the boring AI¡¯s method of getting toys and attractions. He insisted that the two of them were better off continuing to just use their imagination and have fun. A sentiment Cassy agreed with whole heartedly. Who had time to leaf through a huge book full of glossy images of neat things? On second thought maybe she would get Barty to purchase some catalogues for them, for the long flights. Cassy turned back to the task at hand, doing her best to forget about all the terrible comments from the mesh. She knew she shouldn¡¯t take them personally, the people posting mean things didn¡¯t actually know her. They were probably just looking for some way to lash out at the world around them, possibly because they felt powerless when even the grass might be trying to eat them. Or maybe they were just very lonely, and craved attention, even if it was unpleasant and argumentative. Barty¡¯s voice came through a speaker hung from the bottom of a large mechanical bee with silly string. ¡°Earth to Cassy! We¡¯ve got dominoes to place, and pendulums to balance! The city isn¡¯t going to save itself!¡± Cassy smacked her painted cheeks and shook her head vigorously, her bright curls flopping too and fro. ¡°Right you are, partner, no time for moping! No matter how rude their little animations were. We are going to show them! Not that it will change anything. But we are going to have fun trying! And then we are going to Calgary, for froggy hugs.¡± ***** Hector had been a soldier for more than a decade, first for governments, and more recently with a local PMC. In that time he had seen more than his share of incursions, and the hell that came with them. The pills in his back pocket were about the only way he even managed to get a decent night''s sleep anymore. If it wasn¡¯t nightmares about the viscous plants, and the horrors they left behind, it was the terrified remembrances of what the many Samurai had done while protecting them. He didn¡¯t care how gimmicky, strange, or friendly some of their public persona¡¯s came across, all he ever saw when he looked at them was unstable kids that had been given the keys to the nuclear arsenal. Today was more of the same, he¡¯d thought: Incursion, chaos, death, Samurai insanity, with long months of clean up afterwards. Then they got the message, every person, building, shelter, and machine with a wifi connection. ¡°You can all sit back and enjoy the show, Cassy the Clown is here to set things right.¡± They¡¯d all ignored it at first, orders were to keep on as usual, just another crazy Samurai causing their own brand of chaos. The two local Samurai that were still in the fight had apparently scoffed at the message and told the stranger to stop trying to hog points. The city saw its second flood of inhuman creatures soon after. Toys, balloons, drones and robots, that were half metal, half candy or toy, spread through the city. They carried with them great boxes full of tubes and pipes, switches, leavers, strings, peg board, and things unidentifiable. When the second flood met with members of the first, the plants were shredded like so much damp tissue paper. When they encountered civilians, military, and even Samurai, they waved a variety of traffic signs and herded the humans into newly erected bleachers spread throughout the city. Balloon skeletons ran around with brushes painting out lines on the ground to mark areas SAFE! And OUCHY! Only one of the two local Samurai put up resistance to being corralled, they had been carried in cocooned in bright coloured string that they couldn¡¯t seem to break free from. ***** Bloody Socket strained against the eye gougingly bright string those damn garish monsters pretending to be toys had covered him in. Who the heck was this Clown witch, coming in to his city and sidelining him. ¡°I mean I know the incursion is almost over, especially after she sent her entire fudging army through the city.¡± He subvocalized at Hemorrhage his AI. ¡°But this is cow dung! Hemorrhage get me something to undo this goo¡± I¡¯m sorry, I can¡¯t do that Dave. ¡°Who the heck is Dave? Why are you¡­ Wait, why can¡¯t I swear! What the fudge is going on?¡± He continued to stretch and strain at his bonds. Sorry BS, not sure why I called you Dave. Also fricking stumped with the profanity filter. The Clowns AI sent me a message though, said not to worry, they¡¯ll share the points. This makes no fracking sense¡­ Fudge! The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ***** Celeste loved fudge, it was her favorite treat. Today had started off terrible, she and mum had been on their way out of the city when the alarms went off. They hadn¡¯t made it to a shelter in time either¡­ That was in the past though, she didn¡¯t want to think about it, because she had a fudgesicle! A very nice, and not at all scary, robot bee wearing a party hat had given in to her after it dropped her off at the shiny new bleachers. The bee had tried to carry her and mum both, but wasn¡¯t strong enough, so mum had ridden in a bubble that appeared out of nowhere! ¡°Mum! Do you think I could ride in a bubble later too? The fuzzy buzzy bee was super fun, but the floaty bubbles look so neat!¡± ¡°We¡¯ll have to see love, I¡¯m sure the nice Samurai will be very busy cleaning up the city after this.¡± ¡°Ok¡± She replied happily, swinging her short legs and munching on her frozen chocolate treat. Celeste looked around in wonder, in the short time she and mum had been sitting here the cute bees and huggable toys had been working hard. Measuring things once, and then twice, like the sign one had put on the wall said to. The builders followed behind them, carrying huge tracks, and ramps, and lots of other bright colourful things she couldn¡¯t name. They held them in place, and used toy tools that made words pop into the air when used, to set up the biggest strangest contraption she had ever seen. Big screens hung suspended from bright balloons in the air nearby showing the same stuff happening all over the place, in the corner of each was a clock counting down. ¡°Mum! Mum! It¡¯s almost 0!¡± The crowd around them began to count along as the clock hit single digit seconds. They were largely enthusiastic, but their voices were laced with plenty of confusion, and maybe a bit of fear. The strange apparatus stretching across the city seemed innocent enough, but it was built in less than an hour, by an unknown Samurai, anything could be about to happen. 5! 4! 3! 2! 1! ***** All of the floating screens around the city switched to a single image of red velvet curtains separating in the middle to reveal Cassy the Clown in profile, her large wooden mallet resting on her shoulder. With a left foot right foot hop, she turned to face the screen, swinging her free hand out and spreading it wide as she walked forward. ¡°Welcome one and all to the Greatest show on earth!¡± ¡°At least for today, I¡¯m sure there might have been better before, and I sure hope my next show is even greater than this one¡­¡± Cassy trailed off, lost in thought, a quiet cough from behind the camera bringing her back. ¡°Right! The Greatest show on Earth! First off I¡¯d like to thank you all for bearing with my lovely assistants while we got everything set up. Secondly I hope you have been enjoying the comfy bleachers and tasty snacks, all of which are as healthy as they are tasty! With bonus model 7 antidote in every bite!¡± ¡°Now, sit back, relax, and keep your eyes on the screens, the show is just about to¡­¡± Cassy had been striding forward during her speech, as she came to the end of her speech, it pulled back to show her standing beside a large wooden ball, nearly half her height. With her last sentence, she pulled her hammer from her shoulder, and pulled it back for a two handed swing. With a look of concentration on her face, she twisted her whole body into a spiraling swing, hammer held out in both hands, spinning and spinning closer to the ball. Her hammer blurring in the air, whistling through the wind, and stopping dead, a hair''s breadth from the ball. The view on the screen pulled in close, until only Cassy¡¯s face, the large brown ball, and her hammer were in view. With a wink, and a whisper, ¡°Begin!¡± she tapped the ball ever so lightly, nudging it just over the edge of balance to roll down the long steep hill. The view on the screen panned out as the ball built up speed heading toward three lines of super sized brightly blinking neon dominos. It pulled back further and further and further to show an aerial shot of the city, the usual dull greys of asphalt and concrete were covered in a twisting twining knotted array of bright colourful tubes, tunnels, tracks, and ticking clocks. Every inch covered in the scrambling figures of Cassy¡¯s chaotic crew, each doing their best to keep things running as they should. The ball struck home, three rows of dominoes began to tumble over, heading out into the city. Each tumbling row causes further chain reactions. Setting balls rolling on tracks, launching objects into the air, starting small fires to burn through taut strings, and knocking pendulums swinging. The myriad screens around the bleachers split and split and split, to show as many perspectives as they could, as the whole city came alive with sound, movement and colour. Fireworks were released into the air, great basins of bright sparkling fluid were released to wash down thoroughfares, leaving them shiny and clean. Great towering old buildings, long abandoned or condemned, burst into patterns of lasers and lights, falling down in contained clouds of glittering dust and debris. As each shelter around the city opened their doors, the people inside exited just in time to see the city wide chain reaction pass right in front of them, releasing from crates and boxes treats, toys, and entertainers. What started with a simple tap of a hammer on a brown wooden ball careened and cavorted throughout the entire city in wobbles and waves, criss-crossing through back and forth up down and all around, weaving wondrous works of whimsy across the formerly gloomy, and somewhat gory, streets. There were brief moments of panic from the audience, as components might seem to fail, or events started to go awry. Great wooden wheels falling off of tracks heading straight for bleachers, only to veer off at just the right moment and keep the reaction going. A collapsing water tower nearly crashed down upon another group of bystanders, before a burst of cold air blasted into it, leaving them with a glittering icy roof that was drawn away and melted by a flaming wheel of cheese. All good things however must come to an end, as the last sounds began to fade, and the dust and smoke settled, the citizens of the city were given one final surprise. The views on the screens pulled back to show the whole city, while others flew down through at ground level. Every street, every building, every tree, and blade of grass, had been polished clean. Potholes fixed, lines repainted, old broken buildings replaced by bright shining new ones. Broken walls, windows, doors, and bridges, made better than new. Most of the city, while shiny and clean had retained it¡¯s boring urban aesthetic, but any part that had needed a little more of Cassy¡¯s special tender affection, shone brightly with patterns and colours from her own personal favorite pallets. ***** Cassy lay on the ground at the top of the hill, limbs splayed out like a star. ¡°Well Barty, how did it go? Any disasters? I¡¯m afraid to look.¡± ¡°Everything went off without a hitch, have no fear. I¡¯m sending recordingings to everyone as we speak. Oooh! Or maybe we could have a viewing party!¡± Barty replied through a nearby speaker. Cassy sat up with a grin, pumping her gloved fist into the air.¡± Wooo! I knew we could do it! Ruby Goldenburger eat your heart out! Now no one will dare disparage clowns and joy, and fun on the mesh ever again!¡± ¡°No, they probably still will.¡± Cassy pouted. ¡°Yeah, yeah, I know. Some people just hate being happy. That¡¯s ok though!¡± She stood up, shaking off her pout, and striking a heroic pose. ¡°That just means we will have to try even harder! No frown will evade being turned upside down! Not on our watch!¡± ¡°Oh hey, where is our watch?¡± She asked the speaker bee. ¡°Time Flies is currently in the west end park, putting children in bubbles.¡± ¡°Oh, good for her. Hey Bike, Trashy! Lets go check out the 100ft bouncy castle! I bet people can¡¯t wait to move into it. We did make sure the kitchens aren¡¯t bouncy right? Safety first!¡± Cassy and Bike rode into the city, followed closely by a galumphing trash bag, and a large bee clutching a speaker. There was still a bit of cleanup to take care of, but it could wait a little longer. First there were hugs to give, hands to shake, ice cream to eat, and castles to bounce. Side Story: Raeys Cube Even ridiculously fast and powerful Protectorate AI get bored. ¡°Melty? You there? ¡°Oops, sorry. I was distracted watching the 1990¡¯s¡± ¡°Is that like an old VR show?¡± ¡°No, like the decade. I was watching all of the broadcast media from it, simultaneously. Did you need a hand with something?¡± An exchange between the Vanguard Fromage Flinger, and their AI, Melty. ***** Raey lay in the same bed they¡¯d been in for the last 3 years, staring at the same ceiling they¡¯d been staring at for just as long. They knew every inch of the sterile cube by heart. Beeping monitors, oxygen lines, nutrient drips, and whatever else the doctors were trying this week. It used to be that Raey could spend a decent chunk of their days wandering the halls of the palliative ward, supported by their wheeled iv stand. Time, and illness had taken even that from them though. Now the only way Ray could see anything but these four walls, and pale ceiling was through the mesh headset donated to them by an anonymous philanthropist. Sadly even that only really worked at night, when the hospital''s outdated systems stopped hogging what little bandwidth the wiring could support. It was two hours till lights out, and Ray¡¯s daily chance for a bit of freedom from their body, it¡¯s atrophying muscles, and withering organs. Raey¡¯s thoughts turned to which of their favorite activities to get up to. Hunt for new music, try to find a sympathetic Samurai with free time, and a penchant for helping the needy? Maybe spend some time in futile arguments on forums with people trying to get hospitals, like the one they lay in, shut down. Or they figured, they hadn¡¯t used the backdoor into the admin system lately, there had undoubtedly been some changes in the local population of the slowly dying. First though, a nap, two hours of ceiling staring, and listening to beeping machines was more than they could take right now. ***** Sirens and flashing lights woke Raey from their slumber, the room was dark, the two hour nap had extended past the plan. They grumbled at lost time, while their groggy mind tried to remind them about the reason for their sudden waking. The sirens, the lights, they were new, different. Not the ¡°all call¡± for a coding patient, or the trilling chirp of a patient wandering too close to an exit, the new one was terrifying. Frail arms and tired hands fumbled on the bedside tray, grasping for their only connection to the world outside their room. With careful practiced motions Raey managed to slip it over their head, staring blankly at the loading screen of the display. The panic induced adrenaline surge filled their body with chills. The usual 30 seconds of booting felt like an eternity. The musical chime to signal the headset was ready to use was drowned out by the still unknown sirens. Raey spared no time in using the eye tracking features to navigate through the backdoor they had hacked into the hospital''s systems. More grumbling echoed in their thoughts as they navigated with minor flicks of their eyes. Even the simplicity of basic ocular augments had been stripped of them, whatever caused their own immune system to see their own body as the enemy, went ballistic at even the smallest of foreign material intruding. Words flashed across Raey¡¯s vision, breaking them out of the well worn trails of bitterness. Incursion detected. Please evacuate to your designated shelters. Panic. Raey¡¯s vision began to tunnel. Their thoughts were growing foggy, it was all too much. Long dormant survival instincts blared to life in a body ill equipped to handle the rush of endorphins and adrenaline. Focus. You have to focus. Stop. Breathe. Focus. Where were the nurses? Where were the other patients? Cameras. You have access to the cameras. You aren¡¯t blind, just focus. Top right corner, a flick of the eye, focus for two seconds. Camera access, upper left, nurses station, hold for one second. Raey¡¯s vision filled with two views of the nursing station. It was dark, only the flashing emergency lights allowed brief glimpses of empty desks. Had they all run? Had they left her? Movement! There on the floor. It had four legs, it moved wrong. The antithesis were inside. Raey pulled back out of the camera feed, they didn¡¯t want to see whatever it might be on the floor that had the vicious monster''s attention. Help probably wasn¡¯t coming. They were alone, they were too weak to walk, nothing but a boney snack waiting for the first omnivorous plant to find her. All Raey could do was flick through cameras, and watch. Maybe lay bets with the walls of the room, over which model would be her doom. As despair settled in, a peace came with it. Six months ago the doctors had told them they could live on for years. The disease would kill them eventually, but first it would likely rob them of every faculty and function. Raey would slowly waste away on this bed, eventually being unable to even use the headset. Knowing that death was stalking the halls of their living tomb, and it might possibly save them from their body¡¯s slow betrayal, was almost comforting. Raey¡¯s eyes scanned their headset, how should they spend their final moments? Looking in on whoever might still be alive nearby? Maybe write a final fuck you message to the people that thought people with disabilities and chronic illness should just be euthanized. Icon¡¯s scrolled past their vision. Wait, the little lock symbol. Raey had forgotten about hacking into the security systems. At the time they¡¯d been appalled at how easy it was, and the potential mayhem they could have caused, but now, now, just maybe¡­ Renewed drive to live, and maybe save anyone else that hadn¡¯t managed to evacuate, filled Raey¡¯s tired body. Flick left, up, hold 3 seconds. Roll the eyes 4 times to bypass the passwords. Now, what was available beyond the annoying sirens? Motion and heat tracking, very bulky security doors, fire suppression systems full of old banned chemicals. ¡°Right, I forgot this was a military hospital way back.¡± Raey muttered out loud, their first spoken words in days. It looked like everything was still connected to power, the military had just disconnected the command structure before selling the building. There weren¡¯t any turrets in hospitals, but those old security doors could probably crush something if timed right, and who knows what that old fire system had in it. Most of the facility''s lights seemed to be out, and the emergency lights were spotty and flickering, Raey would need some other way to see what was going on. They pulled the tracking screens up on the left, the options and their controls on the right. Thermal tracking first. Hot spots in a few rooms nearby, a vague, slightly above room temperature spot, was in the halls coming this way. Hot spots were probably people, plants would be colder right? They couldn¡¯t remember much from what little they¡¯d read about the antithesis. They¡¯d been low on the list of potential problems life might bring. Raey switched to the motion tracking setting, the old disused sensors lacked fidelity, but they seemed to be working better than the thermals. The odd shaped slightly warmer patch moving toward the palliative care ward clarified into 4 smaller blobs of movement, swarms or distinct individuals, Raey couldn¡¯t tell. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. Thankfully they could only see the one group headed their way at the moment, they were keeping their focus narrow for the moment though, who knows what the rest of the facility was like. Right, focus Raey. The adrenaline rush was wearing off, wearing them down. Raey could feel the brain fog settling in. Just a bit more, they told themself, lock down the ward, maybe take a couple plants out if you can. Hopefully that would be enough, some sort of help had to be on the way, right? They started closing the big blast doors in the connecting hallways where they could. Walls had been built over them, hiding the large steel frames, and the motors were old and lacking oil. The doors screamed as they pushed through the layers of dust and grime, pushing ponderously out from the walls, tearing through drywall and aluminum studs in a cacophony of crushing and grinding. Some failed to move, or stuttered and lurched towards closing. Raey was unsure how many would manage to seal enough to prevent the brussel sprouts from reaching them or the other potential survivors the thermals had shown still stuck in their rooms. An alert from the motion detection brought Raey¡¯s increasingly foggy mind back into focus. The noise of the doors must have alerted the anti¡¯s, they had picked up speed, the connecting hallway doors might not close in time. Raey flicked through options, the only things not giving errors, or stating they were missing components were the old fire suppression systems, but the default setting was all on, or all off. Raey didn¡¯t want to accidentally gas the few people left alive in the building. Tired eyes flicked through options, tiny ocular muscles burned with strain, unused to such frantic motions. There, they¡¯d found it. Live test options, now they just had to bypass a few protocols, narrow down which zones, just connecting passages and hallways, blink twice for final confirmation, and hope. Information flooded the screen in front of Raey¡¯s eyes, error and warning messages, pressure readings, cautionary alerts about how unsafe and expired the suppressant was. They rolled past all but unseen. Despite the stress, despite the adrenaline, their mind and body was failing them yet again, scrolling messages smeared into a blur before their eyes, as they fell into a limbo somewhere between asleep and awake, aware but unable to form thought. ***** In a connecting passage not far from Raey¡¯s drifting consciousness layers of old paint were ripped from round nozzles embedded in the ceiling, as they coughed out great heaving clouds of iridescent blackish blue fog, slowing the advance of the four dog like plants that burst through the first set of closing blast doors. Their caution at the change in the air proved advantageous for the few patients they were heading towards, as it gave the doors in front of them just enough time to close, the lead anti slammed head first into the steel doors, nearly losing its version of a nose to the closing gap. Antithesis however are not so easily deterred, the voiceless creatures clawed and gnawed at the doors. Their primitive brains knew only that there was biomass beyond the door. With enough time they would have likely managed to claw their way through the thick old steel, sadly for them there was good reason that certain chemicals in the fire suppressant roiling around them had been abandoned or outright banned. Something about its makeup loved to react with organic matter, a reaction that used up vital materials from living cells, and left behind hard calcified shells. Barely halfway through the door, the rending from claws and teeth stopped, the fog filled hallway no longer held ferocious plants, but pristine white sculptures in their image. ***** Raey¡¯s tired eyes fluttered. They were getting a notification, but it wasn¡¯t from their headset. They didn¡¯t have augs, what the hell was this, they groggily tried to comprehend. Congratulations Raey! The protectorate has taken notice of your valorous deeds in the face of our common enemy! Against all odds you have managed to save lives and exterminate several of the accursed scourge of the universe! Hail Raey! Newest of the¡­ Wait, second, no third¡­ Hail Raey! Close to being the newest Vanguard of earth. At least in the top dozen or two most recent. Huzzah! Raey laughed in the halls of their own mind, they must have messed up with where the suppressant was released, they were hearing voices. They let their eyes slip closed again, uncaring about what might happen next. Host Raey, it appears you are in suboptimal condition to continue the fight. Needs must this lowly squire take the initiative to keep their brave Vanguard from perishing too soon! Keep your eyes closed if you want me to purchase a little pick me up from the store. Raey¡¯s eyes stayed closed, idly wondering why their hallucination was pretending to be a squire. Right! That¡¯s a yes to me! Squire Sqyire administering aid! Out of nowhere a shiny silver bracer appeared on Raey¡¯s wrist, they felt a brief pinch on their skin, and gasped as awareness flooded back to them. ¡°What the actual¡­¡± Raey blurted as their eyes popped wide and they nearly managed to sit up in shock. ¡°What? Who? Vanguard? Jewellery? Squire Sqyire? Wait, why is it spelt two ways? How do I know it¡¯s spelled two ways? I only heard it?¡± Ahem. Apologies for that shock to your system, fair Vanguard, but we aren¡¯t out of danger just yet, and there are many still in need of your aid. Drastic measures were needed. In order of questions asked, fancy drugs, me, yes you are, a Betrak personal health diagnostic bracelet with built in emergency ¡°fancy drugs¡±, because that¡¯s my name, and I like that spelling, because you didn¡¯t actually ¡°hear¡± it, I thought it into your brain. The AI and vanguard link is amazing! Now, I¡¯m sure you have many other questions, but as your humble squire and assistant, might I recommend we save them until after the incursion has been fully dealt with. The ¡°fancy drugs¡± will only work for so long before they start causing more damage than helping, and with your current, er, condition, damage would be very bad. ¡°Right, yeah, even alien space drugs aren¡¯t a panacea. Compartmentalize Raey, you do it everyday, ignore the bad, and just do something, you can fall apart later, in the dark, alone.¡± You need not have any fear of that brave Vanguard! You will never be truly alone again! Faithful Squire Sqyire will be with you always! Raey tried to turn their grimace into a grin. ¡°Right you are Squire Sqyire!¡± They said with enthusiasm they didn¡¯t feel. ¡°Now, you aren¡¯t expecting me to stop a whole incursion on my own are you? And how much time do we have before this Betrak thing liquifies my insides?¡± Plenty of time! Especially for what I think our best options are. While I have the utmost faith in you, and fully believe in your greatness as a Vanguard, I¡¯m a firm believer in keeping your bites manageable, so while I¡¯m certain if you put your mind to it, stopping this pesky incursion would be possible for you. I recommend instead working with what you¡¯ve started, and building a fort to keep the enemy at bay, while your fellows in arms take care of the rest. ¡°That makes sense, yeah, for sure. First off though, does the fancy store of yours have anything to drink? This is already more speaking than I usually do in a week.¡± Absolutely! The list of flavours is almost as long as I¡¯m sure your list of valorous deeds will one day be! Shall I begin reciting them? ¡°Pressed for time right? How about you pick something, and then we can talk plans.¡± Right you are Vanguard, I¡¯m glad you are here to keep me on track. Truly splendid leadership skills. Raey felt a weight added to the band of their headset, as something pressed against their cheek, and a straw touched at their bottom lip. ¡°Alright SQ2, lay your ideas on me while I drink¡± As you command Vanguard! I do recommend drinking slowly at first, there are some additives in the drink to help with your stamina, and prevent the ¡°liquefaction¡± you were worried about, but they can be rough on an empty stomach. Now plans¡­ First off, I was thinking we build a moat, fill it with more of that horrifying chemical you used before, but amped up to the nines, and add in a little dash of luring pheromones. The more points we get, the faster we can get you a nice gleaming set of armour! ¡°I¡¯m not sure knight in shining armour is really the direction I see for myself, also most knights had brightly painted or enameled armour. Wow, I don¡¯t think my thoughts have been this clear in years, it¡¯s kinda frightening, and a bit depressing how much I¡¯ve¡­¡± ¡°Never mind, time and place. How do we dig a moat from my bed SQ2?¡± It all starts with a lovely catalogue Jiykrast Remote Systems¡­ ***** Sports Ball Hitting Stick Guy and Fromage Flinger had responded to the alert of an incursion at the old military hospital as quickly as they could, they¡¯d never worked together before, Fromage Flinger had come down to SB¡¯s home continent of australia tracking a different problem, but the emergency incursion warning had taken priority over their investigation. The hospital had been mostly overrun when they¡¯d arrived, less than half the staff and patients managing to make it to the pair of shelters the facility maintained. It had been a slog with just the two of them, but thankfully the model numbers had been low, more quantity over quality, tedious rather than dangerous. There was just one corner left to check, one their AI¡¯s had both designated as a low priority, as a baby Vanguard was taking care of it, and the threat levels nearby were low. It was time to see what their newest compatriot had been up to. Fromage looked to SBHSG as they topped the rise to look down at the building shoved off in the corner of the lot, connected by only a few long hallways. ¡°Is thick blue fog filled with antithesis statues common in Australia Sporty sports?¡± Sports paused beside her, staring down at the building. The connecting halls had been shattered, short metal rods stood stabbed into the ground every few meters in two parallel lines circling the palliative care ward. They somehow held a rolling mass of bluish fog between them. ¡°No, that is not normal for these parts. Especially this far from the coast. Any clue what it is? Or what the sculptures are for?¡± He asked out loud, for his companion and AI¡¯s benefit. ¡°Melty is saying those aren¡¯t statues, those are the antithesis remains. She also says we should not let that gas touch us. Or we might end up just like them.¡± ¡°Bloody hell, new kid is breaking out war crimes on day one. Not sure if that¡¯s better or worse than my hockey bag full of sticks.¡± ¡°Alabaster Sculptor?¡± Fromage mused. ¡°What was that?¡± ¡°Thinking about names, should we be nice, or have some fun?¡± ¡°As people saddled with odd or unwanted names, perhaps we should ask them what they like first?¡± ¡°Boo, fine. Now how do we get past this crap? Melty, can you ping the fresh-face¡¯s AI? Ask for an ingress?¡± As Fromage Flinger finished speaking, a pair of the rods pulled themselves out of the ground, a bundle of long spindly arms spreading from the sides. They walked themselves together and then separated to the side, pushing the deadly fog in front of them and creating a gap for the pair to walk through. ¡°Here we go I guess, I wonder what other horrors our eyes will see inside?¡± Sports ball laughed with fake menace as the pair strode toward the hospital. ¡°Do those silver bars look like swords to you, Sports boy?¡± ¡°You know me Mozza, I can¡¯t tell one hitting stick from another.¡± Post Credit Scene: Names are hard. Even Samurai enjoy a post credit scene. Especially ones with their own epigraph. -One of the many voices in my head. ***** Sports Ball Hitting Stick Guy and Fromage Flinger sit half sprawled out on the floor of the room of as yet unnamed new Samurai, who lays sleeping in their hospital bed. Quiet sounds echo outside the closed door as hospital staff and members of the PMC take care of the few other survivors and check for antithesis remnants. ¡°Lot¡¯s Wife?¡± ¡°Huh? Where¡¯d that come from?¡± Sports ball asked Fromage. ¡°You know, from the bible, when Lot and his family run away. She gets turned to salt.¡± ¡°Yes, but our sleeping friend calcifies things, not salt. Plus, Lot¡¯s wife became salt, God or whoever did the salting.¡± ¡°Damn you¡¯re right. How about¡­ Mechdusa?¡± ¡°Medusa I get, but where¡¯s the mech coming from?¡± Fromage paused in thought as they stared at the sleeping Samurai in the bed. ¡°I mean, they don¡¯t look like they¡¯ll be running on their own two feet anytime soon, so I figured they might be mecha inclined?¡± ¡°Admit it, you were just looking for a different way to say Medusa.¡± Sports shot back. ¡°How about Gorgonzola?¡± He continued. ¡°Hey! Cheeze is my thing! No matter how much my moniker annoys me sometimes. I¡¯m not even french!¡± ¡°Somnolent, something¡­ maybe?¡± ¡°Whoa big word there, guy who calls a cricket bat a sports stick.¡± Fromage replied while making air quotes. ¡°What does that event mean?¡± ¡°I forget the official definition, but it¡¯s something about being sleepy, I think.¡± ¡°I mean, that fits their current state, but I¡¯m sure after spending a few points, sleeping will be the last thing on their mind.¡± ¡°Hmm yeah¡­ White Queen?¡± ¡°Melty says they''re non-binary.¡± ¡°Right forgot. Sorry sleeping stranger¡± ¡°That¡¯s not bad.¡± Fromage shrugged. ¡°Sleeping stranger? Sounds like a creepy stalker.¡± Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. ¡°Iron Jotun, Argent Aegis, Giggle Box?¡± ¡°Where are any of those coming from Cheesy? How do they relate to what we saw them do?¡± ¡°I dunno, at least I¡¯m putting out ideas! This is our first chance to name a Newbie! Gotta put some effort in Sporty! You¡¯d probably call them ¡°Lays in bed and makes statues¡± LiBaMS, or something.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t pick my name, my sister did, sorta¡­ Paris Plasterer?¡± ¡°Nice, got some potential, I like it. Hmmmm, Salt Mime?¡± ¡°Swinging back around to salt are we? I do like the theme¡­ but mime seems off. Unless when they wake up we realise they have no voice.¡± The pair drifted into companionable silence, letting their minds and bodies relax and come down from the endorphin highs of fighting the antithesis. Sports Ball spoke softly, their eyes closed. ¡°Did you see that one a few doors down? With the spikes through it? Looked like it had been chewed on, before it solidified. Think maybe it started to calcify from the inside, and the others tried to eat it?¡± ¡°Nah, I was too busy trying to break the one stuck half way through the door, so I could check on the lady inside.¡± ¡°Right yeah, forgot.¡± ¡°How was she?¡± ¡°Frightened, but also resigned. I mean she survived today, but like, we all know why people get put in this part of the hospital.¡± Silence reigned for a few heart beats. ¡°Hey Melty, what would it cost to give the few people left in this wing a few more decent years?¡± ¡°Whatever it costs,¡± Sports Ball interrupted, ¡°I¡¯ll cover half.¡± Gasps and the clatter of boxes appearing out of thin air sounded softly through the door. Exhausted silence filled the room once again. A new somewhat hoarse voice chimed in from on the bed. ¡°You know, I used to dream about one of you visiting our little dungeon of the dyeing and doing just that. Thank you.¡± Two tired Samurai stared up at the bed, tired minds trying to catch up. ¡°I rather liked the salt one, or the plaster of paris idea. I used to love making crafts.¡± They paused. ¡°Squire Sqyire thinks I should go with something more Knightly.¡± ¡°Melty likes to binge watch entire decades of fictional media.¡± ¡°You say the strangest out of context things Cheesy.¡± ¡°Hey! It was totally in context. I was establishing a bond based on quirky AI habits.¡± Raey sighed softly, a smile stretching on their lips. ¡°I¡¯m going to need a coffee if you two are going to stick around.¡± The Samurai on the floor were jolted to alertness as Raey sat up quickly and almost fell out of bed, a manic grin on their face. ¡°I can drink coffee again! Squire, your knight needs caffeine!¡± The room paused as a metallic cup popped into existence on the bedside table. Raey put their head in their hands. ¡°Oh god, he¡¯s got me doing it too.¡± Picking up the cup, Raey leaned back in bed while sipping softly and smiling. ¡°Good idea, name time can resume later. Time for snacks.¡± Fromage said, as a charcuterie board materialized on the floor beside them. ¡°Agreed.¡± Mumbled Sports Ball through a mouth already stuffed full of crackers. ***** Fin¡­ ¡°You totally should have been called Char-Cute-ery¡± He said with a wink at his cheesy friend. She punched him in the arm. ¡°Get a room, this one¡¯s spoken for.¡± Came a voice from the bed. ***** Now Fin.