Through wisps of snow and over jagged rock, the traveler pushed on. Coming to a rest at an overhang, the lone man kicked a few sticks into a pile, and with a deep breath, blew into his outstretched palm. Sparks and a wave of heat eminated from his palm and strike the sticks, igniting with a soft phwoom, casting soft shadows across the overhang walls. The traveler shrugged off his backpack and began to dig in it, pulling out a few crackers and a tin of dried fruits. He then drove another stick into the deep into the ground next to the crackling fire, a slab of meat hanging from its end.

​

"Damn, I miss Taco Tuesdays." the traveler muttered, taking a seat on a frozen rock. Through the crunch of his crackers and the popping of the flame, the traveler heard a beating of wings in the soft snowfall. Without hesitation, the traveler kicked a snowy mix of sand and pebbles onto the small flame, extinguishing it as easily as it was ignited. The beating stopped with the creaking of a branch, and smoke filled the cavity of the overhang.

A moment passed, the smoke burning the traveler's eyes and irritating his nose. He can feel the itch coming on; unable to hold it in, he sneezed.

​

A quiet beat passed, to his relief. The silence was broken as a ball of ice impacted the ground before him, shattering into hundreds of frozen shards. Immediately after, a winged claw reached through the mouth of the overhang, barely missing the traveler with a swipe, but tore his backpack and caused the contents to spill.

The traveler recoiled, and after gaining his footing, inhaled a deep breath. With his exhale, a stream of flames roared from his mouth toward the opening of the overhang. A terrifying shriek ensued, rattling his bones and splitting his ears.

​

This is my chance, the traveler thought, and leapt out from under the overhang, landing with a roll. Turning towards the overhang, taking in another deep inhale, he locked eyes with the creature. A drake leered over him, clinging to the top of the overhang. The drake let loose an intimidating shriek, its face enveloped in a soft magical glow as it readied another blast of ice.

The two launched their attacks. One with a yell, the other with a shriek, the stream of fire met and melted the incoming ball of ice. The drake was quick to follow with a series of swipes, using its reach and positioning to its advantage. The traveler expertly danced around the first flurry of swipes, preparing his next offensive with a deep nasal snort, but was met with a solid blow to his chest from the final swipe in creature's onslaught.

Reeling back, the stream of fire escaped the traveler's mouth, singeing the shoulder and wing of the drake. The drake launched another flurry of swipes, tearing flesh from the traveler's left arm, and readied another ball of ice, the soft glow casting grotesque shadows upon its face.

​

Oh, this is bad, flickered across the traveler's mind, regaining his footing, instinctively entering into a broad, braced stance. He crossed his arms, blood flowing from his wound, staining the snow beneath him a deep red. The ball of ice launched from the drake's mouth, and met his arms with a solid crack!, his wide stance preventing him from tumbling with the force of the impact. The drake crept down from the overhang, snarling as it circled and closed the distance between it and the man, waiting for him to telegraph his next move.

The traveler's mind was racing. It's do or die, no need for holding back now.

Holding his stance, the traveler took a long, slow, deep breath. He could feel his chest expanding, the heat within burning his lungs, his arms aching and pulsing with pain. He tensed his legs, ready to charge when the moment was right.

The drake inched closer, its cold gaze and otherworldly snarls sending shivers down the traveler's spine. It hesitated as it noticed him complete his breath.

The words exploded from his mouth, a river of flame in its wake."Let's do this! LEEEEEROOOOYYYYY JEEEENNKIIINNNSSSS!"

​

The flames hit their mark. The drake, burned and recoiling, skittered back up to its perch on the overhang. The traveler rushed towards it, preparing another inhale, his lungs screaming from the heat within. As he closed the distance, he noticed the drake was not preparing another attack. He unleashed another exhale of brilliant flame, which the drake dodged with a beat of its wings, climbing into the air. It then settled back down, gripping onto the overhang.

The traveler, wary but curious, re-entered his defensive stance, meeting the gaze of the drake once more. Its cold gaze was replaced with a mournful look. It raised its clawed hand, and gestured between itself and the traveler, before pointing upwards, accompanied by a solemn howl. It then sat on its hindquarters, wrapped its winged arms around itself, its tail wriggling at its feet.

Slowly, the realization hit the traveler.

"You... and I..." he groaned through gritted teeth, "are not so different after all, huh?

"The traveler broke his stance, and fell to his knees, waves of pain and exhaustion rolling over him. After a moment, he gained his composure, and sat cross-legged on the frozen ground.

"So, uh, what now?" he said, contemplating openly with the drake. A rumble from his stomach sounded out. The two locked eyes once more.

"You know, I think I have an idea."

​

Under the overhang, the sound of crackling fire complimented the silence of falling snow. The soft light illuminated both man and beast, bandaged and snoring, exhausted from their battle and full from the meal they had just shared.

My morning this day went awry the first minute I woke up.

For a few past years, I had a habit - when I woke up, I checked my favorite news channel in Mailgram. This day, however, I wasn't able to do so - because nothing in my house had Internet connection.

Nor WiFi, nor 4G worked. I was a bit begrudged about it, but whatever - I could live without it for a day. More so, my ISP and mobile provider were the same company, so I just assumed something went wrong on their end (again). I was in no mood to argue with them at 6:30 AM and was going to work, so I postponed this problem to a later date.

Then, I decided to cook some eggs. And - surprise! - no electricity either.

Well, at least it explained things - if it was city wide outage, mobile towers with internet are obviously out of commission too. And, if it was a city wide problem, that meant what I didn't need to argue with anyone myself. At least some good came out of it.

The other problem was, however, that I lived on 12 floor of an apartment building. If there was no electricity, that meant what I had to take stairs. But I just counted it as morning exercise.

Finally, after stairs took all my breath away, I was able to leave the building. I worked in local school as a "Fundamentals of life safety" teacher. Basically, I told young and silly schoolboys and girls how not to get lost in the forest, what to do with contraceptives, and how to bandage a wound in critical situation. So, I was pretty health myself - as an example for kids and teenagers. However, taking stairs almost took me out, but I prevailed.

Luckily, my school was nearby, 8 minutes at brisk walk pace. You would think that if there is power outage, where would be no classes today. But 1) If outage was for a long time, we need to use schools as community gathering centers 2) It is not like we need electricity to give classes. We are not that rich to give pads or something to children - books here were still go-to. In other words - even if had to work only with sunlight, I still had my classes to give.

And only when I started walking to school I noticed something.

The mountains were gone.

See, our small city was located in Urals - so, the mountains were constantly giving us their monumental shadow. And now, they were gone.

I tried clearing my eyes, thinking maybe I was just too tired after this morning's exercise. But nope - mountains didn't appear.

A feeling of dread started creeping on me.

I sped up my walk to school and noticed a lot of people were headed to it too - both students and their parents alike. Some of these parents, I knew for sure, had an early morning jobs and should be on their way at this time of day.

I started running.

By the time I reached a school, a crowd was at school's yard. I saw our principal, Ursula Pavlovna - a stoic, 50-something woman, with stern gaze, endless love for children, and an utter hatred for people who tried to meddle in her school affairs. In other words - great woman.

She saw me approaching and waved me to come. People in crowd saw me too and started to give way - I was pretty known person around these parts and no one tried to block me.

Only when I approached the principal, I noticed that our local policemen were already here, as well as most of the school's stuff. Even Katya, the young, always late math teacher, was here - all anxious and all.

"So, anyone know where the mountains went? I know our city is not pretty, it is not that bad to just leave us"

I tried to discharge the situation a bit, but most people present just tensed up.

"No one knows anything" - Ursula Pavlovna replied. - "But considering how much education you need to be a government official these days, I doubt some of them will notice the difference even if these mountains fell on their heads. No offense, Alexei"

"None taken", - I replied. Before taking on the teacher's role, I was working for the government, but that is a story for another time.

And when, this happened.

A bright light started shining right above the city. It was brighter than the sun - but, strangely enough, it wasn't scorching even one bit. Then, the voice came:

"People of... " - a noise of shuffling papers started to come from the light.

"Krasnogranite!!!" - someone shouted from the crowd. I think it was a voice of Lenya, local prankster.

"Yes, thank you." - the voice replied. "So, people of Krasnogranite. I need to inform that due to a technical issue, caused by unseen consequences during an important magic experiment of our country, you were transported from your homeworld here.

Don't worry - our specialists are working as fast as possible to solve this incident. If all goes well, you will be home in no time!

For the time being, try no to leave the boundaries of your cities, which are now marked with the bright blue line. We don't hold responsibility for anything what happens to anyone who crosses this line.

Additional instructions and guidance will be provided later. We hope this situation will be resolved safely for everyone involved.

We apologize for the inconvenience caused by this incident. We ask for your patience until the matter is resolved. Thank you for your understanding.

Office of High Monarch Hurdun, team of magic related incidents.

Best regards,"

Aaaand the light was gone. Puff.

The silence was tangible in the school yard. Everyone was afraid to move and to utter even a single word.

"So," - Ursula Pavlovna broke the dread, - government officials are dicks here too, aren't they?"

Someone started laughing at it. Then I realized it was me. People started to join in too.

Yeah, we are maybe stuck in another world. There will be definitely a lot of problems, some even we never saw before.

But some of them were definitely too close to home.

Eric was a resource manager for a Fortune 500 company not even fifteen days ago. Now, he’s a monster with four bug eyes, antennae, and a thorax with humanoid arms and legs, who, because he has a mouth, opposable thumbs, and can squirt ink from his abdomen, has to help in sorting out what can or can’t be allowed in this new… society.

“Look, Mr. Benson,” Eric says, his four arms on his desk, his hands clapped together. “I just don’t see how we can allow this.”

“She’s my wife,” Mr. Benson, a portly looking elephant thing, snorts through his tusks, his ears flared, his arms motioning towards the thing sitting next to him.

“She’s a bug,” Eric points out, one hand motioning towards the grotesque, fly looking creature sitting on the seat beside him.

“You’re a bug!” Mr. Benson shouts, tooting out of his trunk.

“I am an insectoid. Though I do understand your frustration, Mr. Benson,” Eric says. He motions to Mrs. Benson, “Ma’am, can you tell your husband you love him?”

Her giant honeycomb eyes never seem to move as she rotates her body to look in his direction. There’s a glossiness in Mr. Bensons eyes as he takes her little… hand things in his. Eric was glad he could not see himself, because quite frankly it was a disgusting sight.

She buzzes.

“I love you, too,” Mr. Benson whispers back, his snout touching the slick skin beneath her eyes that could only be her cheek.

“Mrs. Benson,” Eric says. “Can you tell your husband that you hate him?”

Her body turns to him, and then turns back, and she buzzes in the same, very irritating way. He wanted to smack her, but all four of his arms open up.

“See, Mr. Benson. There is no way for anyone to distinguish what it is she is saying. For her own safety, for yours, and for everyone else’s, we are going to have to deny your petition to transfer your marriage license. I- I understand you’re upset, but if you would calm down for a moment, I can give you directions to the Placement Department, and they can assist you in placing her with… her own kind.”

Eric takes one of his hands, and rubs the tip of his abdomen, trying not look as aroused as it made him feel, and stamps the giant leaf with his hand.

“Next!”

It is opening night.

In the center of the fair a dragon cranes his long neck high above the rides, lets moonlight slide over his scales like a jug of milk being poured. Master, a humanoid bug in top hat and red waistcoat, standing by the dragon’s clawed feet, laughs and slaps his six hands together and says, “Let there be light!”

Flames spout into the air as if a rocket is taking off. The queue gathered at the fair’s entrance, gold-leaf tickets clutched protectively to their chests, whoop and clap. The fair is open.

Beatrice is not thirsty but will drink tonight regardless. She stands outside her tent, between the two cardboard-teeth that drape down around the entrance. She inhales and holds in her stomach, lets it out again. She’s getting plump and she knows it. It’s incredible, she thinks, how many people are willing to pay to have their blood drained by a vampire. What a dull world it is must be for such people to exist. She is not one of the more popular attractions, except perhaps with housewives fresh from a steamy novel, and yet there will be a steady stream of paying customers tonight. More blood than she wants.

Beatrice watches Harry rotate his shell in the distance. Harry, once a travelling shoe salesman in a different life, is a gigantic snail with benches screwed into his shell. Later, he will undulate his body and rotate his shell to win screams from visitors.

Another burst of flame. Every five minutes Randolph cascades fire into the sky, blue, red, white — a light show, shadows cast, faces illuminated momentarily, the cold winter air shocked into warmth.

Beatrice hears the chants from outside the ground. On the fair’s first night in any town, the protestors are as much of a specatacle as the fare itself. They are their own festival of bibles and microphones, bubbling anger and frothing wine. Even the non-religious preach against the satanic creatures within the walls. Creatures like her.

Visitors are marching through now. The night has begun in earnest. Children point and run from freakshow to freakshow as parents hurry after them like their kids are housecats escaped.

”Look like you want to be here, Beatrice,” master demands. She hadn’t seen him scuttle to her tent, but he stands there now, whip in hand. She’s never seen him use it but wouldn’t be surprised if he had.

”I’m a vampire,” she retorts. ”They like us moody.”

”Well I like you seductive, smiling. Understand? You’re prettier when you smile.”

She understands well enough. There is nowhere else in this world for creatures like them. Without the security that comes from being part of this wandering pack, this bizarre family, there is only death. They are loathed as much as they are adored, often more so. If the master kicks her out it would be a death sentence.

Besides, where would she get her blood from? She can’t bear the thought of taking it from the unwilling.

Beatrice has her first customers. She bites neck after neck, careful to leave a twisted toothy imprint — a souvenir most desirable — and careful not to take too much for fear of bloating early. Still, the blood gives her a buzz and she lets herself enjoy this first night in town.

Giant Sarah strides by Beatrice’s tent on her break. She bends down, hand on back, and peels open the flap. “All good, Bee?”

Beatrice looks at Giant Sarah’s feet, mostly because that’s all she can see of the huge woman. They are blistered and bandaged, toes like smashed boulders. “What’s he had you doing, Sarah?”

”What’s he not?”

Beatrice knows she’s set up half the fair herself. Did most of the heavyy moving, as well as running the helter-skelter, constantly bending to pick up children and adults alike who want to ride the whirling slide.

”You need to take it easy,” says Beatrice.

The tent flaps fell back in place. “Yeah. I know,” drifts Sarah’s resigned voice as the ground rocks. “We all do.”

There are each under the same threat. Of being kicked out of their supposed family. But what can they do? Master saved them all. He’d gathered them, the freaks that they’d become, once they’d woken in this world. He’d been the one to come up with a plan that would keep them safe, had made deals with land owners to allow their fair to tour and set up.

Safe. Kept them all safe.

But not truly.

Beatrice doesn’t know his real name. No one does. He is the master of ceremonies, he said, and that was all.

Beatrice closes a little early tonight and stands outside her tent, watches her friends — the dragon forced to breathe fire on clockwork as his throat tears itself to ribbons,

She is careful as she meanders through the fair a few moments later, blends in with last visitors, navy hoody shading her face. She has never been in master’s caravan before, but tonight she creeps inside. He’s out by Tara the yeti now, who is gluing back hair that’s falling out in tufts under the stress.

Beatrice rifles through every drawer in the caravan, breaks open suitcases. It has to end, she thinks. They are being treated like animal, not a family. It’s time for the truth.

But there is no truth to find. Not in here. What was she expecting anyway? A diary saying his evil scheme of working them all to death is going wonderfully. Idiot, she thinks.

She’s about to leave when the door bursts open and master walks in. His eyes roam over the scene methodically, as if he’s ironing a shirt with his gaze.

He settles on Beatrice. “You’re done. I knew we shouldn’t have kept a vampire. Especially once you got fat. I want you out, tonight.”

In her old life she was married, had a child. She had love. In this life she has only misery.

Rage. She dives at master. She buries her teeth into his neck, cracking through carapace. He screams but the dragon fire outside is roaring louder.

She pulls her mouth away, smears his blood from off her lips, then gazes into his eyes. She’s only done this a handful of times before, and even then she wasn’t sure if it they were lucky guesses or she really did see into their minds.

This time she concentrates with her entire being. His pupils grow, the black water pooling deeper, wider. And she begins to see.

She sees him as young man in a different life. Sees him full of hate for the world but cannot see why. Sees a lust for control that he can never have. He is reading esoteric ancient texts, those about moving on, past lives and new lives, controlled reincarnation.

He is studying how to make bombs.

He is looking at maps. Areas densely populated. It does not matter to him who lives there, whose lives he’s ripping away, whose families are being deprived. Density, ease of access, that’s what matters.

She watches his grinning face as he sets the explosives.

It’s enough for her.

In a frezy she goes for his neck again. She will not stop though. She is a leech. She will take it all until master is a dried out husk.

​

Three nights later, with master still missing and presumed to have left the fair — perhaps run off with some local — the attractions pack themselves up and ready to move. Beatrice does not know whether to tell them what she found out, let alone what she did. Would it help them?

There is more laughter in the air than on usual leaving nights, more hope, Beatrice thinks. No one forced into roles, everyone simply working together.

"Why do you think we are here?"

"My guess? Somebody hates us." Mars answered.

This wasn't exactly the most far fetched theory at this point. Landon Park wasn't exactly a stellar place to begin with. Thus when it was somehow glassed and wiped off the map of Ohio; most others rejoiced in glee. At least online they did. Everyone tried to play along at the memorials.

The truth was that the Park had always been in some way on its way out. A slump in farm production, led into heavy industry. That slumped and led into further decline of the area. Numerous tech giants claimed they would buy land and repurpose the area. But in classic fashion, those that did either backed out, gave up, or pocketed the cash and ran. A city of 210,000 had dwindled down to 100,000.

And that was before the test facility exploded. Oddly enough, a speeding semi was rumored to have caused the blast. But that was a story for people back home to figure out.

"At least it's peaceful." Angelika smiled.

This brought up a lot of rather unpleasant memories. Their first raid from barbarians. The feral goblins. That one time Mars himself got abducted by harpies. The time one of the corner stores burnt down. At least they reopened next door. It's not like the neighbors were home in the last 30 years anyway.

"I beg to differ." He mused eventually.

"Oh come on. Look on the bright side." Angelika suggested.

He supposed being reincarnated as an Oni would do that to a lot of people. Pretty easy to feel comfortable when you can proabably level an entire human platoon using your hands and a fire axe. Mars on the other hand, Mars came back as something called a Kobold. He wasn't really big on his knowledge of lizards that walked on two legs.

"Whatever. This place is still a mess." He reacted.

"Oh stop. The Park has never been better."

"We're being pressed by a demon army on one side. A crooked human kingdom on the other side. And there's rumors of a dragon somewhere just over the hill there. You know, those things from those fantasy books you loved that torch everything when they get mad?"

"It's not like you're completely defenseless." Angelika pointed out.

Mars rolled the AR pistol in his hands. "Look. Just because I was involved with that incident at the hunting shop does not mean things have panned out."

"You're a Kobold that knows how to fight. Do you know how rare that apparently is?"

"It's not like I had a say in that."

A flash and rumble startled both of them, and the quickly left their lawn chairs and peered over the railing. Three floors below ther apartment, one of the neighbors was busy working with a cauldron. By cauldron, they meant a repurposed oil drum.

"Hey Patches!" Mars shouted down. "Do us all a big favor and don't burn the building down?!"

"Shut the hell up Mars!" The amateur mage retorted. "I'm reaching a breakthrough!"

"In magic, or crystal meth??" Mars shouted back.

A quick blast from Patches led Mars to lean backwards and let it strike the overhang. Flowers bloomed upside down from the ceiling, defying all logic. Well at least logic that normal people would carry.

Standing on the railing at the top rung, Mars hopped and snatched the bushel of flowers down. Dressing it like a bouquet, he handed it to Angelika in a mock formality.

"Flowers, my love?"

"Aww." She blushed. "You do remember it's our anniversary."

He smiled, but panicked internally. Because of course he had forgotten that it was their anniversary. He wasn't a complete idiot, sure. But as he always told himself, he sure gave it his all to reach such a high standard.

"What's wrong now?" She said as she quit hugging the flowers.

"I, uh... I gotta go downtown." He sidetracked. "Yeah. That's it."

"Well I'll go with you."

"No. No. You've been working guard for three days. Take a rest." He promised. "Have you seen Devon?"

"Oh God. What are you off to do?"

"Nothing." He lied poorly. "I just need to talk to him before I go."

"Last I saw, him and his friends were downstairs."

Of course, Devon and his friends didn't go easy on him about his proposal. A pack of Gnolls dying of laughter is rather contagious after a while, and it made sense why they were already his friends before they all got sent to see the Wizard of Oz.

"So. Let me get this straight." Devon said between tears of joy. "You came to get me. To break into the mall. To get a ring for your girlfriend?"

"I mean, yeah."

"Just ask one of the blacksmiths."

"They're still melting stuff down at the foundry. They've been at it for two months."

"Jewelry store over on 8th street."

One of the others interrupted them. "Ah nah, that place got looted day one."

"What about Smith's?" Devon suggested next.

Mars reminded him. "They burnt down."

"Shit." He frowned. Using a claw to scratch under his chin. "There was that one place next to the police station in the mall."

"Exactly."

"You do realize that place is pretty much cult territory right? Ever since those preppers took over?"

"I'm not going for prayer and a blood ritual. I need someone to help me bust in. Grab some loot. Bounce out. That's it."

"Man I got you." Devon promised as he made sure to grab his war hammer. And strap on a bulletproof vest. He knew how trigger happy Mars could get in a pinch.

They crossed the parking lot as the sun began to set. A lone harpy watched them from a nearby strip mall before fluttering away on the breeze.

"You sure a ring will cut it?" Devon broached. "I'm serious. Your girl got some big hands."

"Shut up bro."

r/Jamaican_Dynamite

I was born screaming. That wasn't particularly noteworthy; apparently orc infants cry just the same as human infants. No, the part that was noteworthy was that my last memory before crowning was that of being incinerated.

I used to be a 26 year-old barista. I had a college degree, not a particularly useful one, but a degree all the same. I read in my spare time. Mostly shitty fanfiction, but I deluded myself into thinking it was better than TV. Then a blinding flash, a crushing heat, the melting of my skin, and I was gone.

And now, I was an orc child. Isekai, reincarnation, self-insert, whatever your chosen form of self-indulgent day dream, I was living it. My escapist fantasies usually involved less raw meat and more cool magic, though. I used to be a vegetarian, you know. Just my luck to be reborn into a species that gifts knives on naming days and expects any self-respecting teenager to hunt their own food.

They thought I was delayed. It took me too long to learn how to work a mouth with bottom canines that jutted out past my lip. I didn't quite get the hang of the growling, snapping language until I was six. And my new parents didn't give a flying fuck that I knew what calculus was.

At least I wasn't alone. Everyone born from a year before me, to three years after me was similarly odd. I had an especially stranger brother, just a year younger than me. Rolk cried a lot. I found out why not long after strange children stopped being born. He was reincarnated, of course. I'd figured out the gist of my circumstances very young. The first reborn children had a full year to compare notes before I came along.

But Rolk had been seven when his first life ended. And only six when my first life ended. I'd heard stories of reborns living a few pain-filled hours before succumbing, but he'd made it three weeks. A nuclear bomb, he said. Radiation poisoning. He celebrated his seventh birthday in a hospital, fully aware that he was dying.

I grew protective of him. The adults, the real orcs, thought it was just a side effect of his oddities. Of course I'd be protective of my younger brother who rarely spoke, cried at the strangest times, and never seemed to relax. I learned to soothe him, to spot his triggers before he did.

And when he was fifteen, I got our parent's blessing to travel with him. There were whispers among the reborns. Whispers of a city, made up entirely of those who remembered a life before. A city where he'd be understood. He hoped that we'd find his first parents, killed nearly instantly in the blast. I just wanted him to be safe.

Their journey was meandering. They were pointed in the general direction of the major cities of the land, but without a clear end, there was little reason to move linearly. Rolk did most of the hunting. He knew I hated it. And he didn't look at me strangely for cooking the meat, even if he'd adapted to eating it raw.

Our first hint was from a soft-spoken reborn in one of the larger dwarf villages. She was happy with her new life as a religious scholar, having been a lonely history professor in her first life. She said that elves were known to accept refugees of all species in their vast forested territory. Their forests were the only place on the continent that'd be able to handle an extra city's worth of people, and which weren't ruled by someone who'd be threatened by such a settlement.

The first thing I noticed was the new saggy skin I wore, and the lingering pain in my left foot. I look down to notice is mangled, contorted and bruised. But the pain is smothered in something that dims its impact.

I look upwards, towards the celing. It's a dull metallic silver, but the odd thing is that is moving. Up and down, up and down...like it's breathing. It's only then I notice my own breathing, heavy and haggard. This prompts me to now look around, this time more astutely. There's a white chair, against a white wall--which is also moving. A clock, stuck at two, slowly lapping with the rhythm. And then there's this barely furnished bed--grey sheets, grey pillow, grey everything.

I try to get up, but my hands crumble under my own weight. I'm sitting there, almost helpless until I hear the clacking of heels, quickly in my direction. I try to lift my neck, and now I see her. She's a red headed woman with cold blue eyes, wearing a black uniform. I move my mouth to speak.

"Muuhahah," I mutter. What the hell?

"Don't worry Mr. Carson, your daughter will be with you shortly," She said in a low alto. Daughter? What daughter?

"But first Mr. Carson, can you confirm your date of birth? I know this is bizzare, but new protocol demands we do it."

I provide her with a random date? Hopefully, "Mr. Carson" is born on April 26th. Surprisingly, she nods her head in agreement.

"Good. Now we're ready." The redhead produces a long needle, and injects it into my arm. Suddenly, my motor skills are back, and my pain sharpens. "I'm sorry if it's so sudden, but we need you back in action sir."

Sir?

"We're experiencing multiple people waking up without any idea of who they are, or what they're supposed to do. All most a 100,000 people-- a cities worth this time!"

"And what am I supposed to do about that?"

"Edit the memories, give them a new home here. I know this time the experiment went a bit outside of the boundaries--you yourself were almost caught up amongst those who were replaced."

"Oh. Oh no."

Memories that aren't mine start flowing back into my head--memories of being a clinical psychologist in Canada are now replaced with pursuing Cybertechnical Engineering in college. Memories of my wife are abandoned, completely removed and instead replaced with hookups, one too many with the red head here--who is now carressing my face. My eyes are wide, and then, without me knowing it, I'm saying the following:

"Track down each report, and place it in the register Daisy, and I'll get to it. I have to rest. Do not rush." It's almost authoritarian, the voice of someone who commands a room. Deep, low, primal and slow.

"Daryl said now--"

"Daisy." I sit up now. Her mouth is closed shut and the color has drained from her face. "Did you not hear me?"

"I-I heard correctly."

"Do I need to remind you who is in charge of the whole Psycho-Analytics division?"

"No." She shakes her head and then looks down, stunned into silence.

"Good. Tell good Daryl I'll call him when I need to."

Her confident gait and steps are replaced now with a failed attempt at that same confidence in leaving the room. There's silence. The walls are still pulsing. The clock, still stuck at two. My hand moves into my lap. My head stares at it, until my lips move saying:

"You're lucky you have me. You don't try anything, and this will work just fine. Just fine. Fine. Isn't that right Mr. Robertson?" Now sitting up, I can see the mirror, and I see Mr. Carson staring straight into his own eyes, searching for me. "We're going to solve this little incident, without incident."

​

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