Upon a tyrannical throne of basalt spikes and obsidian skulls sat the desiccated remains of a powerful necromancer. Upon the necromancer’s gold-trimmed, black velvet cloak sat a stubborn layer of dust. The necromancer wasn’t dead, although at this point he probably wished he was. He was a Demilich and his name was Dave.

Ten years ago Dave had taken out an immense mortgage on the comparatively massive twelve-story Gothic citadel that he partly called his own. The Debtomancer laid claim to the rest, on paper anyways. Perhaps not on paper per se, but those details need not concern you for now.

Dave’s mortgage agreement had shackled his soul to the world of the living whether he liked it or not. That mortgage was unfinished business, and he couldn’t die until he felt he was finished with all of his business. This had nothing to do with him being a Demilich. The natural magic of the world is just funny like that. It works because people believe it works, thus making it work.

“You sure that thing’s working?” Cannon Knight nudged the Arcana Counter in Brick Knight’s hands like an annoying brother.

Brick Knight turned a crystalline dial on the stone PMA (Personal Magical Assistant) and pointed it at the cannon that Cannon Knight was using like a skateboard (it had wheels). The device beeped.

“It works.” Brick Knight bluntly retorted. He re-tuned the Arcana Counter and aimed it around again until he heard a low-pitched beep. The two Knights continued down the barren hallway of the desolate castle they had spent the past half hour scrounging through.

“I dunno, something still feels off. Doesn’t this place seem a bit too empty?”

“It’s an abandoned castle.”

“No, the town around it was abandoned. Those buildings were trashed and then some. I mean yeah, it’s dusty in here but there’s nothing else. You’d think monsters would’ve started squatting in here or something.”

“Whatever magic thing is still in here could be repelling them.”

“What, something like a Sapience-Pass Filter? How much is that worth?”

The duo stopped. Brick Knight pulled a dense, leatherbound, gemstone-encrusted shopping catalog out of his backpack and began flipping through it.

“There it is!” Cannon Knight proclaimed, jamming his finger onto a page. Behind their visors, the Knights’ eyes lit up like fireballs of ionized gold.

Dave’s eyelids begrudgingly opened like rusty, misshapen garage doors. His watch was beeping. While it was a magic watch, its aesthetics clashed with the rest of its surroundings like sloppy joes at a royal banquet. It was the same plain bronze watch he had while he was still an apprentice of the dark arts. The case was tarnished and splattered with small nicks and dents. It only remained on his bony wrist because it was far too cheap to be taken by The Debtomancer as collateral.

The watch was still beeping.

With the energy and grace of a drunken sloth, Dave flopped his palm over the watch’s face. This made it shut up. A deluge of silence filled the throne room. Had it been a month already? A glance at his watch confirmed it so. At the end of the day The Debtomancer would arrive to collect another payment; or, as it had been for the last half-decade, some of his stuff. He didn’t have much of that left.

He vacantly gazed across the room. Scant beams of golden light pierced through slivers between blackout curtains. They hurt his eyes. He waved a hand. The curtains let out a small explosion of dust as they sealed the wretched sun out. Now he could finally see.

There wasn’t much to see, even with perfect darkvision. The menacing throneroom was made far less menacing by the distinct lack of implements with which to menace. Slightly shallower squares of dust marked the former footprints of various malicious magical munitions that had long since been repossessed. He even had to part with the giant vat of acid under the floor. The trapdoor had been boarded up for safety reasons. Dave wasn’t about to get hit with an ELSHO (Evil Lair Safety and Health Organization) violation on top of his mortgage.

Could he rid himself of the golem control panel? It wasn’t like he had any golems left. He squinted at the far wall. The panel was gone. Oh, right, that’s what he had given to The Debtomancer last time. His eyes drifted from the corner to the center of the wall.

The magic mirror was still there. He used to use it to talk to his fellow Demiliches, but those days were long gone. Over the years his undead brothers had all been vanquished by various heroes, save for one. Garry was still alive but he got busted for tax evasion seven months ago and would be in royal prison for at least two more decades. If the mirror couldn’t cover this month’s payment there was always THE ORB.

THE ORB towered over Dave’s throne on a large basalt pillar. Not only did it repel those of weak mind (this stopped the rats from getting in) but it could also be charged by Dave’s own magic to unleash a deathly blast of energy, powerful enough to annihilate the souls of adventurers in an instant – provided he kept them busy while it fueled up.

Dave sighed as a wave of nostalgia washed over him and pulled him into the ocean of memories past. He missed when he got adventurers. He hadn’t seen any in years. Maybe it truly was time to give up on his dreams of villainy and get a “real job” like his brother – as in his actual blood-relative brother, not a member of the now-just-two-member Demilich Brotherhood – had constantly chastised him about. His brother was a consultant for a legal firm that specialized in time paradox resolution. He worked in a marble tower full of cubicles in the capital. Dave reflexively gagged as he imagined having to exist in an office.

Well, it was either something like that or continue to waste away in the citadel by himself. Instead of making a decision, Dave decided he’d rather stare blankly at the wall and try to stop thinking. Maybe if he was lucky some hapless adventurers would burst through the door and he’d have some new magic items to pawn off for once.

Like that was ever gonna happen.

The Debtomancer was one bad day away from quitting. Having to deal with adventurers and Mages daily was one thing. Having to deal with their finances was another, much, much worse thing. It seemed like nobody in those lines of work knew the first thing about fiscal responsibility, except maybe Economic Mages and Wizards. But they all worked for The Economancer, as did he. The Economancer did not take kindly to fiscal irresponsibility. Merely witnessing him cast Power Word: Audit on some poor soul was enough to scare you into straightening out your financial situation.

As the only Wizard working in the Loans Division (The Repomancer retired last year and there had yet to be a replacement), The Debtomancer was personally responsible for collateralizing and repossessing magic items. Lesser Economic Mages were not nearly powerful enough to handle some of the more dangerous situations The Debtomancer often found himself in.

Just last week he had to take a microplastic golem from a Hazmat Mage in a castle full of noxious gasses. Another time it was a Bag of Endless Rubber Chickens from Clown Knight, who put up a hell of a fight. Yesterday it was an experimental Staff that could turn inanimate objects into kitchen countertops (and back) that the mad artificer had dubbed Counter Spell. There were also vast swaths of less interesting things like enchanted swords, rings, and amulets.

Sure, they were valuable on paper – and according to The Endless Catalog of Magicks – but they just didn’t sell very often. The weird stuff even less so. The Debtomancer was quickly running out of space. He was running out of patience exponentially faster.

He had three more clients to see before he could clock out for the day. The Debtomancer straightened out his tie, put on his hat, and grabbed his briefcase. It was time to get this over with.

The Debtomancer stepped into an ornate brass booth and locked the door behind him. Outside, the text above the door went from “OPEN” to “IN-USE.” He consulted an emerald tablet, punched some coordinates into an onyx keypad, and then grabbed an engraved stone disc from the wall. With all that sorted out, he pressed a large topaz button and promptly vanished.

The doors to Dave’s throne room burst open and two hapless adventurers sauntered in. They were both Knights. That meant he’d get at least two powerful Relics off of them. Every Knight has at least one Relic; that’s just how it works. Dave could feel his net worth going up already.

One Knight was tall and bulky. His armor was fashioned out of... bricks. His helmet looked like a gargoyle’s face, made of smaller bricks. This Knight was carrying an Arcana Counter and had some kind of magical rectangle in a holster. Dave assumed it was a Brick++ (++ is a common enchantment that makes things hit harder). The Arcana Counter alone could probably cover his mortgage payment for the month.

The other Knight was shorter (by comparison) and thinner (also by comparison). He was dressed like a circus acrobat dressed like a town guardsman. His helmet was oddly smooth and round and had a large stripe going down the center with stars on it. The cannon he was skateboarding on was obviously magical. It was hard to ignore the spotlight that shone on it from nowhere. The combined magical inventory of these interlopers would surely keep The Debtomancer off of his back for several months more.

Dave could feel the un-life returning to his soul. This was it! This is what he was put on this world for! Evil! He almost let out a villainous cackle but caught himself. He didn’t want to ruin the first encounter he’d had in years. The theatrics were half of the fun, after all. Luckily for him, the Knights seemed preoccupied and had yet to notice him. Dave just had to wait for the right opportunity to strike...

Brick Knight waved the Arcana Counter around the room while Cannon Knight followed along with keen eyes. The duo scanned the room starting from the far wall. The Arcana Counter let out a soft beep when it was pointed at the magic mirror, but this wasn’t what they were looking for. At last, the Knights were looking at THE ORB. The Arcana Counter beeped loudly. Everyone in the room simultaneously thought the exact same thing:

“Jackpot.”

The room was emblazoned with swirling purple lights as Dave’s eye sockets and THE ORB lit up.

“FOOLISH KNIGHTS! YOU DARE STEP FOOT INTO THE INNER SANCTUM OF DAVNARR THE DESTROYER?” Dave (short for Davnarr The Destroyer) bellowed with an otherworldly volume, “YOU NOW STAND BEFORE THE MOST POWERFUL MEMBER OF THE DEMILICH BROTHERHOOD!” This statement was technically correct as Garry (Garthrash, Gorefiend of Greed) had to forfeit all of his magical belongings when he got arrested.

The Knights jumped and at last looked down from THE ORB to the undead Mage that sat below it. Reflexively, Cannon Knight looked to the doors. As if on cue, Dave waved a hand and they slammed shut. An array of purple hexagons formed in front of it. For the first time in years, Dave smiled. This was his favorite part.

“COWER BEFORE DAVNARR THE DESTROYER!” Behind him, THE ORB began glowing brighter. This not only served as a way to further intimidate his victims by showing off his awesome power, but it also gave Dave a really cool rimlight, which he could see reflected in the magic mirror. He was glad he still had it.

Brick Knight’s Arcana Counter began beeping aggressively. He turned to Cannon Knight.

“We gotta break it.”

“But think of the money!”

“Do you want to get out of here alive?”

“Ugh, fiiiine.”

Dave didn’t hear them. He was in the zone. He had forgotten how much fun it was to be in the zone. It didn’t matter what those stupid Knights were talking about. They weren’t going to be there in a few seconds, and he was finally going to make some sweet, sweet revenue.

“PREPARE TO FACE YOUR ULTIMATE DOOM! WITH THE ALMIGHTY POWER OF THE ORB YOU SHALL—”

BANG!!!

CRASH!!

The room was suddenly much less purple. Dave looked down at the Knight. His cannon was smoldering and there was an Arcana Counter on the floor next to him.

Wait, weren’t there two of them? Dave slowly turned around to make sure THE ORB was still there.

It indeed was, but now large cracks exploded out from a brick that definitely wasn’t supposed to be there. The other Knight also wasn’t supposed to be there either, but there he was, standing on the pillar next to THE ORB holding the brick. THE ORB collapsed into a pile of rubble.

THE ORB was no more.

“WHAT?! HOW?!”

“I bricked it.”

“THAT’S IMPOSSIBLE! NO MORTAL WEAPON CAN HARM THE ORB!”

“Yeah, but this is a Relic.” Brick Knight dusted off his trusty brick and holstered it like a pistol. “It bricks magic stuff.”

Dave stared at the Knight dumbfounded. Never in all his years as a Demilich had he seen such brazen disrespect for the dark arts, especially the kind of disrespect that could actually fight back. Yet it had just happened, and there really wasn’t anything he could do about it. He had to think of some way to turn this around.

“Grab that mirror, we’re getting outta here.” Brick Knight shouted across the room as he slid down the pillar. Cannon Knight nodded and started towards the only valuable thing left in the room that didn’t already belong to them.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING? YOU CANNOT STEAL FROM DAVNARR THE DESTROYER!”

“Dude, you just tried to kill us.” Cannon Knight didn’t even bother to look at Dave as he said this. “We’re taking your mirror as compensation.”

“TRIED TO KILL YOU? I HAVEN’T EVEN FINISHED, FOOL! I STILL HAVE ONE MORE MAGIC ITEM UP MY SLEEVE!”

“What? Your... watch?” Brick Knight had picked up his Arcana Counter and was pointing it at Dave. It was aimed directly at where his watch was under his cloak and beeped faintly.

“YES, MY... UH, CHRONOGRAPH OF DISPLACEMENT! WITH IT I SHALL RIP YOU FROM THE TIMESTREAM AND—”

“Oh hey, I’ve got that same model.” Cannon Knight, walking back with Dave’s mirror under his arm, rolled up his sleeve and showed off what was indeed the exact same make and model of bronze magic watch, only Cannon Knight’s was in slightly better condition.

“Does it actually do that? I’ve messed with the settings a ton and I’ve never seen that feature in there.” Both Knights snickered as they watched the gears tick in Dave’s head.

“O-OF COURSE IT DOES THAT! BUT ONLY I CAN USE IT BECAUSE OF... MY STATUS AS A DEMILICH! YES, THE WATCH ONLY RECOGNIZES REAL MAGICAL TALENT AND REWARDS ITS USER WITH UNFATHOMABLE CONTROL OVER THE VERY FLOW OF TIME ITSELF!”

The Knights were ignoring him. They were leaving. With his mirror, no less. The hexagons were hexa-gone so there was nothing to impede their egress. They weren’t buying his act. Dave didn’t buy it either. Without THE ORB, he had no conduit by which to use his magic.

There was one last thing he could try. It was a long-shot for sure, but he didn’t have anything else to lose at this point.

“HEY, WAIT! I KNOW WHERE YOU CAN FIND EVEN MORE MAGICAL ARTIFACTS!”

The Knights stopped dead in their tracks and immediately turned around.

Brick Knight looked at Dave dead in the eye. “Where?”

“THE LAIR OF THE FOUL DEBTOMANCER HOLDS THE STOLEN TREASURES OF COUNTLESS MAGES AND ADVENTURERS!”

“Oh, sweet, we’ll go there next. Thanks man,” Cannon Knight said with a wave, resuming his exit.

“I WILL NEED TO ACCOMPANY YOU ON THIS QUEST!”

“Why?” Brick Knight asked, mildly puzzled and increasingly annoyed.

“A MASTER OF THE ARCANE IS REQUIRED TO UNTANGLE THE MYSTIC SYSTEM THE DEBTOMANCER USES TO KEEP THE WONDROUS ITEMS SEALED AWAY. BREAKING THE SYSTEM WILL ONLY RESULT IN THEIR DESTRUCTION.” Dave cleared his throat. “HE, UH, ALSO HAS ALL OF MY STUFF.”

The Knights looked at each other, glanced around at the empty castle interior, and then back to Dave.

“IF WE CAN CLAIM THE DEBTOMANCER’S ILL-GOTTEN GAINS FOR OURSELVES, YOU MAY LEAVE WITH WHATEVER TREASURES YOU CAN CARRY.”

“We’re in.” Both Knights blurted out in unison.

Deep within The Roots of The Earth, Glithor The Chosen One marched tirelessly through The Catacombs of The Seal. In one hand he held a torch aloft. In the other was Magnificus, Blade of Heroes, a legendary artifact that could only be wielded by worthy warriors of pure heart. Glithor had discovered Magnificus buried in an ancient desert temple. The sword could speak, and it had tasked him with destroying the death cult that threatened to open The Seal and unleash The Titans of The First Age upon the world once more.

Glithor reached the end of a decrepit hallway of antediluvian brickwork and peered around the corner. He had finally made it to The Altar of The Seal. The cult had beaten him to it. On the ancient stone floor a circle of blood surrounded a massive pile of Elemental Gems. They glistened in the torchlight of the hooded figures as they chanted in The Infernal Tongue.

Suddenly a middle-aged man appeared behind Glithor. He was wearing a suit and tie and also had what was unmistakably a Wizard’s hat and beard. In his hand was a briefcase that had a large gemstone embedded in its side.

“Hi, Mister Glithor, sir. This is the fifth time I’ve had to teleport to you about your loan.” The Debtomancer monotonously recounted. “You do have this month’s payment, right?”

“Oh, Great Debtomancer, allow me another extension, I beseech you! I am but moments from completing my quest!”

“Look, you’ve had three extensions already and I can’t offer you any more. I’m sorry, but if you don’t have the gold for it, I’ll have to repossess something.”

“Surely the fate of the world is worth more than the mere pittance I had borrowed!”

“I don’t make the rules; I just work for The Economancer.”

Glithor’s expression sank like an anchor. He had seen the horrors of Power Word: Audit firsthand when his former master was forced into bankruptcy.

“The Economancer is truly a force to be reckoned with. I dare not incur his wrath. So be it. Take what you must, Debtomancer.”

The Debtomancer held up his briefcase. A light shone from its crystal onto Glithor. In a flash of light, Magnificus was gone. So was The Debtomancer.

That was the seventh chosen one he had to deal with this week – and it was only Tuesday. It was draining him like a legion of leeches; the hero speeches, the moral dilemmas, and most importantly, trying to figure out who would want to buy weapons that only a fraction of the population could actually use. Does buying — or even just using — a magic sword that was repossessed from another hero void your pure-hearted status? The Debtomancer didn’t have time to think about that. He had another job to do.

Just two more, then he could go home.

Dave, now dusted off and wearing a slightly bent pair of sunglasses, was on the citadel’s secret balcony with Brick Knight and Cannon Knight. He used to hold the tri-annual Demilich Brotherhood barbeque here. The Demiliches didn’t need to eat or drink, but they could if they wanted to. The pool hadn’t been filled in a long time and the enchanted grill had been collateralized five years ago, just after he had to let go of all his minions. Dave had hired union monsters (Garry told him it was a bad idea) and their severances cost him a significant chunk of what little gold he had left. At the very least the seating arrangements were still there.

Dave’s (or was it the Knights’?) magic mirror was lying flat on a wooden table. Everyone was sitting around it looking at a map of the region. After consulting a pocket-sized enchanted weathervane that told him about the local forecast, Cannon Knight scribbled some equations on the side to calculate the best trajectory from the balcony to The Debtomancer’s so-called ‘STRONGHOLD OF ECONOMIC HORRORS.’

“So this’ll get us over there.” Cannon Knight explained as he traced a path on the mirror with his finger. A bright red line appeared on the map following it. “Brick Knight’s got the way in.”

Brick Knight produced three hardhats and three fluorescent green vests from his backpack and set them on the table next to the mirror.

“HOW ARE THOSE SUPPOSED TO HELP?”

“We’ll be hiding in plain sight. Everyone is gonna think we’re just there to do maintenance or something,” Cannon Knight explained with a smirk.

“DOES IT WORK?”

“Every time,” Brick Knight chimed in.

“We would’ve worn them in here but when we saw the whole town was abandoned we didn’t bother. Didn’t want to risk them getting damaged by a trap or something.”

“They’re not cheap. You’re lucky we have spares.”

“But yeah, nah, we used these to get into The Mausoleum of Meterkhamon The Measuremaster last week.”

Brick Knight pointed at something. “That’s where we got this thing.”

Meterkhamon The Measuremaster, an ancient mummy of ages long past, had recently taken out a loan to finance the construction of a massive telescope he could use to chart the stars more accurately. He was pleasantly surprised when a couple of Knights from the telescope company had shown up to put it together for him free of charge a week ago. That’s what being a loyal customer for two and a half centuries gets you.

Normally Meterkhamon could pay off these kinds of loans with the research grants he would get from local universities. As was expected, The Measuremaster possessed immensely powerful tools that could measure things far better than any other Data Mage in the tri-state area (he was constantly feuding with The Inchquisitors of Imperios several counties over). He was paid handsomely to let scholars from across the lands utilize his equipment.

It was coming up on the start of a new semester but Meterkhamon still hadn’t seen a single check in the mail. The professors were probably on strike again for one reason or another. That wouldn’t be an issue most other school years, but he had burned through most of his personal savings paying off the telescope loan and he needed to keep some gold on hand for an appointment he had with The Chiropractomancer next month. Luckily he had some old equipment lying around he could pledge as collateral.

The Debtomancer rang the doorbell to The Mausoleum. Meterkhamon was actually quite reasonable — especially for a Mage — so he felt like he should be polite in return and not just teleport into his lab.

There was no response. Maybe he was busy? The scholarly types did tend to get lost in their research.

He rang the doorbell again.

There was a loud crash from inside. Was Meterkhamon being robbed? In broad daylight? This was supposed to be a nice burial ground!

The Debtomancer was getting ready to teleport inside and see what the commotion was all about when a panicked mummy flung the door open.

“I-I can’t find it!”

“Can’t find what?”

“My old Arcana Counter! I swear I had it under the stairs. I was going to use it to cover this month’s payment but I just can’t seem to locate the blasted thing!!”

Dave was soaring through the air like an ICMM (Intercontinental Magic Missile). Brick Knight was a stone’s throw ahead of him holding a Scroll. He looked over his shoulder and saw Cannon Knight, who had somehow convinced him to be blasted out of a magic cannon, trailing a similar distance behind him. Cannon Knight gave him a thumbs up.

“Alright, form up for landing!” Cannon Knight shouted as wind whipped past the trio.

“Forming up!” Replied Brick Knight.

“FORMING UP!” Dave additionally responded.

As they started to lose altitude, the Knights adjusted their postures so that they became level with Dave and began to move closer to him. Dave was new to all of this so he didn’t have to perform any special acrobatics. He still needed to follow procedure and echo Cannon Knight’s commands for safety reasons.

The nondescript green fuzz below them was quickly resolving into what was unmistakably a tree line. Brick Knight activated his Scroll. It flew a few feet below them and exploded out into a large, fluffy cloud.

“All good to land?”

“All good!”

“ALL GOOD!”

Everyone got into a running stance as they landed on the cloud. The cloud slowed their descent to the ground, but didn’t stop them entirely. As they passed through a clearing in the trees the trio had to start walking forwards to keep themselves upright. Dave didn’t. He fell on his face.

After donning their disguises, it was a ten minute walk from the landing zone to their destination.

“STEEL YOURSELVES KNIGHTS, FOR WHAT LOOMS BEFORE US IS ASSUREDLY THE ABSOLUTE EPICENTER OF ALL THAT IS EVIL.”

Cannon Knight stared blankly at the structure. “Dude, that looks like an office building.”

The trio was looking at a cobblestone office building. It had a thatched roof and barred windows. They could have easily walked straight in had it not been for the oppressively large parking lot that was rather rudely in their way.

Brick Knight turned towards the others. “Okay, act natural.”

They passed by a whole smorgasbord of transport methods. There were horse-drawn carriages, horses, a few of those new fangled horseless combustion carriages, a moss-covered boulder, a clockwork mechsuit, several tricked-out brooms, a handful of wyverns, a dire duck, another dire duck, and a dire goose.

Towards the front were the executive parking spots, indicated so by the signs posted behind them that designated them as such. This is where the unicorns were parked, most of them red or some other bright color. Each of their saddles had a silken upholstered racing seat with walls, windows, and a roof. Many additionally had large, entirely decorative wings bolted to the seating enclosures, some with racing stripes, others with flames. The unicorns were all smoking cigars and eating caviar from a marble trough.

Several feet from the front entrance was a line of teleportation booths. A majority of them read “IN USE” above their locked doors. Cannon Knight nudged the others and motioned to the booths with his head. Dave gave a thumbs up and Brick Knight nodded. At last they entered the building through large, magical double doors that slid open as they approached.

“You do have a couple options. We can extend this month’s repayment or we can refinance the entire loan. Either way will involve additional fees. It’s up to you.”

Meterkhamon and The Debtomancer were sitting in The Measuremaster’s dining room with a spread of documents on the table.

The Measuremaster sat in contemplation for a moment.

“I’ve no idea when the strike will end, so refinancing sounds like the better option.”

The Debtomancer nodded and fished around in his briefcase.

“Huh, must have run out of forms. You mind heading over to my office to get this sorted out?”

“Not at all.”

The Debtomancer procured the same engraved stone he had taken from the teleportation booth earlier and waved it around in a circular pattern. A moment after the invisible circle was drawn in the air, the stone began to glow slightly. Through the unseen shape that floated in space, the interior of the teleportation booth could suddenly be seen, its now-ajar door further showing the world just outside. The edges of the portal shimmered with the coalesced light from both locations bending around it, creating odd reflections and refractions from both places depending on how you looked at it.

The Wizard motioned towards the tear in reality.

The lobby of the building was of varnished wooden floors and recently polished cobblestone walls. Leather couches bordered short tables, some of which were occupied by conductors of business and their clientele. A series of shrubberies dotted the walls, each in their own earthen pots decorated with the logos of the companies that resided within the structure.

Across from the entrance was a large desk with a receptionist seated behind it. She paid the trio of false repairmen no mind for she had busied herself in conversation with a rather confused skeleton who had been attempting to deliver a parcel to an employee of a firm that no longer persisted within the bounds of the corporate realm.

Dave led the two Knights towards a plain door near the back of the lobby. As he opened it, so did the main entrance. A familiar set of eyes found themselves gazing upon Brick Knight and Cannon Knight.

Meterkhamon squinted at the Knights as he entered the lobby. He stopped and scratched his bandaged head.

“Those Knights over there look awfully familiar…”

“Which Knights?”

The Measuremaster pointed towards the maintenance door in the far corner of the room.

The Debtomancer’s sharp gaze fell upon what seemed to just be regular repairmen.

Dave felt daggers sink into his back as he sensed the sudden presence of a powerful Wizard of Economic magics. He knew exactly who this was. A thousand thoughts flooded his mind as undeadaline (adrenaline for the undead) coursed through the dark magic that animated him. How could The Debtomancer have arrived at this very moment? Were those Knights working for him? Or maybe they were with the royal guard? Could they be setting him up for an arrest, much like what had been done to Garry? He hadn’t time to think further. He was too close to give up now.

Before either Knight could follow him into the hallway, Dave shut the door in their faces, locked it, and bolted down the hallway.

The Knights looked at each other and then back at the door.

“...yeah I don’t recognize either of them. Probably just some contractors here to fix something.”

“I think there was a third one with them who just closed the door on the others.”

“That’s… odd.”

The Debtomancer and Meterkhamon moved a bit further into the lobby, intrigued by this suspicious scene. The duo wanted to get a better look while also not appearing to obviously gawk at them, for that could be seen as strange by the sacred laws of the social order.

They placed themselves upon the seating arrangements of the lobby such that they should hopefully be seen as simply talking or maybe even waiting for someone.

Many novice adventurers might be forced into a panic by this kind of seemingly sudden betrayal. Cannon Knight and Brick Knight each had five to seven years’ experience in this line of work, so they were only mildly perturbed. The one thing they knew not to do was make a scene. They had to keep up appearances somehow. Cannon Knight checked the door handle as if he were opening the door normally.

“Well, looks like the lock works. Let’s check if the security system can do its thing, eh?” Cannon Knight nudged Brick Knight.

Brick Knight nodded and unholstered his Relic.

Cannon Knight grabbed a small pouch of even smaller cannonballs and carefully rolled them into the keyhole. By imagining each miniscule spring inside of the lock as a tiny, spring-powered cannon, he was able to load them, systematically forcing the springs back in an effort to pick the lock. It was a strenuous endeavour to move multiple small parts that could not be seen, but he eventually felt the door click open. The alarm sounded off just a moment afterwards.

Brick Knight calmly opened the door and went inside. He quickly recognized a metal box on the wall nearby as it was engraved with the name of a company that seemed to make the security systems for every dungeon in the tri-state area. He had dealt with these contraptions countless times before. With surgical precision, he used one of the corners of his magic brick to slice the box in two. The alarm stopped. He leaned out of the door and gave Cannon Knight a thumbs-up.

“Security works on this door. Just a few more to go and we’re done here,” Brick Knight grunted with a tone that suggested he had done this a thousand times before and was well past the point of getting sick of it.

Cannon Knight, understanding where the improv bit was going, begrudgingly got up and meandered his way into the hallway.

“Oh, they were just testing the alarm,” Meterkhamon surmised, “I’ve seen this happen in some campus libraries where they keep the forbidden tomes.”

“That makes sense.”

The Debtomancer had vague recollections of similar tests occurring in this building, but he was usually notified in advance. Then again, there were a few times where he had not been. No matter. He had more important things to worry about.

“Anyways, it’s this way to my office.”

Dave sprinted down the hallway like his un-life depended on it. In his haste he hadn’t noticed that the security orbs that would typically watch these spaces were all off and that the doors were all unlocked. He mindlessly flew through the labyrinthine basement hunting for the vast source of Data magic that dwelt within the depths of the loan lord’s lair.

At last, he finally reached the grand thinking machine that served as the brains of the blasted lending operation. Rows upon rows of massive emerald tablets hummed with energy as glowing runes scurried about upon their surfaces, oftentimes entering various tubes that connected them to each other and to unknown locations deep within the office complex.

Dave had to work his magic fast. He snatched up one of several smaller tablets that acted as controllers for the larger variety. For his first trick, Dave had to free himself from the shackles of his debt. He could have simply dumped the entirety of what remained of his mortgage into a single account of some poor soul, but that would be too obvious. He wanted to try and maintain some subtlety until it was time for his grand finale.

He commanded the magical machine to distribute his own debts among the entire catalog of those who also owed money to The Debtomancer. Surely it would be perceived as but a rounding error. At last, the citadel was now entirely his. Dave’s next trick would require a bit more finesse and, much to his chagrin, just a bit more time.

A large warehouse behind the office building contained all of the unsold magic items that had been taken by The Debtomancer. Dave had to make sure a few things were still there for his plan to work. Dave’s manic expression metamorphosized into a smirk. It had all that he required and then some.

He grabbed another control tablet and attempted a remote SSH (Secure Sending Hex) connection to his golem control panel that was currently rotting in storage. But not for long…

The Debtomancer had Meterkhamon’s balance pulled up on an emerald tablet. He had just finished his explanation of refinancing The Measuremaster’s loan. Meterkhamon had been nodding along to his spiel understandingly when his expression suddenly changed to one of scrutiny as his eyes were transfixed upon the tablet.

“Wait, why did my debt go up all of a sudden?”

The Debtomancer looked down at the balance.

“It did?”

“Yes, by just a couple cents.”

The Wizard tapped his finger on the tablet and its symbols shifted to display Meterkhamon’s statement sheet. There indeed had just been an increase as The Measuremaster proclaimed. It was labeled interest, but something looked off.

“That’s weird. The interest rate isn’t that low… and it shouldn’t be kicking in until later this month.”

The two exchanged concerned looks.

“Wait, you don’t think–”

Before Meterkhamon could finish, The Debtomancer had already bolted out of his office.

As Brick Knight and Cannon Knight were speedwalking down the hallway, some kind of large creature moving at a speed most ludicrous pushed past them.

“Hey, watch where you’re–”

The unknown entity whipped around from down the hall. It was finally visible. It was now also recognizable.

“FOOLS! NO ONE DOUBLE-CROSSES DAVNARR THE DESTROYER! THE DEBTOMANCER’S TREASURES ARE ALL MINE!”

Dave struck a dramatic pose as the Knights looked at him dumbfounded. Just before they realized what was going on, he resumed his mad dash for the exit, cackling maniacally. The Knights sprinted after him.

The Debtomancer, inexorably winded from running down seven flights of stairs, witnessed Dave, sporting an untraditional hard hat and hi-vis vest, run out of the maintenance access door laughing like a madman.

“Dave!? What are you–”

An explosion rang out, emanating from the door Dave had just fled from.

The Knights had just barely reached the door when they saw Dave halfway across the lobby. Cannon Knight grabbed the door, aimed, and – with a snap of his fingers – fired. A cluster of tiny cannonballs exploded out from the lock and hit Dave in the leg. He fell to the ground with a thud.

The denizens of the lobby screamed and ducked away however they could. The Debtomancer watched on from the staircase at his wit’s end. Dave lurched to his feet and turned around to face his former allies.

“OH, YOU THINK THIS CAN STOP THE ALL-POWERFUL DAVNARR THE DESTROYER? SUCH COMMON WEAPONS CANNOT HARM ME! AND NOTHING SHALL EVER STOP ME AGAIN ONCE I EXTRICATE MYSELF OF THIS ESTATE OF ECONOMIC IMPRISONMENT!”

Something began aggressively beeping in Brick Knight’s backpack. He grabbed his Arcana Counter and looked at the reading.

“That’s not good.”

Cannon Knight looked over at the device and immediately wished he hadn’t. There was a lot of magic approaching them very quickly.

“Hey! That’s mine!” Shouted Meterkhamon from the top of the stairs, “Give it back, thieves!”

“Huh?” The Debtomancer was shaken from his stupor by The Measuremaster’s sudden addition to the scene.

“That’s my Arcana Counter! And those Knights were in my lab last week! That’s where it went – they stole it!”

“HEY, EVIL MASTERMIND OVER HERE! STOP PAYING ATTENTION TO THOSE TRAITOROUS IMBECILES AND BASK IN THE GLORY OF DAVNARR!”

The Measuremaster didn’t listen and began running towards the Knights.

A legion of golems armed to the teeth with all manner of magical munitions smashed through the glass front doors. The Measuremaster ignored the imminent danger and continued the pursuit of his pilfered property.

“BUT BEFORE I TAKE MY LEAVE I MUST DEAL WITH THESE DASTARDLY DECEIVERS!”

Dave pointed a finger at the Knights. A volley of fireballs flew towards them from the army of clay constructs.

Brick Knight tossed the Arcana Counter to the side. Meterkhamon jumped after it. By moving his arms, Brick Knight caused a chunk of the cobblestone brickwork in the nearby wall to form a makeshift shield in front of himself and his brother in arms.

The fireballs exploded against the newly constructed barrier, deconstructing it just as quickly as it had been put up.

As the smoke cleared, Brick Knight and Cannon Knight – only mildly scuffed up by the explosion – chased after the still-cackling Dave as he made his escape from the office and into the teleportation booths.

The Knights were too late. Dave had just run through the available booths with all of his loot-carrying golems, save for one holding a comically large beaker full of a bright green liquid. The remaining golem, made of microplastics, smashed the beaker above its head, causing the fluid to spill out onto all the booths and itself. They melted into a rancid, hissing puddle of sludge that continued to eat into the earth below.

Cannon Knight looked out into the distance for a moment and snapped his fingers. His magic cannon appeared in front of him, aimed in the general direction from which they had flown in.

Without any hesitation, Brick Knight leaped into the cannon and was shot out. Cannon Knight quickly followed suit, snapping his fingers midair. The cannon vanished.

The Debtomancer trudged out from what was little was left of the front door. He blankly observed the wreckage.

Meterkhamon soon appeared behind him, Arcana Counter in hand.

“I finally got it! Now I can make this month’s payment!”

The Debtomancer did not respond.

“Um, aren’t you going to…?”

“Nah, screw this. I quit.”

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Mine Knight awoke with a jolt. He had no idea where he was. His eyes darted around behind the steel face guard sloppily welded to a dinged-up hardhat he called a helmet. The sun struggled to break through a mottled blue-gray overcast. The mouth of a rugged sandstone ravine further filtered the sparse sunlight down into a rat's nest of decrepit stone structures and desiccated shrubbery several hundred feet below the surface. The dim light that completed its pilgrimage into the depths shone deceptively bright against Mine Knight's fluorescent-green vest.

A smoky smell wafted its way to Mine Knight's face. Was something burning? He scrambled into a rough facsimile of a standing position and scanned his surroundings like a thief on the run. The extinguished remains of a campfire sat in a shallow pit, encircled by old bricks on a sandy floor of ancient cracked tiles in various tones of gray. The tiles probably formed some kind of pattern originally but it would be impossible to discern it now. He was in the ruins of... some kind of building. He didn't recognize any of it.

The ceiling had certainly seen better days. Several large holes gave a rather clear view of the rather unclear sky. Sandblasted walls of pockmarked beige brickwork surrounded him, forming a large hexagonal chamber with several archways serving as ways in or out. They seemed to lead into a greater labyrinth of similar-looking rooms. The would-be points of entry were blocked by a translucent blue force field. A spool of rope was coiled up near one of the force fields. These he did recognize. He must’ve been in some kind of maze. Great. He also recognized his adventuring pals Tackle Knight and Psych Knight, still very much asleep.

Tackle Knight was sprawled out with his back propped up against a wall. On his head was a round helmet with a sturdy-looking wireframe structure protecting his mouth and nose. His pauldrons and chestplate had the number 47 haphazardly painted on in white, a stark contrast against the dark red of his armor. Mine Knight was pretty sure he had asked what the numbers were for recently but the answer was escaping him.

Psych Knight was on his side, facing away from the others. He wore an ornate wooden mask and a blue robe with an accompanying wizard hat. Psych Knight wasn't actually a wizard but he had claimed his uncle was. At the very least he knew some magic, which was usually helpful. He was also snoring like a bullhorn.

Seeing as he wasn't in any immediate danger, Mine Knight snatched his backpack off the ground and rifled through his belongings. Everything that was supposed to be there was there, plus a tattered parchment map he hadn't seen before. He unfolded the thing expecting answers, but was only further stumped when he realized he had no clue where this was, what this was, and most importantly, why the hell he was there.

It was probably a treasure hunt. He had been doing a lot of those lately. Or this was an abduction and now they were all stuck in a death game. That didn’t happen nearly as often but if it happened twice it could happen again. He really hoped it wasn’t an escort quest. Those were the worst, and if it was one they had clearly failed since it was just the three of them in the room. Mine Knight needed a second opinion and he knew the fastest way to wake everyone up.

He stuck his arm through the force field.

In a split second it went from a pleasant clear blue to a furious bright red. Klaxon screeches ricocheted through the room like a small army of rabid chihuahuas made of sound.

Nigh-instantaneously Tackle Knight was on his feet, hands out ready to, well, tackle something. There wasn't just murder in his eyes, there was an entire massacre ready to be let out and later reported in several national newspapers as a front-page headline. That immediately faded when he saw it was just Mine Knight doing the usual wake-up routine.

Meanwhile Psych Knight pulled the brim of his hat over his ears, rolled over, and then aimlessly flailed his hand at a rolled-up piece of paper he had on the ground nearby. After a couple of misses he eventually hit it, causing the force field, and more importantly the abhorrent acoustics, to vanish along with the paper. He rolled back the other way again, and prepared to re-enter the border checkpoint to Dreamtopia. Right before he could declare things at customs, Mine Knight shook him awake.

"C'mon, man, I told you to only do that if there was an emergency," Tackle Knight grumbled.

"This is an emergency." Mine Knight pointed at his allies accusatively. "Do either of you know where we are?"

"Yeah, it's uh..." Tackle Knight looked around for a second with his hand on the back of his head. "Huh, that's weird. I can't remember."

"Me neither. Pretty sure it's some kinda magic thing." Psych Knight yawned and leafed through a small stack of paper scrolls. "It definitely feels like magic, but I probably set up a-" Psych Knight's voice trailed off as he stared dumbfounded at one of the scrolls. "Wait, no, this should've worked."

"Wait, why didn't what work?" Mine Knight tried to snoop over Psych Knight's shoulder but he was too busy panicking to think about letting anyone else get a look. Tackle Knight stood back from the affair, arms crossed.

"This doesn't make any sense-" Suddenly the scroll vanished from Psych Knight's hands. Now Mine Knight had it. "Hey, give that back!"

Mine Knight procured a pair of reading glasses seemingly from the ether and began examining the scroll. Tackle Knight's pocket suddenly felt just a bit lighter. He gave Mine Knight a look that most people would understand as meaning "really?" Mine Knight definitely understood what that look meant but his eyes were preoccupied with using the glasses to read.

"What is this, Psychic magic resistance? Looks like it's still active."

Psych Knight tore the scroll out of Mine Knight's hands. "Yes, and something's wrong because it didn't stop us from losing our memories."

Tackle Knight cleared his throat. He also plucked his reading glasses off of Mine Knight's visor and put them back in his pocket. "So… the scroll's a dud?"

"It's definitely not a dud."

"How can you tell?"

“Watch this.”

Psych Knight waved a hand in front of Mine Knight’s face. “You’re feeling very tired.”

“Not this time.”

“See? So either it’s super strong Psychic magic or it’s Data magic. I really hope it isn’t Data but there’s a way I can test for it.”

Psych Knight tore up the resistance scroll.

“Making someone forget with Psychic magic is like putting up a mental block around something. I can remove that block. Forgetting something with Data magic takes the information out of your brain. Nothing I can do about that.”

Psych Knight grabbed a stick of charcoal from a small side pouch in his backpack and started drawing a magic circle on a nearby wall. From a larger compartment he produced several strange looking gemstones that glistened with an otherworldly shade of pink. They began glowing as Psych Knight put his hand up to the circle. Suddenly, the gems were gone and the charcoal circle collapsed into dust on the floor.

Everyone stood in awkward silence for a moment. It didn’t work.

Tackle Knight cleared the dead air. “We should leave. We aren’t prepared for whatever magic this place is throwing at us.” He pointed at Mine Knight. “You have a rope trail set up, right?”

Mine Knight hesitated. “Yeah, but… if there’s treasure here it’s gotta be insane if the security is this good!”

“Sure, let’s keep going. Keep forgetting where we are every morning. Keep using up our supplies stuck in…” Tackle Knight took a good look at his surroundings, namely the terrain towering over him,”a giant hole in the middle of the desert. Sounds like a great time.”

“If we’re in the desert that’s at least a week’s travel from Oldhaven. If we can’t remember that we’ll only forget more if we stick around.” Psych Knight picked up the rope. “Maybe the hypothetical treasure could pay off our loan but, y’know, we could also die here.” He stepped out of the room, following the trail they had probably left previously. “You’re more than welcome to stay but I’m getting out of here.”

Tackle Knight followed after him. Mine Knight looked out into the labyrinth of rooms that led deeper into the ruin, performed a brief cost-benefit analysis of his situation, and begrudgingly joined his friends on the way out, grumbling.

“The Debtomancer is gonna kill us.”

The trio trudged along for a good few minutes. Tackle Knight stopped dead in his tracks.

“Something’s watching us.”

Everyone stood silent for a second. A faint scuttling sound echoed through the maze like a bloodthirsty whisper.

Mine Knight brandished a land mine, ready to throw it like a discus.

Tackle Knight shotgunned a dark blue potion and watched the entrances behind the group.

Psych Knight yanked a scroll out of his bag. It floated up into the air and let out a pulse of energy before crumbling to dust.

“I’m not seeing any other living things.”

Hesitant, Psych Knight crept forward, separating himself from the group ever so slightly.

Tackle Knight whipped around to face Psych Knight but by that point it was too late. A dark writhing blur pounced on Psych Knight like a bolt of lightning hopped up on 30 gallons of coffee, sending him sideways into another room.

A small land mine whizzed through the air, ricocheted off a wall, and detonated a few feet away from where Psych Knight had landed. An explosion was heard followed by the sound of whirring gears and the same scuttling sound from before.

The other Knights rushed in to check on Psych Knight. He was on the ground, slightly scuffed up but still alright. A mechanical bug leg was smoldering on the ground nearby.

Tackle Knight helped up Psych Knight while Mine Knight grabbed the severed leg. “...what just happened? Last thing I remember we decided to leave the room.”

Mine Knight presented the leg to the others. “We were leaving, but you got attacked by whatever this was. Looks like it wiped some of your memory too.”

Psych Knight’s eyes widened. “It probably took our memories while we were sleeping.”

Tackle Knight was visibly confused, like a child given an abacus and a pile of tax returns without any instructions. “Why didn’t it trip the force field?”

“It only works on living things. Same with most of my other magic. That must have been a construct.”

“It’s over there!” Mine Knight threw another explosive down the hall at the limping machine.

“Don’t break it! We might be able to get our memories back from it!”

“Trust me, I won’t.”

The flying mine missed the automaton. Instead it detonated in front of it, sending it flying back towards the trio like a giant drunken spider launched from a trebuchet.

It landed on the ground with a THUNK. The machine resembled a massive tick made of wood and metal. Instead of a proboscis it had an odd trumpet-shaped device. Its abdomen was full of ethereal shimmering wisps of… something that floated around in a transparent vessel.

Mine Knight turned to Psych Knight with a smirk. “See? Not broken.”

Its cold, lifeless eyes glared at the party with calculating animosity. Before it could even think about taking a step forward, Tackle Knight did like his namesake and pinned the machine to the ground with ultraviolent fervor. He took one good look at its face and buried it in the sand with a cathartic crunch. Its limbs continued flailing aimlessly under Tackle Knight, proving it still functioned, somewhat.

Mine Knight creeped closer to the writhing machinery. Psych Knight trailed close behind, keeping his distance from the automaton.

“You think you could steal our memories back from that thing?”

“I dunno, I’ve never tried taking something like that before. I guess I can try taking mine first.”

He reached his hand towards the mechanical tick. One of the wisps was gone from the glass chamber. It floated up from Mine Knight’s hand into his head. For a moment he smiled. Then a slightly concerned look took over.

“You, uh, sure I should do this for your guys’ memories? It might not work.”

Tackle Knight grunted, “Just do it! I’m getting tired of holding this thing down.”

Mine Knight sighed and two more of the wisps vanished from the machine. They meandered their way through the air into the respective heads of the Knights who had been lacking them.

“Mine Knight, you motherfucker! I told you we should’ve packed Data magic protection! We’re in The Memoryhole Monastery! What did you think it would’ve used?”

“Hey, I thought Psychic would’ve been good enough! Who the hell uses Data magic anyways? Accountants?”

Tackle Knight got up from the automaton and promptly curbstomped it into the ground like it owed him lots of money and had just gravely insulted his mother.

“First off, no, that would be Economic magic, and second, lots of places do! Don’t you remember The Tomb of Encyclos The Definer? Or The Temple of Thesaurion?”

“Yeah well I didn’t want to spend the extra money on the stuff. You already had plenty of Psychic magic thingies. And those were stupid dungeons. We could’ve gotten some crazy treasure from this place! My sources said so!”

“Your ‘sources’ were a bunch of unreliable anecdotes and rumors. I can’t believe we listened to you.”

Tackle Knight stepped between the two bickering idiots. "Okay, shut up the both of you. Let’s just get the hell outta here and get back to civilization."

“Fine, but Mine Knight is paying for the ferry back to Oldhaven. And I’m picking the next dungeon.”

“Fine! But if you pick another lame one I’m gonna steal your… eyesight or something.”

“Is that a threat? My uncle knows the Prosecutomancer!”

“Sure, and my uncle works for King Moe Narch.”

Tackle Knight groaned and put his hand up to his brow. This went on for the entire way out of the ruin.

Three days. Three days without water to die from dehydration. Three days until the dust storm would settle down. Three days until rescue. Three days until Doctor Adrian Ajax, or perhaps what was left of him, would be found by another living soul. Three horrid days until this Schroedinger’s Box would be opened. For three days Doctor Ajax would have to stay holed up in his tent, a tent that seemed to have only a few days left in it. A large gash in the tent’s side had been haphazardly patched up with several strips of duct tape and the adhesive was slowly giving out. His cell phone had just enough charge left in it for him to make an emergency call for rescue. The last of his water was stuck in his car, some unknowable distance from his tent. Venturing out into the dust storm would surely spell certain death. Trapped in a polyester prison, Doctor Adrian Ajax had no choice but to wait.

Doctor Ajax was a professor of anthropology at The University of Arizona. Several months prior he heard of an abandoned colonial settlement rumored to exist deep within the Sonoran Desert. Doctor Ajax had always longed for a discovery to claim for himself, something that would forever leave his mark on history. The man was no stranger to strange rabbit holes. He was known throughout the department to spend months on end holed up in his house looking into lost cities and undiscovered ruins spawned from even the most scant hearsay. It had become a sort of tradition for the freshmen to come up with a new rumor at the end of the year so he would grade their final assignments more leniently. For about a week after the end of the spring semester, Doctor Ajax was hard at work cross-referencing old regional maps and satellite photos. Finally, he pinpointed the town’s most likely location and began preparing for his voyage out into the sandy wastes.

Naturally, he was unable to secure funds for a proper investigation into the alleged ghost town so he had to make the trek on his own. The forecast had called for clear weather the whole week. He piled his things into his sedan, made sure to top off his tank, punched the abandoned settlement's coordinates into his phone, and ventured forth down a barren highway. Before he knew it, he was only a few miles away from the town. He made a sharp turn off the pavement and into the sand. He had gone driving off-road a couple times before, but never this far out. Fueled by curiosity and hubris, he kept going further and further into the dusty nothingness.

Just a hundred feet from the town's supposed location, his car got stuck in the sand. In a panic Doctor Ajax floored the accelerator, which only served to dig his tires deeper into the ground. As he got out of his car to try and dig his wheels out manually, he spotted something on the horizon. Something unmistakably man-made. He hurriedly grabbed some supplies from his car, accidentally tearing a hole in his tent as he gathered things together, and went the rest of the journey on foot.

At last he stumbled upon the sandblasted structure: A large archway meticulously carved from an exotic wood. Much of the detail and nearly all of the paint had been weathered away over the centuries. The ruins of a town lay before it. Every building was maybe a facade at best at this point, save a single two story house still standing along the outskirts. Old maps claimed there used to be a river that passed by the town, which had since dried up. The remains of a well sat in a crumpled pile of sandstone bricks in the center of town. Scrubs had taken up residence around it, garnishing the mostly beige structure with a little greenery. A lone scorpion stood as a stalwart sentinel, watching the strange man approach the well from a crevice in the ruin. Doctor Ajax looked around in awe, recording everything he could with his phone. He snapped out of his trance, realizing he was going to be there for a while, and started setting up camp.

It was then that he realized there was a hole cut into the tent. He hastily patched it up with some duct tape, made sure the tent was secure, and returned to investigating the until recently lost ghost town. Doctor Ajax made sure to capture everything he was seeing with his phone. He had had this phone for nearly half a decade at this point, so the battery wasn’t nearly what it used to be. In his excitement he completely forgot about this.

Doctor Ajax walked around the town surveying the remains of various buildings for nearly two hours, trying to piece together why this town was built here and who might have lived in it. Eventually he made his way to the only standing house. The windows had long since been destroyed and the door sat ajar on oxidized hinges. He carefully creaked the door open further, unveiling a distinct lack of life within. Doctor Ajax crept into the house, leaving footsteps in the sand that had poured into the house over the years. Sunlight beamed in through windowless frames which all seemed to converge on an ornate wooden box half-buried in a pile of sand in the middle of the room. The rest of the room was barren wood with similar mounds of sand and other debris scattered throughout. There used to be stairs to the second story; now they were but just a few planks precariously perched upon the wall.

As he scanned the room he couldn’t help but fixate his attention on the box in the center of the room. He approached it, making sure to capture its every angle as it sat submerged in the sand. Doctor Ajax gingerly removed the box from its place of rest. Grains of sand twinkled in the sunlight as they fell from its sides. He set the box down carefully on a clear patch of floor, unlatched a small metal hook, and flipped the lid open. Inside was a watch resting on a red velvet pillow. The opulent object sat there in stark contrast to its environment. The metal had a perfectly polished finish as if it had just been cleaned. The black obsidian watch face sat behind a round piece of sapphire glass, with its white ivory hands stuck at midnight. Several additional dials decorated it, each one a different timer. Out of its right side protruded a set of knobs and buttons. The band was made of a similarly shiny metal that ended with a clasp on the opposite side. Beyond these details, the watch was entirely devoid of any hints of its origin.

While ogling the curious chronograph, Doctor Ajax could hear the wind begin to howl outside. Not soon after he began to get pelted by grains of sand flying through the window frames of the house. If there were windows in this house he may have decided to stay in it. But then again, he didn’t have any water in there. Doctor Ajax put the watch back in its box and took it with him back to his tent, covering his nose and mouth with his shirt to avoid inhaling the airborne earth that whizzed by. Visibility was getting worse by the second as Doctor Ajax approached his tent. The forecast didn’t call for any major dust storms, so he figured it might just be a small one going by. It’d be a good thing if it were short too, as he was parched and had only brought a single bottle of water with him. The rest was in his car. It was at this moment Doctor Adrian Ajax realized he had no idea where his car was relative to his tent.

This wasn’t the first time Doctor Ajax had been stranded in the desert. He had a satellite plan on his phone and the local rescue team knew him from his previous offroading escapades. As he looked down at his phone, he realized he hadn’t stopped recording video on it and the battery was teetering on the brink of emptiness. He hastily dialed the rescue team and informed them of his situation. He figured the dust storm would settle down in a few minutes and he’d be out of there soon enough. Doctor Ajax arrogantly drank the last of his water while waiting for the operator’s response. He was told the sudden dust storm looked like it wouldn’t be calming down for at least three days. Doctor Ajax spat out the last of his water in shock.

Three days. That’s how long he would have to wait. The gusting sands perpetually pelted his shelter in rhythmic waves and showed no signs of ceasing. To pass the time Doctor Ajax was fiddling around with the strange watch he had found. It was an automatic watch. He twisted the main knob, winding it up. The hands immediately began ticking. Not soon after he figured out how to get the timer to work and set it to three days and put it on his wrist. At least now he could see how long it would take until he would be rescued. It was starting to get dark and Doctor Ajax was quickly growing tired. As he drifted off to sleep he almost thought he heard the sandstorm begin to subside.

When he woke up the next morning, Doctor Ajax was in the hospital. After a brief conversation with a doctor, he was let out. Apparently the dust storm had settled down for a few hours after nightfall, letting the rescue team pick him up via helicopter. Somehow he had slept through the entire ordeal. He looked down at his watch. A little under 60 hours remained on the watch timer. As he walked home and grabbed the spare key from under the welcome mat, he started to feel thirsty. It was a rather hot day out. Nothing abnormal about that. He went inside and had a nice glass of water.

Somehow he still felt dehydrated. Maybe it’d just take a bit for the water to get into his system. As he sat down and had another glass of water, he could feel a sinking feeling begin to form a pit in his stomach. As if by instinct, Doctor Ajax tried winding the timer of the watch up more. Maybe just a minute. The moment he stopped touching the dial he immediately felt better. Doctor Ajax took the watch off and set it down on the table.

Doctor Ajax was not a superstitious man, but something felt wrong with this watch. It was made a long time ago so perhaps it was just made of something we would know is dangerous now. If that was the case, he shouldn’t just have it sitting around in his house in the open. Besides, it was a historical artifact. It was a miracle that it was still in such good condition, let alone working. Maybe it’d be better if he sent it to the University’s archaeology department.

After a few phone calls someone came by to take the watch off Doctor Ajax’s hands. Out of sight, out of mind, right? He went back to checking his email for a few minutes until he started to get thirsty again. Dry day today, huh? Except this time the parched feeling never subsided. It grew stronger by the second. It felt like a tumor spreading through his body. Doctor Ajax figured it must be all in his head. He looked down at his hands and watched his skin slowly shriveling and flaking. Disregarding the obvious sign that things were not all in his head, Doctor Ajax decided to take a shower. A cold shower to hopefully snap him out of whatever desert madness he might’ve caught while stranded in his tent.

He could feel the cold for sure, but not the water. It felt like the moisture was actively being repelled from his skin. It was a strange feeling, like putting your hands in the water while wearing rubber gloves. Except this was over his entire body. Even his hair couldn’t hold water and stayed perfectly dry as he hopelessly scrubbed at it, only dislodging some sand from his scalp. Doctor Ajax got out of the shower, with no need to dry himself off, and decided he needed a drink. A strong drink.

Doctor Ajax rummaged through his fridge, the cold humid air feeling like a desert night against his cracking skin, and pulled a six pack of beers out from the back. He cracked one open. And then another. And another. Before he knew it he had downed the entire pack. Doctor Ajax didn’t feel thirsty anymore, but he also didn’t feel much of anything at this point. He fumbled his way over to the couch, aimlessly flicking through things on his cell phone. In a drunken stupor he felt his phone fly out of his hand and crash into the stone mantle of his fireplace. The screen shattered as it fell down onto more hard stone, causing the entire thing to break into pieces. The phone’s SD card, the only thing proving he had actually found a ghost town, was snapped clean in half and fell into a pile of old ashes within the fireplace. Doctor Ajax watched this happen in slow motion as he dropped out of consciousness and collapsed onto the couch.

Hours later in the middle of the night Doctor Ajax bolted awake with a searing headache. He couldn’t tell if it was from a hangover or from dehydration. Regardless, something had finally clicked in his head. It was the watch. The watch did this. He needed to wind the timer back up. It worked when he had that water earlier and then wound it. If it worked once it should surely work a second time. But how would he get it? He looked at the clock. It was just around 3 AM. Every building on campus would be closed by this point. Besides, he wouldn’t even know where to look for the thing. Even if he could find it, would he even be allowed to touch it again? Or try to wind it up again? Messing with historical artifacts is generally frowned upon in this line of work. To top it all off, who would even believe him? It was ridiculous. Impossible. Absolutely outrageous that a watch could inflict such a condition on a man firstly, and secondly that winding a single timer on it would restore him to normal. It didn’t help that his car was still stuck somewhere out in the desert.

Doctor Ajax’s head was spinning. His whole body was spinning. He twisted around like a maniac trying to figure out what to do. All the while his movements became more and more erratic as he could feel moisture vanishing from his musculature. In a last-ditch effort he grabbed his rarely-used landline and tried calling one of his colleagues in the archaeology department. It went straight to voicemail. After the tone Doctor Ajax could barely muster several raspy wheezes before collapsing onto the floor. The receiver dangled down from the table like a hangman in a windstorm. In his last moments of consciousness all Doctor Adrian Ajax could hear was the mild monotone buzz of an empty phone line.

The next day his colleague saw a rather lengthy voicemail left by Doctor Ajax’s landline of all things. A seemingly empty voicemail. It droned on for a moment before he could hear a loud thud followed by even more silence. He immediately called the police. Half an hour later the door to Doctor Adrian Ajax’s house was busted down by law enforcement. The desiccated remains of the late Doctor were discovered unceremoniously discarded on the floor. Coroners ruled it death by dehydration. This stumped the coroners who figured it should have taken three entire days without water to cause this kind of condition they clearly saw before them.

Doctor Ajax’s car was eventually returned, but nobody ever found the ghost town he had supposedly discovered the watch in. All the buildings had been destroyed in the dust storm that would have buried Doctor Ajax had he stayed there. The watch was eventually lost among all the other trinkets often brought into the archaeology department. Doctor Adrian Ajax himself would never be known for any kind of historical discovery, but he would be forever remembered as a strange medical case study. A morbid fun fact.

“...so you’re saying no country has legal claim of anything in space?” Abe asked.

“Yeah, that’s right. Space Treaty I think.” said Huey. He had just read about it the other day.

“What’s stopping us from taking over the Moon, then?”

“Well for starters we don’t have a space ship.”

“I think I know someone who does.” Abe replied with mischievous grin growing on his gray face.

“I don’t like it when you make that face.”

The two were seated in the cafeteria of Area 51. It was well-past dinner time and the place was empty outside of the duo. Huey was the resident chef and was wearing his usual chef’s uniform, a white button down, black slacks, and a dirty apron. He had worked his way through government cafeterias across the country, each one in a more secretive place than the last. His cooking became the stuff of legend among intelligence agents. Huey was able to whip up some pretty tasty stuff all on a government cafeteria budget.

Huey wasn’t sure if aliens were real or not, but wasn’t really phased by seeing them in person. Years of watching sci-fi movies with his brother had desensitized him to the very idea. He made quick friends with Abe, one of the Grays on the site. Abe sat across from Huey in a garish Hawaiian button-down, cargo shorts, and socks with sandals. Abe spent a lot of his time wandering the tidy halls watching dried paint dry even further. Needless to say, he was bored. In his boredom he often found himself concocting outlandish pranks or other stunts that would usually get him in trouble with the agents.

Huey found Abe’s antics amusing, and tried to help him from time to time, all while trying to be discrete about it. Of course, it’s hard for an amateur to be discrete among some of the best intelligence agents in the world. Luckily for him, they usually let Huey slide so long as he kept making good food.

In their last escapade, Abe and Huey took a flying saucer out for a joyride. Abe promptly had his hangar access revoked. Huey had no idea what Abe wanted to do with the moon, but he did notice him watching a lot of TV lately. The site installed cable in the alien dormitories after the complaint department finally got tired of swimming laps in their mountain of complaint forms.

The site was initially trying to give the aliens a “proper education,” limiting them to books and the ancient computers in the library that were still on dialup. The dialup didn’t even work. Someone let a dozen Betelgeusean Cable Chewers loose in the library 50 years ago and nobody bothered to fix anything. That lack of fixing was mostly because Betelgeusean Cable Chewers are aggressive territorial creatures that can spit highly-corrosive acid at speeds up to 15 miles per hour. They also live for 200 years on average, have nigh-bulletproof skin, and are immune to every known poison on this side of the galaxy. So really the aliens only had some books and a Betelgeusean Cable Chewer sanctuary. The TVs were a welcome change.

Huey closed up the cafeteria for the day and followed Abe down the hall to who knows where. All the while Abe kept humming various commercial jingles.

“You sure like those ad jingles, huh?” Huey asked to hopefully stop the accursed humming.

“Oh yeah, they’re nothing like the ads we’ve got back home. You Earthlings really know how to sell stuff.”

“You see anything interesting?”

“That game thingy looks really cool but it’s way out of the allowance this stinkin’ place gives me,” Abe said, punching a tacky framed poster from the 70s. “Plus I don’t even have a phone to make an order.” The poster swung back and forth a little, ending up slightly tilted. A robotic arm quickly burst out of the wall to re-align it.

“I hate those things. They give me the creeps.”

Huey eventually found himself in the alien dormitories. The walls were lined with doors marked with strange glyphs. Those glyphs were English letters and words. To fresh-off-the-space-ship aliens they’re pretty strange, but you get used to them. Abe stopped in front of a door and knocked.

“Carl, open up! It’s Abe!”

An annoyed groaning sound bellowed from the door.

“Ugh, just as I was bouta get some shut-eye.”

The door swung open, revealing a tired-looking Sasquatch in polka-dotted pajamas. Yes, Sasquatches are from space. They were some of the first aliens to land on Earth and spook people for shits and giggles. But the biggest joke was on them after they brought chicken pox back to their planet. Take that, stupid aliens. That’ll teach you for scaring me at camp and stealing my DS.

“Eyyy, Abe, what’s going on man? And Huey, nice job on that lasagna!”

“Not much, not much,” Abe replied, “You know about the Space Treaty?”

“The what now?”

Abe and Huey explained the space treaty and something about taking over the Moon.

“Hohoho, so whadaya thinkin’ of doin’ with the Moon, little man?”

Abe whispered something to Carl in a language Huey barely understood. It was Spanish. From what little he remembered from high school, Huey heard something about a projector and money. The two shared a laugh.

“You got it, buddy. Meet me by the hangar entrance tomorrow at two. I gotta get back to that sleepin’ thing I was tryin’ to do.”

Carl promptly closed the door and presumably went to sleep. Abe and Huey headed back out of the dormitories.

“So what was that about a projector?” Huey inquired.

“Oh, we need to put something on the Moon. It’s gonna be good.”

“Uh huh…”

The two continued down the halls talking about some other things before they reached Abe’s room.

“Alright, you heard the ‘Squatch. Hangar door at two. See ya tomorrow, Huey!”

“Wait, I don’t even know what we’re do-” Huey was cut off by Abe shutting the door excitedly.

The next day was like any normal Tuesday at Area 51. Huey made food and talked to some agents and aliens during down time. All the while his brain was a mix of dread and excitement. Before he knew it, it was nearing two. Lunch was well over now, so Huey started making his way to the hangar entrance.

By the door stood Carl and Abe. Both were wearing their space suits. On the floor were a couple of large cardboard boxes with some wires peaking out of one of them.

“Seriously, what are we about to do? I’ve been in the dark about this the whole time.”

“Put yer space suit on first,” Carl said, throwing him one.

“Okay…”

After a brief visit to the changing rooms, Huey returned to find Carl opening the door to the hangar using his key card. Carl hadn’t been on the aforementioned joyride so he hadn’t gotten his privileges revoked. Huey assumed whatever this ended up being would.

“They got your uniformed bugged, y’know.” Abe said as they piled into the same flying saucer they took the joyride in.

“Don’t they have everything here bugged?” Huey retorted.

“Not this puppy,” Carl replied, patting the dashboard.

“So are you gonna tell me what we’re doing now?”

“At this point I wanna keep it a surprise,” Abe said with that same mischievous grin.

“Fine.”

Carl and Abe hit some buttons and flicked some switches. The dashboard lit up with colors. Some of which humans can’t even perceive. Before long they taxied their way to the runway and got clearance to take off. Of course, they needed to turn on the saucer’s cloaking before they got out of Area 51’s airspace. Soon enough they were up in the vacuum of space, steadily approaching the Moon.

The saucer touched down on the lunar surface, kicking up a little dust. The saucer still had to be kept invisible in case there were any nosy telescopes back on Earth.

“Alright, grab the boxes.”

“What’s in these things?”

“Nothin’ much. Some solar panels, a computer, a whole buncha wires, and a big ‘ol projector.”

Setting everything up was pretty easy. The projector was plugged into a computer, and the computer into the solar panel. The once-monochrome surface of the Moon lit up with vibrant colors.

“So… what’s this?”

“We gotta be a little further down to see it.”

The trio went back into the saucer and took off. As they got further from the Moon, Huey realized just what they had done. In massive, colorful letters, the Moon had “YOUR AD HERE” plastered on it followed by a familiar phone number.

“Hey wait a minute, that’s my number!” Huey exclaimed.

This was the final story I wrote for the course, which didn't have a prompt. It was fun writing it. The tangent about the cable chewers was pretty obviously inspired by Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

"Do you know how much you cost the city with your wanton destruction?"

"How long have you been training birds?"

"How the hell did you teach pelicans to pick up beehives without being stung?"

"And you're absolutely sure you didn't know the cashier wasn't deathly allergic to bees?"

"You do know 'supervillain' doesn't count as a real job, right?"

"Did you really just call your birds your henchmen?"

"What, is your lawyer a parrot or something?"

"Really? How could a bird possibly defend you in court?"

"Are you trying to deny the various CCTV and phone recordings of the incident you caused?"

"Was it all really worth the trouble just for a single candy bar?"

"...and not even a full-sized one?"

The prompt for this one was "Create a story of a detective interviewing a suspect but only by using the questions the detective would ask. Come up with a list of at least ten questions that "tell the story" of where this story takes place, who this suspect is, what this suspect may have done, and what is the evidence that supports that this suspect committed this crime. Remember you can only use the detective's questions to do this." I was definitely thinking about Venture Bros. while writing this one.

“BREAKING: VOYAGER PROBE GOLDEN DISK STOLEN AND UP FOR BID”

“’THE SOUNDS OF EARTH’ RETURNS TO EARTH, NOW FOR SALE”

“VOYAGER DISK VOYA-GONE”

The headlines flashed by as I mindless flicked through stations in my dimly lit room. The TV was the only source of light. It cast a dead blue-gray light on my face as I looked on with a similarly dead gaze. I couldn’t believe it. The golden disk on the Voyager 1 probe, millions of miles out into space, had been stolen. The worst part was, I think I did it.

…or at least helped. Finding a job as a fresh out of college with a bachelor’s in astrophysics was way harder than I thought it would be. The only gig I could find was this bounty on some calculations to be paid in bitcoin. I assumed it was all hypothetical stuff for some kind of science fiction project. What they wanted to do seemed impossible. They wanted to send a small ship with several people from Earth to just outside the solar system, rendezvous with Voyager 1, and then make it back all in the span of a few days.

The fact they were paying in bitcoin should’ve been the biggest red flag. Honest businesses sure as hell don’t pay you in crypto. You do that if you want to be untraceable. You do that if you want to stay away from the law. Criminals pay in crypto. I’m not a criminal. At least I wasn’t until they actually stole the damn disk and damned me for unwittingly colluding with them. But I didn’t question it. I needed that money. My college loans weren’t going to pay themselves. Neither was my food, my rent, my car… You get the picture.

So there I was, working away at the problems like a machine. There were a lot of things to solve. There was also a lot of money on the line, to be paid in full only upon completing everything. There was also a very strict non-disclosure agreement. I couldn’t tell anyone about this job, what kind of work it involved, or even that there was an NDA involved. For three days I locked myself away from the rest of the world. I could have asked for help on things, but like I said, I needed the money. I ignored calls, messages, knocks on my door, and even the one knock on my window. My parents were obviously worried sick.

“Why weren’t you answering any of our calls? We thought you might’ve gotten sick …or worse!” My mother exclaimed over the phone.

“I’m alright, ma,” I calmly replied, “I was really busy with a small job.”

“What kind of job doesn’t even let you call your own mother?!”

“...I can’t tell you. Like I legally am not allowed to say.”

“Oh, did you finally get that gig with NASA?”

“Not exactly.”

“You can tell me who you worked for. I’m your mother for crying out loud!”

“I honestly don’t know who it was for. They really wanted it to stay hush-hush.”

“Did they at least pay you well?”

“Oh yeah, definitely. Weird thing was that they paid in bitcoin.”

“Bitcoin?”

“...yeah.” In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have said that.

“You better not be selling drugs!”

“I’m not, ma! I’m not!”

“What good was getting that degree if you can’t even put it to use!”

“I was using it ma!”

“Doing what?!”

“Like I said, ma, I can’t say!” At this point I was pleading to a brick wall. A very, very angry brick wall.

“What kind of work were you doing that’s so important that you can’t tell your family about it!?” I decided it might’ve been good to break the NDA just a little bit.

“Fine. It was some kind of bounty on a bunch of astrophysics calculations.”

“Oh, so you were teaching terrorists the right way to launch missiles?”

“What? No! It looked like some kinda sci-fi stuff. They were for some things that’re impossible to do.”

“Oh, so for something like a movie?”

“I don’t really know. But I really shouldn’t be saying anything further.” That seemed to explain things well enough for her.

“Alright, if you say so.” The conversation then went on to some more personal, and very much more unrelated, matters.

Finally, I settled on the auction channel. That’s where they were selling the funny gold circle. The disk sat in a plain, clear glass box on a foam cushion. It was slowly rotating on a plastic circle on top of a wooden podium surrounded by cameras of all shapes and sizes. Everyone wanted to get a picture of the disk. The crowd was enormous. The auction hall wasn’t built for this capacity. Bidders, reporters, and spectators spilled out of the room into the hallway were all staring at the disk, mesmerized. I watched on in horror as the fruits of my labor unveiled this desecration of the human legacy in space.

The final bid was 50 million dollars. It went to some oil mogul who’ll probably keep it locked up in his house over his fireplace or use it as a very expensive coaster. That’s what I thought anyways, before his mansion got raided by the FBI and the disk was recovered. Seems like they didn’t want to make a big scene in the auction hall. Shortly after the disk was back in the government’s hands, it was analyzed and proven to be the real deal. The search was on for the perpetrators.

A very solemn looking man addressed the situation to the people. He was apparently from the FBI. Even they didn’t have a clue who took the disk, but they were looking. With every syllable he said, dread shot through my veins.

“What if they found me?”

“What would they do with me?”

“Would I be charged for the theft if they couldn’t find anyone else?”

“Was this all a setup?”

“Am I the fall guy here?”

Just then, there was a knock on the door. A very strong knock. Followed by a

“FBI, open up!”

The door then exploded open as troops stormed my apartment. As I was being dragged up from my couch, I watched as they tore through my things, ripped the hard drive from my computer, and crammed all my work and notes into plastic bags. I decided to stay silent the whole time. I didn’t want to say or do anything that could make this situation any worse than it already was. I was cuffed and thrown into the back of an armored van. I was the only one in there. Maybe I was the scapegoat after all…

“...and that’s how I ended up here.”

“And that’s all you know, and all you had to do with the operation?” Asked a very stern looking man in a plain suit. He was wearing dark, reflective sunglasses inside. Inside a very dimly lit room made of brick and one-way glass.

“Yeah, that’s everything. I swear I had no idea what they were gonna do, or if it was even possible!”

“You really don’t know who you were working for?”

“None. Honest.”

“Hmm…” The man got up and turned around. He pressed something near his ear and murmured something to, seemingly, himself.

“I have word that you’re free to go for now. We’re going to keep your hard drive for further investigation, but you’ll get it back soon.”

“Okay.”

“Also, since this is part of an active investigation, you can’t tell anyone about this.”

As I left the interrogation room, I was blindfolded, and driven back to my apartment. The driver handed me my phone. There were 10 missed calls from my mother. Maybe being blamed for stealing the disk was a better fate.

This one also didn't have a prompt. I'm not too fond of this one. I rushed it out and it was also my first attempt at writing from this perspective. I learned shortly after writing this that Bitcoin is actually pretty easy to trace since all of its transactions are public records. I've had the idea of doing some kind of story involving stealing the Voyager disk for some time.

They say in space, nobody can hear you scream. Unfortunately, ghosts are not bound by the laws of physics and can make sound anywhere. Gary Elwood thinks he may be seeing, and more annoyingly, hearing ghosts. Gary’s job is usually rather peaceful. He carries cargo in his freighter ship throughout the galaxy between space stations. In the unkempt cockpit of the vehicle, Gary sits, gritting his teeth as he whizzes through the star-spangled void. Voices, or what sound like they could maybe be voices, and visions, echo through the claustrophobic vessel.

In the distance, a star comes into view. Its brilliant blue hue illuminates the cockpit. Foil food wrappers on the floor shimmer and gleam in its light. Gary gets ever closer to the star, and something begins eclipsing its light on his ship. A pristine space clinic floats serenely ahead. The star gives it an angelic glow. The clinic hadn’t responded to any of his calls, but it was clearly still operational. The shiny bay doors to the dock gracefully opened and let him into the station. They promptly shut behind him.

Something was off. Everything was clean. Too clean. As if no living thing had stepped foot in this facility in decades. The walls were a clinical gray. The floor a slightly darker tone. As his ship touched down, a legion of cleaner bots scurried out from a small structure and began scrubbing away at every nook and cranny on the freighter. Gary stepped out onto the spotless floor and approached the door to the lobby. With each step he took, the cleaner bots would swarm to his dirty footprints, wiping away any trace that he’d been there.

The voices got louder and the visions more vivid as he got closer to the door. It slid open. At the front desk sat a distinct lack of a receptionist. Or even a receptionist droid. Like in the dock, everything was cleaned with weapons-grade precision. The room was barren aside from the receptionist’s desk, a few benches to wait, and a vending machine. That should do. And it did. Inside was one last bottle of Ghost-B-Gone. Gary fumbled in his pocket for spare change and procured just enough to get the bottle. The voices grew ever louder. Gary fumbled even more, and dropped a quarter on the floor. The coin’s collision rang throughout the empty halls of the station, followed by the many wheels of many, many cleaner bots ready to vacuum up the loose change on the floor.

The prompt for this one was "Not realizing that the facility has been closed for almost thirty years, a man who has started to see ghosts goes to check himself into a mental institution." Friends have told me the "ghost-b-gone" bit messes with the tone, which I agree with. I really like the idea of an abandoned space station that's in perfect working order because of robots and whatnot.

Tony Trilton, the world’s first trillionaire, is dead. Tony didn’t exactly get along with his family. His hobbies alienated his parents and drove his wife to a divorce. She took the kids and half of his then-millions. In his last will and testament, he left everything he possessed to his pet gorilla, Barnaby. After learning that some gorillas were trained to speak in sign language, Tony became obsessed with animal intelligence and spent every waking moment of his free time trying to teach animals to talk. Barnaby was his only true success. The octopus ran away before it learned proper grammar and the birds were more interested in making music. They ended up leaving Tony and his scientists to form a birdband and signed on to a very lucrative record deal.

Barnaby was smarter than the average gorilla, or so Tony thought. Really all Barnaby did with his newfound linguistic skills and luxuries of the 0.00000001% was sit around, ask for food, and make gorilla noises at people online in video games. Things changed when Barnaby discovered YouTube. Suddenly, everyone wanted to watch the funny gorilla play video games and scream in sign language. Just as suddenly, Barnaby started getting sponsorship deals left and right. Tony had to step in and do all the negotiating. The first company was offering crates of fruit instead of money and Barnaby was about to agree to that. With Barnaby’s gorilla charm and Tony’s business-savvy brain, Tony was able to grow from a millionaire into a trillionaire. But Tony isn’t alive anymore. Now Barnaby has all the money. And the pool. And the mansion. And the yacht. And the jet. And the private island retreat.

Naturally, the news swarmed to this story like flies to rotting carrion. ‘The Gorillionaire,’ they called him. News trucks flooded the Trilton estate to get an interview. Anchors knocked on the door with the force of a thousand angry drummers. Barnaby was woken up by that sound. Sunlight beamed into the lavish master bedroom as he rolled out of his king sized bed with banana-patterned blankets. He brushed his teeth and threw on a gold-trimmed bath robe. The knocking continued.

“The milkman must be in a hurry today,” thought Barnaby as he made his way down the grand staircase to the Persian rug before the massive mahogany doors. Meanwhile, the milkman couldn’t even get into the driveway.

It had been a few weeks since Tony passed away. At this point Barnaby was used to doing things by himself, but still missed the guy. Nobody knew how Tony kicked the bucket. There were rumors that Barnaby had something to do with it to get at the fortune for himself, but that was impossible. Tony was off in Bermuda. Barnaby was at home eating oranges and playing video games. Barnaby picked up the empty bottles by the door and opened it, ready to greet the milkman. Instead he was met with an onslaught of questions and cameras.

“Mr. Barnaby, what do you plan to do with the Trilton fortune?”

“Mr. Barnaby, what do you think of people calling you ‘The Gorillionaire?’”

“Is it true you were asked to play King Kong in a new movie?”

“What is your relationship with The Birdband?”

“Did Tony Trilton really leave you everything?”

“Is it really true that you know nothing about Tony Trilton’s death?”

“Why should I answer you? What do I get out of it? I don’t know any of you.” Barnaby signed at the nosy newscasters. Suddenly, the questioning squad ceased. While the reporters rumbled among themselves to figure out what he had just said, and what he meant by it, Barnaby noticed the milkman waving to him by the curb. He began politely pushing people past to get there. As he approached the milk truck, several reporters proceeded to pester him with more questions, but Barnaby simply ignored them.

The truck stood proudly by the curb in its cow-print paintjob. A small cow statue sat on the roof. Standing by the truck was Moe, the milkman. Moe had worked in this wealthy neighborhood as a milkman for 15 years. You get to meet some colorful characters in a place like this, but Barnaby was the most interesting. For most, it isn’t every day you get to talk to a mansion-dwelling gorilla in a bath robe. It isn’t for Moe either. He delivers every other day.

“Mornin’, Barney!” Moe chimed as he tipped his hat to the affluent ape.

“Good Morning, Moe,” responded Barnaby with a smile. “Sorry about the mess there,” he signed while motioning towards the cacophonous crowd with his head. “I don’t know what they’re doing here.” Moe enjoyed how straightforward Barnaby was. It was a breath of fresh air from the pompous prattling the other residents subjected him to.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, big guy. They just wanna talk to you. You’ve been a big hit on the news lately what with you inheriting Tony’s everything, Lord rest his soul.” There was a brief moment of silence. Moe cleared his throat.

“Ah yeah, I got your milk here for ya.” Moe handed over some filled bottles while Barnaby gave him his empties.

“Thank you.” Barnaby replied, setting the full bottles down first before signing, of course.

“You should try answering some of the reporters over there. I see you answering questions on that internet show of yers all the time. It’s like that but in real life.”

“But online people pay to ask me things. I didn’t see any of those people offering me anything in return.”

“So why do you answer what I ask?”

“You bring milk here, but more importantly, you’re my friend.”

“How do you know those reporters won’t make good friends?” Barnaby stood and thought for a moment. He didn’t really have many real-life friends beyond Moe. The only people he regularly interacted with were faceless internet users and faceless, soulless, corporate sponsors. It probably wouldn’t hurt to get some more face-to-face interaction.

“I gotta get going, Barney. The guy at the next house’ll chew me out if I’m late again.”

“I suppose I’ll give it a try. See you Thursday, Moe.”

“See ya later, Barney!”

Moe got back into his truck and drove off. Barnaby turned around and returned to the crowd of newscasters. He knew he would talk to the strangers at his door, but first he had to put this milk away before it spoiled. He made his way back inside, put the milk in the fridge, and went back to the door.

“It looks like Barnaby The Gorillionaire has returned to answer some questions,” several casters chattered with slightly different deliveries. The questionnaire went smoothly. Barnaby then shared some laughs with the reporters as he recounted his history with Tony. Overall, it was a grand old time.

As things were quieting down, a new truck pulled up to the mansion. It was dark gray with blacked out windows. From it stepped a mysterious character clad in a dark trench coat and a wide-brimmed hat. In the middle of summer. The mystery man shoved his way through the others to get to Barnaby.

“You does thinks you ams deserving of Trilton’s moneys?” the stranger snapped in a strange, gargley voice.

“What?” Barnaby replied, bewildered by the sudden hostility.

“Me ams beings true heir of moneys!” the mystery man screeched, throwing off his coat. This wasn’t a mystery man. It was a mystery octopus. A mystery octopus with a strange gadget embedded in its head. It was wearing one of Tony’s suits. The suit had a red stain near the chest. In the center of the stain was a hole. In the octopus’s arm was a gun.

This one didn't have a prompt. The idea for the story came from an image I found online some time ago.

This was the town of Bigrock, known for it’s famous Big Rock (better known as a mountain by today’s experts). Grug was not from Bigrock. Grug was from the city of Lakeside, known for the lake beside it - and its famous Pteranodon wings. Grug worked for the Rock Delivery Service, and was assigned to deliver a package to a Witch Doctor Rocksmith. The usual delivery person was out. She got in a traffic accident with an Ankylosaurus while riding a strange new vehicle. Grug heard they were like boats but for the earth. Grug didn’t trust them and decided to deliver this package on foot, as he always had.

Grug approached the Witch Doctor’s cave. A winding dirt road led up to its entrance. As he got closer, Grug noticed two odd constructs covered by a wooden hut of sorts. He couldn’t make them out properly, but he could make out the rockbox. Something was off about it. It was stuffed with tablets and parchment. Just then, a strong gust of wind blew across the fields. The parchment fluttered about in the box, and something moved in the hut. Instinctively, Grug turned. The machines had moved. But how? They were made of stone. There was no way stone could be moved by the wind. Unless…

These must be those new things. Those… what were they called? Grug thought for a moment. Ah yes, cars. They must be evil. They must quench for blood. Why else would the previous delivery person be injured by them? Grug shook. Were they really moved by the wind? Or did they move with it so he wouldn’t notice that they’re alive? They must have killed the Witch Doctor and sent for him to deliver this package! This must be a trap! But Grug knew better than to fall for it. Grug threw the package at the cars. They screeched as they reeled back. Now was his chance. Grug ran for it.

The prompt for this one was "A substitute postal carrier comes to a rural home where the mailbox is overflowing with previously delivered mail. The postal carrier observes that there are two cars in the driveway. What should the postal carrier do?" I'm not too fond of this one, but I also don't dislike it. It's kinda just there.

Dan is a Dwarf. For generations Dan’s people had toiled on these grounds. His forefathers told him of The Great Cataclysm that had plagued the land many ages ago; the earth was ravaged and left a desolate wasteland. For three ages of darkness the land lay barren. When the next age of light arrived, the land was blessed with a lush expanse of new vegetation. Today was the day of The Prophecy. Today the Bulb Trees would be ready for harvest. Today Dan was to harvest the bulbs.

Dan ascended one of the sacred Bulb Trees, dagger in hand. Large leafed branches dotted the tree’s smooth, green trunk. He had placed a tarp on the forest floor to collect the bulbs. All he had to do was cut them from the tree and drop them. The sun beat down on Dan as he got to work. Suddenly, everything went dark. Dan turned to face the source of the shadows. It was The Flood Titan.

Greg is a Giant. Last week Greg dug up part of his backyard to make way for a vegetable garden. A few days later he planted enough things to make himself a nice salad. Today Greg felt like having that salad. Greg stepped outside into his yard. The white picket fence surrounding it gleamed in the sunlight. The birdbath he installed the other day stood proudly in the center. By this point the birds had flown away, but this didn’t bother Greg. He had a salad to make.

The first order of business was the broccoli. As he stood over his garden he saw a strange glint among the broccoli’s florets. That and a strange little man. A strange little man breaking into his property and tampering with his would-be salad.

“Die, Flood Titan!” squeaked the minuscule miscreant. With all his might, Dan hurled his dagger into the sky. It went up maybe half an inch in Giant units before pathetically plummeting to the ground. Greg crouched down to take a closer look at the vegetable invader. The puny punk was clad some kind of armor fashioned from a cricket’s exoskeleton.

“You dare approach me, Flood Titan?” Dan shrieked as he waved his fist. Greg had no idea what was going on, but decided to play along.

“Yes, it is I, the all-powerful ‘Flood Titan,’” Greg snidely responded with air quotes. “But seriously, who’re you and what’re you doing in my garden?”

“I am Dan, of the Dwarves. Who are you to call our sacred ancestral land your garden?”

“I’m Greg, and I own this property.” Greg motioned towards the rest of the yard and his house with his arms. Meanwhile Dan held on for dear life as Greg The Flood Titan attempted to knock him off the Bulb Tree with a blast of air.

“You may have destroyed my home with your foul weather powers, Flood Titan Greg, but you are no match for my Dwarven spirit! If you kill me all my kin shall come for your head!”

“Wait, there’re more of you down there?”

“The forest shall bear ever more fruit with your blood nourishing it!” Dan continued screaming his head off while Greg pondered how to deal with his newfound neighbors. Just then an idea hit him, unlike Dan’s dagger. Greg got up and started heading back to his house.

“Where are you fleeing to, coward?” Dan screeched. “Get back here and fight me!”

“I’m going to the store,” Greg responded. “I’m gonna buy some pesticide.”

The prompt for this story was "A dwarf and a giant meet in the middle of a forest. Both claim they are the rightful owner of the forest. What happens next?" I was thinking of adding more to the story, with Greg coming back home from the store - which was closed - to find the Dwarves had an industrial revolution and destroyed his garden. Dan would've been retired in some kind of resort town built in the birdbath and Greg would talk to his son. The next day the dwarves would've evolved past the need for physical possessions, and even physical bodies, kinda like that one episode of Futurama with the robot planet. I think it ending where it does is fine.