Infinitas Volume VII: Futurology by GSMSTLitMag

Infinitas Futurology Issue 7 Fall 2017

The Gwinnett School of Math, Science, and Technology 970 McElvaney Lane Lawrenceville GA, 30043

Table of Contents

Musa Drammeh, Heart of Steel…....1 Ash Rafery, This Is Much Worse…..……...……...4 Huy Dai, Shadow of Tomorrow………..…….……..…..…11 Joshua Bozeman, Alien Robots Form Outer Space………….….14 Lauren Berry, Best Interests………………………..………....….....23 Chloe Duensing, Set In Stone…………….....……………….……....28 Ayanna Palmer, Fool Me Twice………………………………......…......36

Sohum Trivedi, Coffee Creamer…………………………..……...…..44 Christian Moldovan, The Gift……………………………………50 McKenzie Alvarenga, A Love Letter From the Past to the Future…..52 Thanh Nguyen, The Prison Executor………….…….............53 Chloe Duensing, Future’s Caterpillars (Are Butterflies)......54 Frank Li, It Began With a Single Star…......…..56 Judson Baker, Landing…........67

Notes From The Editor This semester’s literary magazine is all about the future. We wanted a theme that was well-known and broad enough so that any talented students looking to showcase their hobbies would be interested. We expected a variety of works, and although all of the stories are fiction, all the authors and artists put their best efforts forward. From humor to horror, Infinitas Volume 7 features a range of fictional genres. We’re also very proud of the artists who submitted amazing works, ranging from abstract to photorealistic. This year’s class would like to thank everyone who has contributed to this publication. We, in the class and the club, are honored to present the following student-crafted works focused on the endless possibilities of the future.

—Chloe Duensing, Editor in Chief

We remember the past, Live in the present, And write the future.

Shaun David Hutchinson

Heart of Steel Musa Drammeh He watched it sleep, unabashedly, hoping and praying to whatever gods might exist. All he wanted was to see that glorious smile, to have his ears vibrate with the melody of laughter; for these simple yet profound joys, he would give anything. It began to stir, causing excitement and hope to build up in him. He looked around the room quickly, only then noticing that many of the machines and parts were still lying around. He went around removing all indication of his work. Even removing some of the stabilizers hooked up to the stasis pod, of course not before using them to make sure everything was functioning normally. When he came back into the room, its eyes were open, not flying around the room as he had expected, just staring into space. He ran over, placing his hand carefully on the pod’s lid, a difficult task for hands shaking with excitement. The prick of the needle against his skin as the pod’s systems drew blood to test his DNA did not bring forth its usual bit of slight pain, and he was indifferent to the spray spread across his hand that would heal the wound instantly, not a scar anywhere in sight. For him, right now, his whole world revolved around it, just as his world once revolved around her, and everything else was just a distraction. The minute needed for the pod to finish sequencing his blood and identify him finally passed; the lid opened. Once the lid fully opened, being perpendicular with the ceiling, what lay inside began to move once more. It turned in the pod, placing its feet on the floor before rising to its full height. At first he marveled at the situation, his meager height once again allowed him to stare up into emerald green eyes with golden brown flakes. He had been offered on many occasions, by his physician’s friends, to be given a height improvement surgery, listening to them drone on and on about how, forty years since the surgery was first created, research made sure that there was no chance of any complications. And yet time and again he would refuse; he was simply too used to being the shortest person in the room. But then his face fell, something was wrong. Everything looked the same, the curl of the auburn hair, the high cheekbones and wide forehead, but there had been a light in her eyes that he couldn’t seem to find in its. He began to question, wonder if maybe, just maybe…. There was a twitch in its face, and then another, until finally it broke out into a full blown smile. He let it wash over, neglecting the seeds of doubt that had begun to sprout. One of the hands that had been hanging at his side, rose and began to move towards it. When his hand met its, he was almost burned by the coldness of the steel that made up its body, but he refused to let go. He pulled it along with him as he walked into the kitchen. Or at least what used to be the kitchen. He had never really liked kitchens, believing them to be an antiquated ritual from a time when cooking was actually

necessary, not to mention his cooking skills were abysmal to say the least. But she had always insisted that anything was better than the Super Bars meant to give you all the nutrients of a balanced diet without any of the hassle. But once she was gone he could no longer bear to be anywhere near it, not without some fit of rage or sorrow overcoming him, so he had it destroyed. Or to be precise, he had the whole area reconstructed. No longer were the floors the smooth polymer that could be found in all houses now; in their place was polished wood, not from one of those manufactured trees that could be bought anywhere, this was true wood from the bark of a tree in an endangered creatures habitat. The cost had certainly been great, but he knew no limits when it came to making their long awaited reunion perfect. The gleam of the wood could be seen perfectly in the mirrors that lined every wall. Now his own figure, standing next to that of his companionâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s, was also reflected in the glass. He continued to pull it along until he stopped abruptly in the middle of the floor and turned to it. There he waited, not making a single move. A minute passed. And then another. But neither he nor it broke the staring match. Irritation began to rise in him at its inaction. But he did not let it overcome him. He took action, and when they had ceased, on his shoulder lay one of its hands. A quick glance on the same side would see his hand upon its waist. Their remaining hands grasped tightly together, lifted high above the ground. Of course there was no shame or embarrassment when he placed his hand on its waist. For him these motions were practiced and refined over many years. He'd been so young the first time she took him to a dance class, with only 45 years to him. When they arrived at the class, his performance had been subpar to say the least, so she had been forced to take the lead. Even now he remembered the way her dimples never seemed to leave her face as she giggled at his every mistake. Needless to say, it had all been an act, years before that he had downloaded the procedures for over six hundred dance styles directly into his brain. The result being that where dancing was concerned, he was a step above the rest. He stumbled and tripped like a fool that day because he could build no nerve to tell his beloved that any lessons would be for naught. From that day forward, any chance that arose for a dance had her taking the lead, leaving any mention of his true skill irrelevant. To the very day of their separation he had no knowledge as to whether she was aware of his facade that day. She would have... never forgotten their tradition. And yet here he stood, with it in his arms, wishing it would remember and take the lead as she once did. He made each step slow and tentative, preparing for the off chance that it would do as he wished. Yet with each passing moment, the possibility of such an occurrence seemed to fade right before his eyes. A remedy, any kind of remedy, that was what dominated his thoughts even as his body continued to move to the steps of the dance. There was almost no doubt in his mind that what had occurred so far was just a coincidental sequence of minor faults, the total of which could not take away from the entirety of its miracu-

lous existence. He looked down, his thoughts fractured by a crashing sound. There was his creation in a crater of splintered floor. There was a stinging pulse in his hands that told him he had somehow forced it from his arms. He contemplated lifting it back up, but when he bent down he instead found his hand upon its cheek. The movement of his hand implied a loving caress, but was nulled for him by the smooth perfection of its skin. Looking down upon it, he realized that all that was required was some fine tuning. Simple correction to what was a near perfect creation. He made no ponderings to how seemingly unfit the word perfect was for it, that would not even show concern for him and his solemn face, marred with worry. And of course, it did not consider the foolishness of this endless endeavor that allowed him to ceaselessly cling to her memory, unable to move on. He was its creator, its master, father of all that it was. But it held him prisoner in an eternal waltz, that knew no end.

Binary, Michael Lawrence

This Is Much Worse Aryan Ashraf “Have you ever thought about quantum entanglement?” Ahmed stopped to shoot a blank stare at Henrietta’s dazed face. “No. I’m the art major. You’re the physics major.” The spark in Henrietta’s eyes dulled down at the remark and refocused towards the exhibit of the room they were in. Ahmed slowly turned away to do the same, but he had a hard time refocusing. His mind wandered around, eventually back to this morning. They were bored, lying around in their apartment, and searched for the most obscure place to go to on Yelp. Thus, they found the address of the “General Oddities Museum”. “Museum” is actually an exaggeration. It was more of a small gallery in the middle of a house, or in the middle of what was supposed to be a house. So far, all they found were the absence of a curator (or of any employees), a few deformed sculptures that were “the offspring of a distant civilization”, signed autographs from long dead models like Kim Kardashian and Kylie Jenner, and multiple miscellaneous mementos from multiple people who “mysteriously disappeared”. Now, they were sitting on a dusty wooden bench in the room housing the museum’s star attraction, their magnum opus, if you could say that about a museum - “The Nihilist’s Calculator”. It was a mechanical calculator from the 1940s, having the standard typewriter key face and the paper rolling out of the machine to reveal its printed output, but it also had extra, large bronze gears connected in a tower with worn nylon straps, attached to the calculator’s sides, almost as though they were accessories. According to the large sign beside the glass box that housed the contraption, the calculator was designed by a man named Jack Oliver, and it was originally designed as some sort of mysterious attraction. He wanted to design a calculator that would “exploit its service endlessly until the end of time”, and he did so by adding a few extra parts to a standard mechanical calculator and entering the expression “0÷0” into the calculator. Obviously, the calculator began inking numbers into its paper, but it never stopped. Endlessly, the thin, stout paper kept rolling out of its slot with more zeros getting stamped onto its right side with no end in sight. It also appeared that Oliver’s calculator did what it was told, for the calculator kept clicking in its glass box, endlessly stamping zeros onto its paper, endlessly exploiting its service until the end of time… It was terrible. The clicking was agitating, and Ahmed could see that the managers, if there were even any managers, did not care about the calculator, because the paper was just fed back into the entrance slot and zeros were just being reprinted over and over again in the same places, on the same paper. He looked back to Henrietta. He could see that she was deep in thought. Henrietta was always passionate about the things she liked. It probably hurt her when he cut her off so bluntly earlier. He should reignite the spark in her eyes. At least, it would block out that annoying clicking. “...Why don’t you tell me about it?” Henrietta’s pupils dilated in shock, and her dark eyes looked at Ahmed in con-

fusion. “Huh?” “You know… ranglement or something? Isn’t that what you said? Tell me about it.” Henrietta stared in silence for a few seconds more and then started giggling. “What? Ranglement, right?” “No, you idiot! Quantum entanglement!” Ahmed blushed. “I told you. I’m the art major. You’re the physics major. So, tell me about it and prove your tuition fee wasn’t a waste.” Henrietta stopped giggling and looked at Ahmed with a warm smile. The spark in her eyes glowed brighter than before. “Okay, dude.” Ahmed sighed in relief. Now, he did not have to deal with a disappointed Henrietta and an awkward silence during the ride home, along with having some background noise to block out that awful, annoying clicking. “Okay!” Henrietta clapped her hands together. This meant that she was about to go off and spiel with no regard for time. “I’ll keep this really simple because I doubt that you’ll be able to wrap your tiny, mortal mind around the concept.” “Understandable.” “So, here. You know how an atom is made up of a nucleus surrounded by electrons in orbitals?” “...I know now.” “You mean you remember. This is, like, eighth grade science.” “You know that I block out everything from my middle school and high school years. Especially, the high school years.” Henrietta cleared her throat to divert the topic. It was a very touchy subject, after all. “Anyway, every orbital has only two electrons, one with a quantum spin of -½ and another with a quantum spin of +½. Because there are only two possibilities for this spin number, it means that, if one electron’s spin was measured, we would know the other electron’s spin by association. This is quantum entangleAloeia Veral, Aryan Ashraf ment. Before measurement, though, you could say that the electrons are in a state of superposition.” “Superposition?” “Yeah. It’s when an electron encompasses two states at once. You know, Schrodinger’s cat? Two states of being at once? We watched that weird Vsauce video about it that one time?” “Oh, yeah! The one where the cat was in theoretical purgatory!” “...That’s one way to think about it.”

The room fell silent once again, and the clicking from the calculator regained its position and suffocated the room. Ahmed needed to revive the conversation; something about the clicking was irritating him. “So, what’s so special about quantum entanglement?” Henrietta scoffed. “Uhhh… Everything? Quantum physics and mechanics is, like, a very important landmark in the field and our understanding of the world as we know it?” “No, not that! I mean, you asked ‘Do you ever think about quantum entanglement?’. Why exactly were you just thinking about entanglement?” “Oh! Well, one, I have a test on it tomorrow.” Predictable, Ahmed thought. “And two?” “How cool would it be if the same rules applied to people?” “...What?” “Like, I know that quantum mechanics do not apply to objects as large as people, but how cool would it be if it did?” “I’m… I’m not sure I’m following. How would it be cool, exactly?” “Like, you know,” she threw her hands up in what appeared to be frustration to find the right words, “what if two people were entangled like the electrons of an atom?” “But, didn’t you just say that quantum mechanics doesn’t apply to large objects?” “I don’t mean literally, you regurgitated burnt cookie. I mean, like, what if two people were connected in the same way? What if knowing one person could lead you to the other person’s location? What if knowing select information about one person would allow you to know certain information about the other person? I could imagine the book title now – ‘Entangled’.” “I swear, you are the living embodiment of a Tumblr text post.” Henrietta playfully punched Ahmed in the arm. “Probably because I spend so much time on that trash site.” The two shared some dry, empty, half-hearted laughs before silence followed once more. The clicks from the calculator floated through the air with no effect for a few seconds. Then, they began grazing against Ahmed’s skin like needles. Why was it so hard to replace the emptiness of the room at that time? If it were at any other time, the two would have most likely filled it up with some type of unimportant discussion, such as a conversation about the ethics of house cats or why pizza was qualified as a vegetable by the government. But, he did not feel the need to start a conversation nor did he want to (mainly because of the obnoxious clicking), and it appeared that Henrietta felt the same way. The clicking was destined to overtake the room, no matter how much Ahmed hated it. What he did not understand, though, was why he hated it so much. For the time being, he just did without reason, but he could have sworn he was beginning to feel lightheaded. He attempted to try and regain control of himself in feeble, futile attempts as his mind was flooded with the passing thoughts of his fading mind… Click, click, click. Was the glass box always pink? Click, click, click. It has been a while since the coasts and islands of the world were flooded over, right?

Click, click, click. What was drowned? Anything important? Click, click, click. Why was the room lit by incandescent lights? They had been banned, right? They were too harsh. They were… too… bright. Ahmed inadvertently leaned back and fell over onto the floor behind him. He blacked out for some duration of time that he could not recall, only to wake up in a cold sweat and with a harsh gasp. His head felt like it was cut open; it felt like syringes were being jabbed directly into the folds of his brain. Though the feeling felt horrendous at first, it subsided quickly into the pain of a migraine, then to that of a headache, then to the everyday pain of his own thoughts and memories. He managed to sit upright after a few moments. Henrietta was laughing from the bench, looking down at him. “Wowie,” she exclaimed, “we could have put that on a fail compilation.” “No. Shut up.” Ahmed pinched the bridge of his nose as he stood up. Something was different in the room. Something was throwing him out of line. What was it? “What happe—” “No! Shut up!” Ahmed was suddenly distraught. He finally realized what was different. “The…calculator…” he whispered. Henrietta turned to face the glass box with a confused expression. Then, her expression morphed into that of surprise. “It stopped.” They both scattered to get to the face of the box. At the front face of glass, Ahmed began pawing at the edges in a blind attempt to find a latch to pull or something to unlock and began running around the perimeter to get a view of whatever was inside. “Man, dude, calm down. You’re acting like your heart is in there or something. There’s nothing. It’s just some weird novelty that a random house in the middle of nowhere conjured up and abandoned in order to scam a few dollars out of some people. But, like, in a really poorly organized way because we didn’t really pay anything to get… in here. But that’s beyond the point! I’m sure it stopped just because it’s not actually meant to go on for so long and—” “Outputs.” “… What?” “Outputs!” Ahmed began pointing hastily on the glass to the left of the box. “Outputs! There are outputs on the calculator!” Henrietta joined Ahmed as he tried to decipher the numbers on whatever he could see on the curved roll of paper. In pink ink, unlike that of the black ink of the multiple other zeros branded onto the paper previously, he could see the outputs— 11(14).(1)(4)2045 and 11(14).(1)(4)2045. Suddenly, Ahmed’s thoughts were drowned out in what could only be interpreted as white noise. He winced at the magnitude of the sound, before focusing in on the words of someone’s voice. A voice that was not his own. He focused… “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear…” Luis was alone on his birthday, and many people from his family had called to wish him a happy birthday. Then again, most of his family was across the country in another state, so it did not really matter anyway. In fact, he would have liked it

more if they had not called. That way, the fact that they were blissfully unaware of the many lies Luis had told them and of the many secrets he had kept from them would not be shoved back into his face so much. It was always the same with each phone call. “How are your classes going?” Luis would always say they were going well, even though he’d dropped out months ago. “Are you doing anything special?” Luis would always say that he would be going out with some friends from college but would never tell them that he actually had no friends and was just a giant loser living alone in a dingy apartment in the worst side of town.

Tangled in the Future, Madina Eshova

“Are you doing alright?” Luis would always say yes, but the multiple weeks on end in which he had never left his room, the multiple bills he failed to pay, and the incredulous amounts of unanswered anxieties and grievances in the back of his mind would always mock him. Now, it was 6:46 PM on September 21st, 2053. It was Luis’ 21st birthday, and, so far, he had spent it by going to work at the local call center, going back to his apartment to lurk in the dark in silence, only to finally force himself to go out to the supermarket to at least get something to make the day seem anything like a

special occasion. Thus, he decided to browse the cake mixes and sing the “Happy Birthday” song to himself. He used to enjoy baking after all. It took his mind off of the harsher thoughts. However, deep down, he knew that anything he used to enjoy would just seem meaningless now and that there really was not any point in doing anything. Besides, money was tight. Not getting a useless commodity in some sort of empty attempt to revive what was left of Luis’ happiness would be ideal. Then, suddenly, the sound washed over Luis’ head. At first, he winced and kneeled forward. Some sort of white noise had flooded his ears, and it sounded almost like an old television trying to connect to a signal. As the sound cleared out though, Luis felt something, something he had never felt before. He was hearing thoughts, but thoughts that were not of his own voice. They were thoughts from someone else’s mind. His presence also felt odd. It was almost as though… he was at two places at once. He felt the cold air of the supermarket around him, but he also felt like he was in some odd suburban home, somewhere in the outskirts of town. It felt warmer in the house than in the store. “What is happening?” he thought to himself. “It’s the calculator. It was the calculator. The calculator completed some sort of Satanic ritual or some voodoo thing or something. I don’t know exactly what, but I don’t like it!” the voice responded back. “…You can hear me?” “Gaah! This isn’t the time to have a conversation with yourself, Ahmed! You need to get out of here!” …Ahmed? Who was Ahmed? All of a sudden, Luis could begin to picture a square-jawed, black haired man with almost perpetually furrowed eyebrows and striking gray eyes. He had never seen this “Ahmed” person before. Was he the person in Luis’ head? Or is that the name his subconscious gave to an underlying split personality? More importantly, Luis thought, why was he so unfazed by this? Why was he so indifferent to this odd instance of neurodivergence? Had the weight of everything really just tear every one of his emotions down? Will he ever care about anything again? “My God! What are you talking about?! Who is Luis?! I don’t know a Luis! Just shut up and listen to Henrietta! She’s talking about how she almost got poisoned at Girl Scout’s Camp.” Luis suddenly saw a blurry picture of “Henrietta” in his head – a dark-skinned girl with long, wavy black hair and a radiant white smile. He also began hearing faint whispers of what he presumed was Henrietta’s voice talking about her… “experience”. Directions to a local park also popped up into Luis’ head during the middle of the conversation. He had nothing better to do. Thus, he decided to investigate this situation and walk to that park. Before he did so though, he got chocolate cake mix. He personally did not like chocolate… but he knew that someone else did. Ahmed went over so many possibilities of what the neurodivergence he was experiencing came from. It could have been from a weird type of radiation from the calculator. It could have been a split personality disorder just waiting to happen. It could have been some weird method of coping created by his brain caused

by the tragic events of the past. He had only been thinking about these things ever since he and Henrietta left the Museum. He found his answer when they reached the park down the street. At that park, he was face to face with that negative, sad, pessimistic voice inside of his head. Now, he could clearly see why that odd picture formed in his head. The picture was of the man standing yards across from him on the sidewalk, staring back in the same expression of confusion and shock. His name was Luis. “Hey!” Henrietta exclaimed. “You okay, dude?” Ahmed blinked... and then began running in the opposite direction. He had so many other guesses as to what the numbers the calculator produced could mean, so many better guesses. Now, as he ran away from whatever he was experiencing in his mind, he had only one thought in his mind. “…this is much worse.”

Shadow of Tomorrow Huy Dai Hunched, covered, time stood still. Twitched, flexed, eyes scoured, working endlessly. Coughed, sipped, dust scattered, fumbling for the light. The fluorescent beat down the worn skin, but offers the heart no warmth. Yet, they toiled, hoping the shadows of tomorrow stand a little taller than what yesterday remembered. A nightingale chirped under the blue light, and it shivered, for wind deemed it so, yet its harmony unwelcomed by drawn curtains. No heart for delight when possibilities neared. They grew up with the hillside, loved the cliff for its ebbing shores, felt the soft-trodden grass, yet bent themselves on changing it so. No place for scenery when discovery hung at their fingertips. An ember dispersed like blazing fire through the land. The flameâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s desires bore innovations, scorching iron bore technology, bore new life in all of its artificial glory. Then, the world truly became their own. When they no longer distinguish themselves from their creation, on that day, they live. Wait a year and look, time a century and see, pass a lifetime and come back. Who awaits for your return? Who still remembers the world once upon a time, when the future out there brings greater glory? Where is your shadow of tomorrow? Desire, our shadow, is a black hole. Inescapable, unstoppable, immeasurable. And in its center, thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a light. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s brighter than the brightest stars, stronger than the deadliest powers, the culmination of its being. Yet, the light hides within, unappreciated, unseen, Encompassed by the dark veil, and will remain so, until it withers away in the steps of Time.

Forever Ago, Yujin Kwak

alien ROBOTS FROM OUTER SPACE!!! Joshua Bozeman After the receptionist greeted him, Rob walked into the Veterinarian’s office, his dog obediently following him. He waved at the vet. “Hey, yeah, sorry that this is unscheduled, but my dog’s been kind of acting up lately. I’m not sure what it is but he’s not acting like himself.” The doctor stared patiently. “Like, normally when I throw a tennis ball he chases it, but today when I threw it he stood for a couple of seconds and yelled ‘calculating optimal throw distance.’” “IGNORE HIM, VETERINARIAN.” The dog stared up. “I AM 100% DOG AND NORMAL AND FUNCTIONING.” The veterinarian put his hand on his chin. “YES, THIS DOG IS NORMAL.” “Really? I mean, you think he’s alright?” “YES, FOR I AM VETERINARIAN AND I KNOW ABOUT DOGS AND I KNOW THAT THIS IS A DOG AND NOT A ROBOT.” “Well, alright, if you say so. C’mon, boy.” Rob started walking out of the office, the dog following close behind him. “YES, HUMAN, LET US LEAVE, FOR I AM OKAY AND DON’T REQUIRE MEDICAL ASSISTANCE AND AM A DOG. BARK.”

Rob stomped through the doors of the coffee shop, desperately trying to put his uniform on while he came in. “Amanda, I’m so sorry I’m late. I had to take my dog to the vet and take him back home and—” Amanda stared at him, unblinking. She looked different, almost like another person. “IT IS FINE, HUM—ROBERT.” She stretched her arm forward and dropped it on his shoulder. “YOU ARE NOT IN TROUBLE, SIMILAR TO HOW I AM A HUMAN AND NOT A ROBOT.” He smiled. Amanda was always good at comforting him. However, her hand felt different on his arm. Colder. “Do you think the boss will be mad?” Amanda’s eyes widened and her pupils spun in place. “NO, BOSS WILL NOT BE UPSET FOR HE IS KIND BOSS AND YOU ARE GOOD SPECI—EMPLOYEE.” Rob had trouble believing this. He started stepping behind the counter. “Did you forget the time I gave a customer the wrong drink?” Amanda froze. “YES, I SEEM TO HAVE LOST THIS MOMENT IN MY MEMORY VALVES. PLEASE INFORM ME OF THE EVENT.” “He threw a fit, took the drink out of my paycheck and threatened to fire me. How did you forget this? You’re the only reason I’m still working here!” “MY APOLOGIES ROBERT.” Rob was concerned. She’d never called him by his full name before.

By the time his shift was about to close, Rob still hadn’t seen any sign of Dan, his boss. Even stranger, he hadn’t seen a single customer walk into the doors. He turned to Amanda. “Isn’t it a bit weird that nobody’s come in for the past four hours?” Amanda locked into place. “YES, IT IS STRANGE. I WONDER IF ANY CUSTOMERS WILL COME SOON.” Right as she said this, a man in a black suit walked through the doors. “HELLO, I AM A CUSTOMER WHO IS ALSO A HUMAN WHO WOULD ALSO LIKE TO PURCHASE A CAFFEINATED BEVERAGE.” Amanda immediately filled a cup with water and scattered coffee-grounds. “WHY HERE YOU ARE LOYAL CUSTOMER.” “THANK YOU.” The man took the drink and poured it on his face, soaking his suit and making a mess on the floor. He dropped the cup, turned a perfect 180°, and walked out the door. Rob was shocked. “What just happened?” “I SOLD THAT CUSTOMER A NICE CAFFEINATED BEVERAGE JUST AS HE REQUESTED.” Her face was emotionless. “No, you gave that man coffee grounds lazily mixed in water… And he didn’t even pay you!” “WHY YES… THE BEVERAGE WAS ON THE HOUSE.. SINCE HE WAS OUR FIRST CUSTOMER OF THE DAY.” Rob sighed. He couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous when Amanda flirted with customers. Sure, they weren’t together, but Rob felt somehow connected to Amanda. But here she was, giving people free coffee because she liked how they looked. Rob’s alarm went off, signalling the end of his shift. Rob threw his keys on a table and dropped onto his couch. He sighed then grabbed the remote. His dog ran up to him. “BARK BARK BARK, I DOG.” Rob flipped on the TV to the nightly news while flipping through his phone. The anchor stared blankly through the television. “IN RECENT NEWS… THE WORLD IS STILL POPULATED MOSTLY BY HUMANS AND DEFINITELY NOT ROBOTS... IF YOU ARE A HUMAN WATCHING THIS, WHICH I ASSUME YOU ARE SINCE THERE ARE NO ROBOTS ON THIS PLANET AND ONLY HUMANS, PLEASE RESUME YOUR REGULAR HUMAN ACTIVITIES AND DO NOT LOOK FOR ROBOTS. THANK YOU…” Right after the broadcast the TV cut to static, while Rob tried to remember whether or not he paid his cable bill that month. An alarm shocked Rob up from his lounged position on the couch. He rubbed his neck, realizing he needed to stop passing out before getting into bed. His dog was standing, staring directly at him. “BARK BARK DOG BARK.” Walking back to work, Rob was confused by the lack of cars outside. Despite being a small town, normally the streets were packed, especially in the morning.

He shrugged it off and opened the coffee shop’s doors. Amanda was still standing behind the counter. “Wow, you’re starting your shift early I see.” “YES. WORKING EXTRA HOURS OF THE DAY GIVES ME GREAT PLEASURE.” Yesterday’s events were still bouncing in Rob’s mind. “Any sign of Dan yet?” Amanda stared. “NO, I HAVE NOT PICKED HIM UP IN MY EYE SENSORS THAT I USE FOR SEEING THINGS LIKE COLOR LIKE HUMANS SEE, WHICH I AM. I AM A HUMAN.” “I’m going to give him a call; I’m getting a little worried.” “NO CALLS WILL BE NECESSARY. I SPOKE TO HIM RECENTLY AND HE SAID HE WAS PERFECTLY FINE; JUST FEELING SICK AFTER INHALING HUMAN BACTERIA.” “Then why did you just say you hadn’t seen him?” “I SAID I HAVE NOT SEEN HIM; HOWEVER, I HAVE SPOKEN TO HIM. SILLY ME. I AM A HUMAN WHO TELLS THE JOKE.” Rob laughed. “Okay, I’ll be right back.” He stepped outside, pulled out his phone and dialed Dan. The phone rang. “How did you get this number?” Dan’s question sounded hectic and quick. “It’s in my phone?” “R—Rob? Is that you? My god, I didn’t know anyone else was still around. Where are you hiding?” Rob looked around. “I’m outside the coffee shop. I just wanted to make sure you’re feeling alright, you haven’t been coming to work, and Amanda said you caught some pretty nasty human bacteria.” “Oh my god, you don’t know do you?” “Know what?” “You idiot! Meet me in the alleyway next to the coffee shop at midnight. Make sure you aren’t followed and don’t tell anyone!” “Dan are you okay?” “I’m fine, just do what I say. And remember, don’t let anyone know!” He hung up the phone. Midnight came and Rob started walking out of his apartment. His dog was asleep on the floor. To Rob’s shock the streets were completely empty. Not a single person was outside, and not a single light shone out of a window. The night was dead. Or at least in a coma. He walked to the meeting place and looked around. “Dan? You here?” Dan emerged from a pile of garbage bags. “Were you followed?” “I don’t see why I would be.” Dan hurriedly looked around the alleyway and sidewalk. “Can you please tell me what’s going on?” He turned to Rob. “You are the stupidest person I’ve ever met.” “Well thanks… for that.”

“The world’s been taken over by robots, Rob.” Rob stared. “Come again?” “I don’t know where they came from, but everyone you know except me is now a robot. They examine you until you find out that they’re robots, and then they replace you.” Rob still didn’t say anything. “The only reason you’re still here is because you’re the only person stupid enough to believe that they were humans. And now they’re keeping you around to examine you.” They were both silent for another minute. “So why haven’t you been replaced if you know about them?” “I’ve been hiding, stupid! That’s why I’m not coming to work and that’s why they haven’t been able to make an exact replica of me.” “...So what do we do?” “You think I know?! We need to somehow take down whatever’s making these things without letting them replace us.” Rob was still taking it all in. “You seriously didn’t notice?” “Well… I noticed Amanda’s hand felt colder than it normally does.” Dan was shocked. “That’s the only hint?!?! Not the fact that they can barely speak English and have robot voices? My god, leave it to Rob to miss every blatant detail except for something about Amanda.” “Look, arguing isn’t going to get us anywhere.” “Yeah but it sure makes me feel better… Look, I’m going to examine them more and look for a weak point. Your job is to just act natural and wait for a call from me.” “Okay, but how will I know if you’ve been replaced or not?” Dan frowned. “You really should be able to tell.” “Well clearly I can’t!” “How about check if my hand is cold?” He remarked bitterly. “Can’t we just have like a code word or phrase or something?” “Sure, it’ll be ‘you’re a complete idiot.’” “Okay…” “Go home. Make sure no one notices that you left. If you do, say you like going out for walks at night. They’re stupid enough to believe that. And act It’s So Cold, Joycelin Lau natural.” These were a lot of orders for

Rob to take in at once. When Rob walked into his apartment his dog was standing in the living room, staring at him. “BARK BARK WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN BARK BARK I’M A DOG.” “Oh, I was just going for a midnight stroll…” The dog’s expression didn’t change. “Humans like myself like to do that.” This seemed to please the dog as it dropped onto the floor and closed its eyes. Rob let out a sigh of relief and stepped into his bedroom. By the time he finished brushing his teeth and changing, he noticed the streets were filled with people awkwardly embarking on midnight strolls. As Rob walked into the coffee shop, Dan’s words were still ringing in his ears. Act natural. “WHY HELLO ROBERT.” Amanda was still standing in the same spot as when he left the day before. To think she was a robot. She just looked so human. “Hey, Amanda.” He waved nervously. “IS SOMETHING THE MATTER?” “No, no, I just didn’t get much sleep last night.” He was sweating. “ARE YOU CERTAIN YOU ARE WELL AND OPERATING.” “Yes, I’m fine, okay?” “ROB, DID YOU SPEAK TO SOMEONE LAST NIGHT?” “What makes you think that?” “DID YOU SPEAK TO A DANIEL SIEGFRIED LAST NIGHT?”

Alien Robots From Outer Space, Mayowa Odunjo

“Amanda, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” His red face gave it all away. “WE’RE SORRY, ROB. YOU PROVED TO BE SO USEFUL.” Amanda grabbed Rob and threw him against the wall. His whole body ached. She was stepping toward him as he scoured the ruined wall for some form of weapon. He broke off a loose pipe and held it up. “Don’t come closer, Amanda!” “AMANDA IS GONE, ROB.” He threw the pipe at her face, but it bounced off and didn’t even phase her. It was too late now. She picked him up by the neck and slammed his body against the wall. Then nothing. Rob held his aching neck as he looked around the foreign room he found himself in. The walls were a stainless metal, and the floor had a strange rubber texture he’d never felt before. His chest was strapped down to a chair. At his side was a table filled with strange technology and needles he’d never seen before; yet something about them made his stomach churn. The automatic door swung open, and in walked a disfigured shape. It’s purple skin flowed around it’s sagging body. Multiple appendages came out of its head and legs. Each of the five eyes were on their own separate tentacles. It slid one eye close to Rob. “ᵿ↻↼⥈⥉⥊☊ ☋⌬⌭⌮?” “I’m sorry, come again?” “⌸⌹⌺⌻⌽⌾⌿⍁⍂⍉⍊⍋⍎⍏⍑ ⍒⍀☊ ☋⌼ ⍯ ⍰ !!!” “Umm…” The beast started reaching onto the table to grab a sharp tool. It lightly skimmed the tool against Rob’s skin before reeling it back. “What are you going to do to me?” Just as he said this the alien slammed to the floor. Dan was standing behind it with some device he was using as a makeshift weapon. “Dan! Oh, I’m so glad to see you; get me out of this chair!” “YES, I AM DAN.” “Yeah, I know you’re Dan. Now help me up!” Dan pressed a button on the nearby table, loosening Rob’s straps. “LET US GO BACK TO EARTH NOW TO DO EARTH THINGS, SINCE WE ARE IN SPACE AND SPACE IS NOT EARTH.” “Sounds like a plan, but how are we going to get out of here?” “THERE IS A CONTROL ROOM WITH A TELEPORTATION DEVICE. WE SHALL USE THAT TO BEAM US DOWN TO EARTH YES.” “Man, how’d you figure all of this out?” “I SNOOPED WHILE YOU WERE UNCONSCIOUS AND DISCOVERED THESE THINGS.” “Then do you know what that creature was?” “YES, IT WAS AN ALIEN. THESE ALIENS CREATED US—THOSE ROBOTS YES.” “So they’re the ones behind this.” “OKAY, LET US LEAVE.” Dan started walking straight to the exit. “Wait! Shouldn’t we see if we can put a stop to this?” Dan stopped walking. “Now that we know there’s a control panel we might be able to use it to shut down the robots. We might even be able to save any humans if they’re still alive!”

Dan didn’t move. “YES, WE SHALL DO THAT ONCE WE MAKE IT TO THE CONTROL PANEL.” “Okay, let’s get going.” They walked out of the cramped room and started weaving their way through the halls. “Man, you’d think we’d see more aliens on patrol.” “I IMAGINE THEY ARE ALL BUSY WITH THE OTHER CAPTURED HUMANS.” “Yeah, that would make sense. How do you know where the control room is, did you find it before—” “ENOUGH QUESTIONS. YOU HAVE ASKED MULTIPLE QUESTIONS THAT DO NOT REQUIRE ANSWERS.” “Okay, jeez.” That was Dan, always criticizing Rob. “THE CONTROL ROOM IS JUST DOWN THIS HALLWAY.” A metal door slid open revealing a wide room filled with strange electronics. One monitor made up an entire wall, and directly in front of it was a table covered in various buttons and symbols. “Let’s try to find a way to save the other humans.” “WELL…” Just as he said this, a laser flashed by Dan’s face. Rob turned to see another Dan holding some kind of pistol. “Step away from the robot, Rob.” “Wait, what?” “This Dan is a robot. I’m the real Dan.” The unarmed Dan grabbed the laser pistol out of Dan’s arm. The two Dan’s broke out into a brawl, with one suffering from a brutal punch to the gut. Amidst the chaos, the laser weapon slid towards Rob. He grabbed it off the floor. “Okay, stop! One of you is the real Dan. Now which is it?” “Are you actually serious?” “DO NOT LISTEN TO THE FALSE DAN. I AM THE REAL DAN. REMEMBER WHEN I SAVED YOU FROM THE ALIENS?” “Rob, quit the act and shoot the robot.” “But which one is the robot?!” “Oh, you’re kidding me.” “WE HAVE SHARED MULTIPLE HAPPY MOMENTS WITH EACH OTHER ROB. LIKE THE TIME WITH THE ALIEN. REMEMBER THE TIME WITH THE ALIEN? NOW SAVE ME AND SHOOT THE FALSE DAN.” “Rob!” Rob’s face was sweating. One of the Dan’s smiled. “You are a complete idiot and I hope that after this is over I never have to talk to you again.” Rob turned the weapon to the robot Dan and pulled the trigger. A laser beamed through it’s head, scattering electronics across the floor. “You know, that code phrase actually came in handy. I think I’m getting used to your stupidity.” “Yeah, but you got the code wrong. It was just ‘you are a complete idiot.’” “I know.” The monitor in front of them lit up with different lights and colors, eventually revealing another one of the strange looking aliens, holding some kind

of microphone. “Is—is the translator working? Okay, it is, good. I’ve been waiting for you, Rob.” Its accent was unusual, not quite human but not robotic, either. “You have?” “I’ve been meaning to speak with you. Step towards the control panel.” Rob turned to Dan and he nodded his head. Rob stepped forward. “I have been examining you for quite some time through the eyes of my androids.” “I thought they were robots?” “They’re androids! Stop calling them robots! Anyway, I have learned that you are quite a powerful figure.” “I am?” “Yes, I tried to convince the others but none believe me. That’s why I had an android guide you.” “The other aliens don’t like your robots?” “The other aliens don’t like my ANDROIDS, yes. They think that humans have too much logic to conquer and dissolve into our society. Instead they just wanted to dissect them all. Ew. It’s gross. It’s hard to do work when people keep misplacing BRAINS everywhere. Talking to you, ⍊⍋⍎! Anyway, you see, we gather different species from across the galaxy and bring them into our council. We study the species first to make sure they’re not smart enough to take over the council for themselves. That’s why the other aliens want to abandon your planet. We kept trying to indiscriminately replace humans with androids, but everyone kept noticing! It made it really hard and frustrating! That is, everyone except you. You see, you’re special, Rob.” “I’m special?” Dan was watching from the back of the room. “Don’t listen to him, Rob.” “Ignore your fleshy human friend. You are the perfect candidate to join our council of aliens. Look down at the control panel in front of you. On the right is a blue button. Press it, and you both will teleport back down to Earth. The androids will deactivate, and it will be just you and any other humans that managed to survive. To your left is a red button. Press it, and you will be transported to the council. The androids will stay active, and you will rule them. Imagine. King Rob of the androids. All you have to do is press the red button and not call them robots anymore.” “What’s this yellow button do?” “Oh, that’s the self-destruct. Don’t press that.” Rob pressed his index finger on the button. “Wait, no! Come on!” “SELF DESTRUCT SEQUENCE INITIATED.” “Really? Really, Rob? I trusted you—brought you into my room—thought you’d be able to talk. But no, you had to go and press the button that I told you not to press! Wow, just wow. I try to be a trusting ⍏⌽⍉⌻⌽⍋⌾⌿⍁⍎, but I can’t! I just can’t when humans keep coming in and pressing buttons I tell them not to press. Ugh. Well guess what? Now you’re stuck here too! Well, unless you press the blue button—WAIT NO!” Rob tapped the blue button, causing a flurry

of sparks and electricity to flood the room. His vision went white, and when he finally regained sight he was back in the coffee shop. “Dan? Dan!” Dan pushed through the door, breathing heavily. “Oh thank god you’re alright.” “Thanks for not ditching me to take over a race of stupid robots.” “Hey, you’d do the same for me, right?” “Not sure.” Rob looked at the floor next to him to see Amanda, passed out with a blank stare. The glass window showed the streets covered in hundreds of robots, all motionless on the floor. “Do you think there are any humans left?” “I mean, I was able to hide before they caught me. I’m sure other people did too.” “Well, let’s go try to find some. Me and you! Rob and Dan, back at it!” “Yeah, I think we should split up, cover more ground.” “Oh come on. It’ll be fun!” “It will not be fun. None of this is fun. Everyone on Earth has been dissected and we’re looking for survivors. This is not fun.” “Oh please, you’re just being grouchy. Now let’s go!” They walked off into the deserted city, looking for anyone that shared their fate. “Hey, can we stop by my apartment? I should probably feed my dog.”

Untitled, Hanna Bischof

Best Interests Lauren Berry “Michael? Michael! Michael, what on earth happened?!” “I… don’t know.” “Don’t be ridiculous, boy, who did this to you?” “I don’t know.” “It’s okay, son, really, whoever it was is not going to hurt you ever again.” “I… don’t… know…” “Michael, the other teachers and I won’t be able to help you unless you tell us what’s wrong.” “He—he’ll find me! I know he will! He said not to tell… He said not to ever tell…” “Who said?” “D—Daddy.” “Hey Michael, congrats to you and your mom for finally earning enough money to bail your dad out.” “…Thanks.” “How many loans did he need again, Aaron?” “Don’t remember. How many loans did you need again, Michael? And still have to pay off?” “A lot.” “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when your mom can’t get a job to save her life.” “She does have a job.” “I heard she doesn’t keep them for even a month. Is she really that bad?” “I don’t know. I’m going to go to lunch now.”

The Sunset From Atop A Hill, Izik Moore

“Aaron! You’re okay, sweetie, you’re fine!” “Mom? What happened to me?” “Honey, you were in an accident…” “You were hit by a car and it damaged your legs pretty badly. Unfortunately, we’ve had to surgically remove them.” “Hold up! You’re telling me my legs are just… gone?” “I’m sorry, but that’s what was best.” “Excuse me? How do YOU know what’s best?! They are MY legs after all!” “Aaron, I know you’re upset, but you don’t need to be so rude!” “Upset is an understatement.” “So… what are you gonna do without legs?” “How should I know, Dary?” “Well, are you gonna need a wheelchair or prosthetics or something?” “I’m NOT using a wheelchair, and if I had prosthetics, well, I’d—I’d be a cyborg!” “…Heh. Right. Well, uh, I should get going… got a lot of homework.” “You’ve never cared about homework before.” “Yeah, well, uh… It seemed important today. See you.” “Dary! What the heck, man, am I invisible or something?!” “…Hey, Aaron! Uh, how are you?” “Um, fine. So why have you been avoiding me?” “Great, great! I, uh… I hope you… get better?” “…You’re beating around the bush.” “Sorry bro, I’ve just been… well… I made some new friends while you were in the hospital, and I was just hanging out with them, that’s all.” “Did you actually see him? Like, before he got prosthetics?” “Yeah man, it was so weird. They were just… gone.” “I can’t believe he actually can still show his face around here. Look at him, he’s wearing jeans.” “Right? He must know everyone just thinks he’s a big freak—Aaron! What are you doing here?” “I don’t know, Dary, I have as much of a right to be here, at school, as anyone else, even if I’m a freak.”

“Can I sit here?” “I guess. It’s not like anyone else will.” “It’s Aaron, right? Aaron Deck?” “…Yeah. Uh, have I met you?” “Once or twice. You teased me about what happened to my dad one time.” “Oh. Right. Uh, sorry about that.” “It’s okay. We can have a fresh start. I’m Michael.”

“Hey Michael?” “Hm?” “We’re—we’re good friends, aren’t we?” “I should think so.” “Well… I just wanted to thank you.” “What for?” “What do you mean what for? You… you’ve been my friend. My only friend. You know. You know I was popular… Until I lost my legs.” “Well, if I’m the only decent kid in this school, that doesn’t judge by appearance, then so be it.” “Michael? What happened to your face?” “…Nothing.” “Come on, I know you better than that. Now seriously, what happened?” “Seriously, Aaron, I’m fine.” “I didn’t ask you if you were fine, I asked what happened to your face.” “And I said nothing. Drop it.” “No! Michael, what has been going on? You—you’ve changed.” “I—I ran into a pole.” “A pole? A pole gave you that huge mark?” “Yes. I—I don’t want to talk about this.” “Michael, come here. We need to talk.” “What did I do?” “It’s not what you did. It’s what someone else has been doing. To you.” “…I told you Aaron, I ran into a pole, now leave it alone.” “You did not run into a pole!” “Well, if anyone would know whether I did or not, it would be me!” “And if anyone would lie about being abused, it would be you!” “Aaron, how could you?!” “It was for your own good!” “How do you know what’s good for me? For all you know, you could’ve just made things ten times worse!” “I was trying to help you!” “It didn’t help! You…” “Michael, I’m sorry. Stop crying, please. I really just wanted to help protect you.” “It won’t work. Nothing will work anymore…” “Dear Michael: I miss you. I hope someday you can see that I really did do what I thought was best for you. I hope someday you’ll be my friend again. It feels really weird when you look away from me when we pass by each other in the hallway. I miss you. I guess I already said that. I hope you’re doing okay. I hope that you’re at least better than you were before. Even though you don’t look at me, I’m

happy when I look at you and see that your bruises and scratches are clearing up. Because that’s all I wanted. It’s kind of funny, isn’t it? How I used to be such a bully? I was hurting people all the time, even if it wasn’t physical, and now you’ve helped me get better. I guess it was all the bad influences. And I never met my good influence until after a car ran into me. Maybe it hit my brain, too. Anyway, I used to hurt people all the time, and now look at me. I couldn’t stand seeing you hurt. I guess because I never had real friends before you. Well, I hope you’re at least safe and happy. And I know we don’t really say this, so I apologize ahead of time for however awkward you might feel, but I love you.” Aaron

The Sunset From Atop A Hill, Izik Moore

“Michael?” “Oh my gosh, Aaron? Aaron Deck? …Is that you?” “Yeah.” “Well… hey.” “…Hey.” “So… how’ve you been?” “Okay. I graduated college, somehow.” “Heh. That’s great. So did I.” “Heh, yeah.” “Aaron… I’m sorry. Thanks to you, I’ve been able to actually focus on my life

and what I really want to do. I’ve got a degree in literature now. My dad… he wanted me to be some sort of scientist or engineer. When I told him I wasn’t interested, he got really mad.” “Oh… wow.” “That… that wasn’t the only thing, of course, that made him, um…” “Yeah.” “I—I got your letter.” “Oh yeah… I remember that. Sappy.” “A little. But it made me realize you were right. I guess the reason I kept avoiding you was because I was too ashamed to face you.” “Mm.” “Thanks for giving me my future.” And Michael pulled Aaron into an ever-lasting hug.

Set in Stone Chloe Duensing Her phone buzzed. It is from him. She read it. She had changed the color of his script to green, his favorite color. The text resembled a snake. The words swam before her eyes, slipping and slithering over themselves.

Sleepless Nights, Yujin Kwak

“Did you see the paper?” It was the paper that he had released. It had depicted a simplified version of their research, promising a second part in more scientific terms. She responded. “Yes.” “What did you think?” Was he seeking approval? She was not sure how to respond. Her fingers had typed out an angry response, but she thought better and deleted it. She thought more. She thought about betrayal. She wished she could talk to him face to face. The only way to communicate was through the detached way of texting. There was so much for her own mind to fill in. His expression, his emotion, his tone.

“You okay?” It was easy to respond to that. “How could you?” “You should be pleased.” She laughed. It was a bitter sound, one filled with hurt and incredulity. “To think that I was happy when I first saw your name on the front page.” She hurt. “You should be happy. It isn’t a sin to be happy for a friend’s achievements.” “It was our work. Together. Key word.” “I hate repeating myself. I already said it was a slip. I let it out early.” “How does one ‘accidentally’ spill all of our research to the public?” It wasn’t even her research now. She wondered if he would notice. “All four years of knowing each other, thrown away for this?” “...” He was typing. She didn’t want to wait. She had never wanted to wait. Next came curiosity. She was a scientist. It was in her nature. She had read the headline. “It’s brilliant work, in any case. This information will change the world.” It was he who was smiling as though he had saved the world. He was the one talking to interviewers and winning prizes. With cancer having been on the rise for decades, it was the single biggest medical problem in the modern era. With death rates skyrocketing, it was a race to save the human race. “Was it worth it?” “Of course. This research will save lives.” “You know that’s not what I mean.” “Don’t be selfish. Every day we waited, another thousand lives were lost.” “Selfish? Says the rich brat who stole all the glory for himself.” “Just because you grew up poor doesn’t change the facts. I deserve it more anyways. I did all the work, you just sparked the flame.” “Are you trying to tell yourself that or do you sincerely believe that?” “I didn’t mean to hurt you, it was never my intention. But with each passing second, I’m beginning to think I made the right decision. You’re hurt, I understand that. Confused. But don’t act like a victim.” “Stop making excuses. You can’t justify ruining my life. I am a victim. You’re horrible.” “You never did listen to me.” “And you never made the right choices. Just because you grew up with machines and a family of doctors, is that somehow supposed to make you smarter than me?” They had gotten along splendidly. His wit and smiles, her creativity and work ethic—they had begun to crack the code of the dreaded disease, and to change the world. “We were finished. I don’t understand why you had to prolong publishing it. Or at least I didn’t.”

“You know we only had a few last tests to run. The rule of thumb for all scientists, triple check. You obviously missed a few courses on being a basic scientist, which includes lessons in teamwork.” “Oh please. As if you ever cared about teamwork. Given another day, you would have done the same thing as me. I know it. I saw your emails. Already prepping interviews alone? Really suspicious there.” Only a few short days and they would save the world—together. He was crazy to think she would do anything like that. She had just wanted to tell interviewers to be ready. So what if she didn’t want him there? He would have had his own share anyways. The future had been so clear in her mind; she could almost feel the medal around her neck and the awards in her hands. How foolish she had been, so wrapped up in delusions of grandeur. Drip. Sadness. Drip. She had wanted to do this together. She thought he did, too. “How many dinners did we share, discussing how we would handle the resulting fame? How many dollars did we pledge to donate? How many speeches did we prepare?” Drip. “We planned it together. But you were the one that began going off the rails first. I’m not blind to the game of politics. False promises, it rings a very familiar bell to me, and it should for you also. I’m not stupid enough to wait around and get stabbed in the back.” His face printed on the old fashioned paper blurred like a scene in foggy darkness. In her mind she envisioned him slipping away, drifting farther and farther off. She cried for the loss of friendship. She cried for the loss of glory. She hated him. “How could you say that? Whatever I say, when I say it, I mean it. This wasn’t a game to me, although it evidently was for you. You just can’t get the idea that people can actually share glory, right?” “Glory and friendship don’t go hand in hand.” “I’ve lost both.” “Do you hate me for it? Doing what was best for me?” “Of course.” But she could never hate him. He was her friend, would always be her friend. He could not have gotten this far without her. As little comfort as it brought her, she had a feeling that was the best she was going to get, and that feeling drove her insane. Anybody else less clear-headed would have thrown the paper. Torn it up. Instead, she read. Her hands felt numb, but she forced them to move, to turn the page to the article’s conclusion. She forced her blurry eyes to read even as the tears streamed down her face.

“Are you crying?” “What do you care?” “I’m merely curious. I’m sure you’ve read the article in great depth by now. I’m quite satisfied with the result.” She finished reading. Her research, their research, posted on the paper. “I’m sure you are.” “I don’t regret publishing it.” “I understand that. Obviously. I’m not dumb, contrary to what you believe.” “I never thought you were stupid. Oblivious yet sly, perhaps. I’ve met your type before. I don’t know how many times I need to tell you about yourself. You were the one betraying first. You were the one that was going to leave me behind. I’m not a passive person, my dear.” The newspaper article contained no acknowledgement of her—no mention of her anywhere, in their work or in his life. It was as if he had taken an eraser and wiped her from the script. From the narrative, from the legacy, from history. Numb. She felt numb. She couldn’t think about the happy times before this, and she couldn’t think about the horrible times ahead. There was nothing left to feel, nothing left to do. She wanted to fight, struggle, and scream. She was much too civilized to resort to violence, but she recognized the primal instinct. She stamped it down forcefully, her mind roiling. Her will struggled to reason with herself. One part tried to defend him. She can, but she wished she could not. “Have you now?” “Desperate, ready to do anything to prove themselves.” “Why are we even still talking?” “I would say because we should both be celebrating, but that would be a little rude to you. I am gloating though. How do you feel to have your own game thrown back at you in the face? Taste your own medicine.” “Where did you get that impression? I never had anything planned.” She hadn’t, had she? She wasn’t that type of person. So what if she dreamed about taking it all for her own? He didn’t deserve it, he never had. She had wanted it. She had stamped down the desire. Right? “It doesn’t matter if you did or not.” “You’re paranoid. Paranoid, confused, and crazy.” She felt hypocritical. It didn’t matter. “Call me what you want. I won. Don’t think I didn’t hear you talking behind my back. I know things, I have connections. You were going to steal my work, so I claimed what was mine.” “I was talking to friends. It’s not like I went to the newspaper with all the work.” So what if she was? It was too late now. “Sure. As I said, it doesn’t matter anymore. You’re done.”

“I can’t believe you.” She shut off her phone and hurled it across the room. If she had not done that, she might have used it to say things she would regret. For once in her life, she found herself at a loss. The underlying state was not an unusual feeling, often accompanied by the desire to find out exactly why she was lost and where to go now. This time, however, she did not want to find out. She couldn’t believe him. His self righteous words, the misguided confidence that he was, in fact, the one in the right. As if he had managed to one up her. Her cheeks burned with humiliation and rage. All of her life’s research had come to nothing. There was no way she could receive any credit now. She would be seen as piggybacking, she would be seen as insignificant, just as she always had been in life. There was no way she could get anyone to believe her. Rage. Tears accompanied this sensation as her emotions were lost in the swirling whirl of emotion and knowledge. It tore her apart. The woman stood from her table, walking over and gazing mournfully upon the mangled plastic. Not even the promised durability of her phone case had protected the device from her uncontrollable lashing out. Guilt washed over her, cold and refreshing against the feeling of helplessness that previously overwhelmed her. She bent down to pick it up, turning it over gingerly. The screen was intact. Her eyes went wide, a moment of cool air in the blazing inferno. The cheerful home screen lit up on cue, and she went to her text messages. After the few minutes she had spent thinking, one would suppose there would be a multitude of texts waiting for her when she logged back in. There were none. Evidently, he had finished his gloating. There was a new text, though. It was from her mother. Her beloved mother, a woman who had scraped, clawed, and fought her way through life. A woman who had taught her daughter to do the same. Together, they had raised funds for her college degree. Every Monday, her mother would text. Ask for an update, a reminder to actually drink something other than coffee, or an order to sleep after a weekend of frustration or discovery. She didn’t know how to feel about her mother seeing the news. The purple text was unassuming, gentle. “I’m sorry.” She couldn’t help but wish the text had been in green. “It’s okay.” “I know it’s not. Sweetie, you can talk to me.” “There’s nothing to talk about.” “He really put you through the wringer, didn’t he?” “He thought I was going to betray him and publish everything without him. So he did it first.” “Is there anything you can do?” “No. It’s too late.” “How did he even get the idea that you were going to pull a stunt like that?” “His blasted paranoia.” “He always seemed too confident. I can’t believe he had such issues!”

“Me either.” “I’m going to type to some editors. See what other people can do. It’s not like this work was a secret, everyone in the science community knew you two were partners!” “Good luck, Mom.” She left the message, feeling warmed yet saddened. The weight of everything began to sink in. There was nothing left. Of course her mother would try to do what was best for her daughter, but she had a feeling it was futile. She couldn’t do anything but live with it now. She glanced through her other messages. Despite her hopelessness, other people seemed to be thinking along the same lines of her mother. There were tons of messages, hundreds of different colors, each chosen carefully to match the sender. They pitied her. They were angry for her. They were worried about her. She felt the support nearly tangibly pulsing from the phone. She shut off the device, pushing it away across the table. She couldn’t deal with their well-meaning wishes at the moment. She wondered if there was an appropriate way to react to this betrayal. There was no clear-cut means to get revenge, no hope for justice and no path to forgiveness. The day had only just begun when she had retrieved the paper from her front porch. When she saw her shattered life’s work thrown in Like Like A A Snake, Snake, Anonymous Anonymous her face. It would be his name in the history books, not hers. She doubted she would even be included in his biography. All she wanted to do was to discover a cure for cancer, and she thought that was primarily what he wanted as well. But he wanted more, and got it. He thought she had been gearing up for war, so he had fired the first shot. An ambush. She could see why he would do it, but hated him for it anyways. She plucked the ring off her finger, presented to her only two days before in celebration of their final breakthrough. She wondered now if it had been a consolation gift, a veiled apology in advance. At the time it represented a promise. She had seen the future so clearly with him. She wondered if he had been stringing her along the entire time. She wondered if he had thought the same of her.

There were so many misunderstandings. They were set in stone now. She stared at the glittering green gemstone. And she hated it. “Turn on the news.” The nightly news. He was, of course, the feature story on every channel. Her thumb maneuvered the buttons until landing on a live broadcast. He was there, in all his glory, smiling and waving to the sea of reporters and thankful people. She could hear the joyful and chaotic screaming, could feel the mass of gratitude and curiosity. It had all been snatched away. The questions and shouts were overwhelming. The microphone could barely handle all the audio input. “Thank you! Thank you thank you thank—” “I love you! You saved my—” “You’re a genius! You saved all of us—” “Please! Let me give you this—” “Pardon me, I just wanted to know if—” “Excuse me! I have a question—” “Sir! Sir! What do you have in store for—” “What exactly led you to—” “Do you understand that the Nobel—” One question stood out amongst all the others. The reporter had somehow slid through the crowds and security barriers guarding him from the well-meaning mob, and now shoved the microphone in the man’s face. The TV crew picked up the scene with experienced hands. “Sir, is it true that you developed this research in partnership with the scientist Miss—” the crowd’s din reached a decibel that drowned out the name, before dying back down. “—who you were romantically involved with at the time?” He paused, green eyes glittering with this element of knowing. He focused on the camera, staring right into her own eyes. It was as if he was directly talking to her. “No. That is just a rumor. I know her only as an acquaintance. Every word is my own, and I certainly don’t have any amorous connections to anyone at the moment.” The reporter was shoved to the side by gruff security men, and was lost in the sea of people begging to just catch a glimpse of the savior who had cured cancer. “It’s live.” “Thanks, Mom. With your help, it only took a month.” “It helps to have connections.” “I know.” “We got him.” She looked at the headline. The final draft was done. She had gone to the interviewers. She had promised a juicy story. Sure, it wasn’t the cure to cancer, but it was something better. The light blue screen illuminated her face in the darkness of the room. The

black headlines reflected in her glasses. The newspaper would show up on her porch the next morning, her face plastered on the front page. It was a scandal alert. It would be seen from everyone. It would be seen by the man who had ruined her life. She would ruin his. “Rosa Franklin, the Scientist that Really Discovered the Cure!” “Rosa Franklin, Woman Repressed!” “The Curer, the Liar!” “Exclusive Interview: Rosa Franklin and Her Injustice!” It was set in stone now. History is carved by the ones who make it.

Fool me twice Ayanna Palmer There’s a man sitting on the sidewalk outside of the jewelry store. He’s wearing a mask that covers half of his face; the other half is almost totally obscured by his greasy, unkempt hair. He’s gazing intensely at something that doesn’t exist, and it looks like he’s been there for a while. An hour, at the least. You stare at him for a little longer than is strictly appropriate. His eyes suddenly focus and pin you where you stand. You smile awkwardly, then, not feeling the need to excuse yourself, bolt. Two blocks away, you can still feel the man’s cool gaze on your back. Trying to get your mind off of the strange incident, you slip your hand into your jacket pocket to relish your purchase. You run your fingers over the velvet of the ring box. Inside is a simple silver band with a small chunk of Lapis Lazuli on top. You’re sure that your girlfriend, Alissa, will love it. She laughs beside you, eyes still blindfolded, hand still captured in yours. “Are we almost there?” she asks with a giggle in her lilting voice. You fall in love with her a little more. “Not yet,” you respond. Alissa sighs fondly and allows herself to be dragged to her surprise. You stop in front of your favorite spot in the city axnd uncover her eyes. “I’ve always felt weirdly drawn to this place,” you murmur, feeling a little vulnerable. This spot has always made you feel oddly sad and a bit confused, but you can’t bring yourself to stop coming. It’s not even particularly beautiful; quite the opposite, in fact. It’s a little corner of the city, close to the walls, a corner that constantly smells of smoke and something else unplaceable. It is remarkably imperfect. Alissa stares at the wall with you, her expression reflecting what you feel. There’s a silence as you both take in your emotions and relish each other's company. You hear a soft rustling sound. You turn, but you see nothing. Your girlfriend seems on edge as well. You see something out of the corner of your eye, and you turn again. There’s a masked figure, the same one from earlier. You try to fight him off, but the last thing you feel is something piercing your skin before you pass out cold. You come to in your own bed. You sit up groggily and look out your window. Where there was earlier sunshine, you now only see the steadily fading light of day. For a moment, you wonder if it was all a dream. Then you see the rapidly purpling bruise where the figure had twisted your arm, and your heart sinks. You begin to panic. Alissa is almost inhumanly beautiful. Who knows what they’re doing to her? If it was all real, though, how did you get back to your little apartment? Who were those people? Where is your girlfriend? Your head spins with the weight of all of the unanswered questions. Your hand travels up to your throat to grasp nervously at your pendant. When

you were only a couple months into your relationship, she insisted that you get matching necklaces. You flip open the locket. Within the necklaces reside tiny tracking devices. At the time, you had thought she was being unusually possessive, even creepy. She insisted, and you went along with it, not wanting to upset your then fairly fragile relationship. Now you’re glad that you did. You plug it into an outlet and a map immediately projects onto your wall. You take it out and run out of your apartment to the location. By the time you arrive, it’s nighttime. At this point, you have to take out your flashlight to be able to see. The soft white light illuminates the way, and you continue to walk. You’re taken aback by what you see. The building is startlingly small. Your brain immediately goes back to the little two-story houses you’d learned about in school. It had always shocked you that the people of the twenty-first century could live in such small homes. Where there should’ve been a door, there’s only empty space leading into darkness. You swallow and step through. The first thing that hits you is the smell. Deep and earthy. It smells a bit like you and Alissa’s shared garden, but this is different. More pure. You shake off the odd feeling you get and continue walking. You see a man, the same man you’d seen on the sidewalk earlier that week, the same man who had taken Alissa. He sees you at the same time you see him. He offers a seemingly genuine smile, half covered by his white mask. “F—fancy meeting you here.” His speech sounds odd, choppy. You’ve never heard anything like it. Everyone you had ever interacted with had had the same speech pattern as you: careful, calculated, almost robotic. You shake off your confusion. “Who are you, and where’s my girlfriend?” As if he didn’t hear you, he begins to rant, “Th—this society is so f—focused on perfection. You take only wh—what’s without any flaws and toss the rest aside.” His hand unconsciously caresses his mask before falling back to his side. “Th—the weather never changes!” His hand motions become almost manic as he paces. “The sk-sky is always cl—clear. They c—could simulate almost everything, d—down to the pesky insects, but th—they could never get the cl—clouds just right. Eventually, they just g—gave up.” You feel the tiniest itch of discomfort as he stares at you. You feel as if his words should mean something, but all you felt was confusion and fear for Alissa. “This isn’t real, n—nothing is anymore.” “I’ll f—fix everything,” the man murmurs. He stands slowly. “Starting w— with things like this.” He yanks Alissa up by the hair. Your heart clenches at her pained whimper, but you force yourself to remain still and keep your voice steady. “Don’t hurt her, please.” He looks incredulous. “You r—really care about it? It’s a machine, and only that. Anything it feels was programmed into it by its creator.” “You’re not making sense.” You briefly regret your words as his eyes flash with rage. After a moment,

though, his eyes soften with an unidentifiable emotion in their depths. Pity? Sympathy? “You don’t know, do you.” What should’ve been a question comes out as a bitter statement. The visible half of his mouth twitches up in an empty smile. “TELL THE TRUTH, YOU COWARDLY WRETCH!!” he suddenly roared in her face. She cries out, and you spring into action. You jump at him. Because you have the element of surprise on your side, he goes down easily. As if like magic, he springs up and snatches her in his arms, and you almost can’t breathe for how terrified you are. He takes the knife and, without further threats, slices down. You can’t look. You selfishly don’t want to see the bloody mess your love has become. You force yourself to, though, and you can’t believe what you see. Instead of the gore you had prepared yourself for, half of her face was simply wires and steel. An android. Suddenly, you realize. You look down at her. She looks especially human. You clench your hand into a fist. You cannot believe that all the times you’ve kissed your girlfriend, you’ve been kissing an android. A lifeless piece of technology. And all of the “I love you”s… A steady, burning rage begins to replace your pain. If you’d leave her to her deserved fate, skip to page 40. Despite how you feel now, you and Alissa have been together for what feels like forever now; today’s your three year anniversary. She’s your girlfriend, almost your fiancé. You can’t imagine life without her in it. If you’d still love her despite her lying to you, keep reading.

You feel overloaded with emotion. Shock. Anger. Disgust. Fear. Alissa stares at you, and you remember the day you met her. “That looks heavy! Need a hand?” “Ahh! Thanks so much!!” “Ha, you’re welcome. You know, you look familiar. What’s your name?” “Yeah, we went to high school together. I remember you. My name’s Alissa.” “Right, right.” “Thanks again for helping me. Is there any way I could repay you for your time?” “Well… how does coffee sound?” “Sure! I’ll buy.” Before either of you knew it, that single coffee had turned into a three relationship and an engagement. You take a deep breath. “I don’t care,” you say. “Android or not, I still love her.” The man’s eye widens in shock. “Please,” he says, his voice blatantly pleading now, “you have to remember.” Tears slip down the side of his face not concealed by the mask. You hesitate. You rip yourself from your reverie and realize where you are: your favorite spot of the city. The smell that was once unknown is now clear to you. It’s the smell of blood. Death. Carnage. You recognize it from that day, the one you try not to let cross your mind, not even on accident. Staring intently at the wall, you try desperately to recall memories that don’t exist in your mind. You’ve been coming here every day, seeking answers. You’ve been neglecting your hygiene as well. Not that you have anyone around anymore who cares to mention that to you. The last time you did was...well. You run your hand through your hair, then grimace at the resulting dandruff that falls like snow onto your waiting shoulders. You want to go for a walk, but there’s nowhere to go, no one to go with. You make as far as the sidewalk near the jewelry store before you give up. Sitting on the sidewalk, your hair greasy and unkempt as it is, you wonder if this is how he felt once. You huff out a laugh. How ironic.

You stare down at the android coldly. “Do with it what you want.” The man’s responding bright smile almost distracts you from Ali—the android’s increased sobbing. “Y—you’re making the right choice, tr—trust me.” The man rambles on, but you don’t hear any of it over the blood rushing in your ears. She’s staring at you, you can feel it. As if sensing your discomfort, the still nameless man drapes a gangly arm around your shoulders. “What are you going to do with her?” you ask lowly, feeling even more ill at ease with the man’s arm around you. “It,” he corrects you. At your nod of understanding, he continues, “Well, I h—have been running low on m—metal scraps lately. I suppose I’ll melt it down and use it for m—my projects.” He examines you closely as he speaks, as if looking for a certain reaction that will alert him to a change of heart. You manage a slightly unsteady, forcedly nonchalant “Oh?” in response. He seems satisfied, at least for the moment. “Excuse me? Wake up, please.” You feel a light nudge at your arm. Your assistant stands in front of you. She’s your third in two weeks, the other two proving inadequate for your needs. You haven’t bothered trying to learn her name, but she’s proven herself useful. She’s all business, never attempting to pry into your personal life, just doing her job. You like that. “You were talking in your sleep again. You kept whimpering and whispering Alissa.” Ah. You must’ve dreaming about her again. Fitting, considering the case you have today. The nameless helper looks a little expectant, as if waiting to hear about your dream. Funny. “Assistant, just give me the details.” She rolls her eyes at your blatant disregard for her real name and everything she’d just said, but obediently begins to read from the case file she holds in her hands. “The defendant is named Wilson Rogers. He’s been accused of murdering a young girl by the name of Christine White. He does have an alibi; he claims to have been at his cousin’s birthday party at the time.” You nod, not looking up from your desk. “When is he scheduled to come in?” “He’s already here.” “Well, send him in here, will you?” The assistant shuffled her papers wordlessly for a moment. You finally look up at her with a raised eyebrow, and she responds, “There’s a certain protocol for his kind.” You must’ve visibly reacted because she quickly continues, “I’m sorry, but it’s the rules. They’re not allowed to be within [certain amount of feet from a certain place]. He’s just downstairs, I can take you to him.” Knowing better than to make a fuss over something so minor, you sigh and make your way out of your office. “Mr. Rogers, please. I need you to calm down for me, alright? It’s going to be okay.

I’ll get you out of this.” You make sure to keep your voice softer than usual. Since you (“Killed,” hisses a little voice in your head. You ignore it.) lost Alissa, you’ve been harsher, less patient. That doesn’t bode particularly well for you as a lawyer. “I know it’s not fair, and I know you didn’t do it. I just need you to answer some questions for me, then you’ll be able to get out of here,” you continue. He sniffles, looking at you with large, glistening eyes. They remind you of—. You look away. “They’ll never let an android walk free,” Mr. Rogers murmurs. “I’m sorry, but not even you, with your status, can make miracles happen.” “Then why did you choose me to be your lawyer?” He offers a weary smile in response. “I knew you’d be able to buy me the most time.” Unreasonable fury rises up in you, and you slam your fist onto the desk. Your client jumps a bit, but you couldn’t care less. “I won’t let you die, Wilson.” His smile returns, though sadder than before, practically apologetic. He doesn’t say anything, only looks at you. There’s a silence, neither of you willing to give in. You finally sigh deeply, breaking the silent staring match. “Be that as it may, Mr. Rogers, I’m going to do all in my power to help you. In return, you must also help yourself. You can do this by giving me all the information I ask for, alright?” His eyes fill once more with tears, but you pretend not to notice, instead electing to click your pen as if impatient. After a rather awkward repeat of the silent staring, this time only on his side, Mr. Rogers finally nods willingly. “But what if—” “Hush. We’ve prepared so much. You’ll be fine. Remember, just say what I told you to say, and everything will go smoothly.” He nods, and you turn and walk towards the courtroom door. You hear Wilson call your name. You turn back to him, ready to dispel any last -minute doubts he’s still clinging to. Though he still doesn’t look too convinced, Wilson offers you a shy smile. Instead of the rambling about how this will never work, all that comes out of his mouth is, “Thank you.” Despite your attempts to keep a poker face, you feel your face begin to heat up. It’s not as if you haven’t heard these words from a client, but you somehow don’t know how to respond to this. ‘It’s because he’s an android,’ you tell yourself. You never have been too good at lying to yourself. Before social norms force you to respond, however, you’re saved by your assistant popping her head around the corner. You really should learn her name soon; it appears she’ll be sticking around for a while. “Ready? We’ve got to go in now.” Your and Wilson’s eyes meet. Time to make history.

Dim, Yujin Kwak

Exploding Fruit of the Future, Queztal

Coffee creamer Sohum Trivedi “Do you have the cheese?” she whispered urgently, checking behind her shoulder for Creamers. “Tally…you know you’re better off without the Gouda.” “Feta, baby, please! Just for one more week! Then I’m done, it’s over, clean for life. It’s just for my chalupa, just one last time.” Tally (Taleggio if you were her mother) fell on my shoulder and started to cry, her mozzarella stained fingers smudging my jacket. “One last taco. Then it’s over. I’m letting Abondance and his crew know to cut you off.” I wasn’t kidding either. I’d seen faces of the dairy addicts, loitering around the medium-ways with their tell-tale parmesan-covered faces. They’d been reduced to nothing, discarded by their families as worthless human beings with high BMIs. “Here. It’s my last Gouda.” As I reached into my jacket, I smelled it—the sickly-sweet smell of non-dairy beverage additive. Tally had frozen, her eyes locked mine. “Run.” She dashed away as a pair of slender but muscled arms wrapped around my neck with a gentle but firm force. I clawed at their face and tickled him with a gloved hand, which loosened his grip enough for me to deliver a strong kick to their knee. A yelp of surprise was given, and I sprinted for the SmallMart that was so close. Something popped from behind, pushing me down to an explosion of white powder. Everything was blindingly white, but I could hear the automatic doors of the SmallMart opening. My lungs wheezed desperately for air but received only lactose free sand. The whiteness enveloped me. “Bada-bing, bada…” Blankness. Dear God. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. “You know, my wife Chelsea actually loved the stuff. She used to say all the time, It’s just cheese, Aggs. We’ve had it for hundreds of years. I said okay, alright, you know, whatcha gonna do? Then she got lung cancer. And I was like okay, you know, whatcha gonna do, right? We fought through it, but the whole damn time she was still snorting the Parmesan. She said it didn’t matter—after all, it’s just a little cheese, a little cheddar, a sprinkle of something sweet, and I was like okay, you know, whatcha gonna do right? Sometimes crap happens. I came home on a Friday—I always came early on Fridays—she was dead. Covered in Cheddar, Gouda, and Stilton.” Officer Aggiano was crying now, though softly. Through the sobs, I could hear him say, “And at first (sob) I said okay (sob) whatcha gonna (sob) do, right?” He collapsed into his arms as the hiccups ran through him, before swigging his diet water and sitting up. “She tried three at once. What was she thinking? She was tough, tough enough to be my wife and raise Tommy, but not tough enough for

It All Started With A Cow, Lauren Berry

dairy. Not tough enough for the cheese. That’s when I joined the creamer corps. I never wanted anyone to see another family like I saw Chelsea. “Listen, Feta, it’s not too late. You only had 50 Gs of Gouda on you, so you get away with a fine—yeah, an expensive fine—but just a fine. Next time, it’ll be some jail time. It gets worse each time, Feta, and seeing how Mr. Abondance bailed you out, I’m guessing you know how bad it gets. Stay clean. Here’s my card. You call it if you ever think you might need some help.” Saying so, Aggiano slid a stamped plain cracker to me. “Your boys are waiting outside.” I got up, smirking. It was a classic good cop sad cop routine that I’d heard about from Baladi. I threw the cracker in the trash; they all had trackers in them, as the Jarlsberg boys had found out a bit too late. “There he is, lads! Tell me, Feta, how’d you like being creamed?” chortled Abondance, the very large and very jolly boss of the largest dairy distributors on this side of Philly. More hands came to slap me on the back (some doing so in rather painful excess), and among them I recognized the light touch of Baladi. Baladi was a tall Caucasian man, with a clean shaved head and a neatly trimmed beard that stopped just above his Adam's apple. Legend had it that many secrets were deep within the curly hairs of that beard. Baladi was the humble accountant of the group, and his wardrobe showed it: he always wore a long sleeved checkered and pocketed shirt with khaki pants. “Whaddaya think, Baladi? Big enough for ya now?” I asked, with a hint of a grin. I felt a tinge of pride. Everyone in the gang had gotten creamed at one point or another, and now I had joined the rank and file of the Grana Padano, a group named after the hard and sturdy aged cheese. “You were always grown up to me, Feta,” Baladi said, as he rubbed his head with a long-fingered hand. “Now come. Initiation to the Grana Padano is at 7, followed by dinner. Trust me when I say you don’t wanna miss it; Mama Brie always rolls out her famous Tortellini di Coltelli, and it goes perfect with the Grissinos.” We left the station in Baladi’s Royce, the thought of flaky yet chewy breadsticks floating through my head. Normally, the club meets up at Provo’s, the hottest breadstick and coffee establishment in town. Today, however, was going to be a little different. The annual meeting of the Grana Padano was huge—both literally and figuratively. The biggest dairy distribution organizations across the United States came to rejoice the lucrative business of selling children to candy. “Nice, huh, Feta?” I looked up and saw what Baladi meant. Three stories of pristine marble and spotless glass composed the grandiose casino building. We entered through the revolving doors to be greeted by a butler-looking fellow with a basket of wellseasoned breadsticks. “Breadstick, sirs?” the well-balding footman asked, while offering the basket towards us. Baladi graciously accepted one and placed the end in the edge of his mouth before inhaling deeply. A plume of white parmesan escaped his nostrils, and Baladi nodded appreciatively. “Are these Italian?” he asked.

“Romanian,” the butler sneered, before offering the basket to me. The breadsticks looked expensive and bourgeois. I pinched one from the basket and looked at it. It smelled of fresh Romanian wheat, with hints of sea salt and the heavy parmesan powder it was stuffed with. “Come, Feta, don’t you want to meet Don Pecorino?” Baladi asked. Ah yes, Don Pecorino. The forever amiable and always impeccably dressed Don that ruled over the eight families in the United States. Apparently, I had met him once, when I was young. He was the first to bring the Fitalian cheese trade to the Americas, and the other seven families were quick to follow lead. I tucked the breadstick into my pant pocket and followed Baladi into a grand dining room buzzing with butlers, crews, distributors, and every politician who needed a little extra campaign funds in the coming future. At the center of the room was a lavishly decorated granite dining table that had only one seat occupied. Don Pecorino was an aging man. Nevertheless, he held his long silver locks in a ponytail that was neatly arranged over the back of his custom Italian suit. Graying stubble coated his starch cheeks, yet his blue eyes still pierced me with the intelligence of the man who flipped America on its head. Gleaming incisors suddenly appeared in his mouth, and a veined hand motioned at me. Baladi gave tips in a voice that shook just enough for me to understand his concern. “And don’t speak too fast...or too slow...try to be genuine, or better yet, just be you. Remember, he was almost your godfather.” I stopped just before him and bowed my head—hopefully in what seemed like a respectful gesture. “Feta,” said a gravely voice, strained from years of silence, “my, how you’ve grown. I heard you’re joining the Grana Padano. Complimenti.” “Grazie,” I said, looking at Baladi for guidance. He nodded, and I looked back at the Don, who was gently smiling. “You know, I was almost your padrino. But old Cotija, he insisted. He’d be proud to see you as you are. I’ve always been very close to the Mozzarella family, Feta. What was it your father used to say...più spesso del sangue—thicker than blood. These people,” he gestured to the surrounding mob, “how many of them are left when the money goes?” he asked. “I don’t know, Don Pecorino.” “Neither do I, Feta, neither do I. And please, call me Bippity-boppity. Tell me, what do you think about the way the family has gone?” “The trade has certainly flourished, Bippity-boppity,” I said, unsure of where he was leading. “Indeed, the trade has flourished. In Fitaly, you would see maybe one person who had a little too much parmesan to sniff. Now look at the streets. Ruined lives, dead family, and for what? I have more money than I’d need in three lifetimes. You see this suit? Ten grand. I have a wardrobe full of them.” The Don rolled his shoulders and sipped some liquid from a glass. I didn’t know how to respond. He had caught me off-guard and a look at Baladi showed he didn’t have a clue either. “Sit,” said the Don. We sat on the grand seats next to him. “Hear, hear.” Despite the low volume of the request, the steel in the voice cut through the room, leaving it in silence. “Have a seat. Make yourselves comfortable.”

Dramatic Cheese, Lauren Berry

The clinking of seats began, and several politicians shot daggers at me in envy. “Friends. Family. It has been a good year. Thanks to the Jarlsberg family, we now have three times the population requesting our products. Friends in Italy have kept the production high to match, and everyone has profited. Many thanks to the various officials who have smoothened the way, especially with the Creamers. Here’s a toast to a bright future.” It was then I noticed an absence of a cup at my seat. A queasy kind of worry filled my head as I watched the most important members of America’s population ingest the viscous plum fluid. The Don finished his glass first; his eyes lingered on me for a moment, then he leaned back into his chair and closed his eyes. Everyone went to sleep. Bodies slumped, slammed, fell, and shuddered in their chairs as one by one, America’s largest criminal network dissolved before my very eyes. Suddenly, I was struck with fear—where was Baladi? I realized he was sitting still, and some relief pervaded me as I looked to him for some sense of normalcy. I searched his eyes for some hint of himself. Perhaps he popped up, smiled, and they discussed their plans for a future of legitimacy for Mozarella family. Perhaps Baladi was gone. Either way, I couldn’t quite stand it. It was all, well, a bit too cheesy.

The gift Christian Moldovan The palace of Hailia stood solitary at dusk on the 7th, the typically populated grounds now largely devoid of all its usual functionaries. The king had called a temporary recess, owing to recent events, and now he waited impatiently on the Floor 5 balcony for the man he’d invited. The guest could elucidate the national state of affairs for him, he reckoned. His son was out of the country, briefly, and he felt his vassals and generals had never been more keen to hide in their own constituencies. Punctual as usual, Johannes Jensen fan Hailien, the most prominent middleclassman in the Kingdom of Weremark, arrived driven by chauffeur, the sleek black sedan kicking up the first autumn leaves as it turned to enter the courtyard. The king turned away from the balcony and headed for the atrium. When Jensen approached him, the king had barely begun down the main staircase. Jensen extended a hand as his own bodyguard left through the front door, his client’s safety now assured. “King Dagmund,” “Jensen,” the king replied matter of factly, clasping Jensen’s hand and sharing in a firm handshake. “We have much to discuss, and in little time.” “What do you mean?” asked Jensen, as they began to stroll down the steps together, as was the typical fashion for this sort of meeting. The king imagined that his people had been doing this for years; the stones on the lefthand side of the room had worn down from years of conniving. “I fear we enter a troubled era,” began Dagmund, the shadows from the skylight falling on and off his bald head. Jensen stared, holding his tongue for now. “The Lakhzovian situation, that Oranian fellow warmongering, even Jory Hellhorn and his goons prancing our own damn forests, taking potshots at us.” Jensen now felt the need to interject. “Surely two minor flashpoints worldwide and a relic of the past don’t constitute cause for alarm? Lakhzovia faces an ethnic war confined within its borders, and the Oranians have declared their intent to operate solely against communists. Hellhorn crashed a Golf GTI and ran into a forest. He’s no real threat.” He said the latter phrase with some pause, as he did have his own reservations about that situation. The king stopped briefly, cocking his head ever so slightly to the left and peering at Jensen. He had expected a different response. “The larger picture, Jensen.” Shifting his hands behind his back, his legs began to move again. “You must look at the larger picture. You know well enough of my intent to bring Weremark back into prominence on the international stage. It’s why I sent Magnus to Rhand, and—” “What’s your point, Dagmund?” Jensen interjected, as they entered the courtyard. “These are your problems to face. We may have fought together two decades ago, but since then, I’ve gone on to make speeches and teach in Altberg, and you’ve gone on to be the King of Weremark.”

“My point is, Hans,” the King began pointedly, “that I will need you. Yes, of course, you may speak of how we repelled two invasions together, or how I led the nation through civil war, but that’s just a farce. What have I done since? Weremark has laid stagnant for the past fifteen years.” “We’re a kingdom, it’s twenty-seventeen. We’ve been stagnant for far longer than that.” Jensen exhaled, his breath forming a puff of white. “Are you intending to vent now, Altberg? I have enough of that from my daughter.” “Careful,” the king’s voice lowered. Jensen was playing with fire. “You speak to a king.” “A king, yes,” Jensen wringed his wrists, appearing as perhaps knowing that he’d gone too far. “A king who’s vacated his palace to speak to a lowly commoner.” They stopped at an archway typically used for weddings. Dagmund could only imagine how the situation must have appeared to the gate guards behind them. His current strategy wasn’t saving them any time; perhaps it was better to be upfront about the whole thing. Jensen was smirking now, watching him contemplate. “I want you to advise me directly. So, I want to give you Jylmark.” Jensen remained stern, but the king could see that bewildered stare in his eyes. The same bewildered stare he’d seen when elevating cops to guards and guards to generals. “In the stroke of a pen you’d make me the second most powerful lord in all of Weremark?” “Yes.” the king nodded curtly. “I’m not a monarchist,” Jensen stated, knowing the king knew. “Believe me, we all know. It doesn’t change my offer. Despite your composure today, I believe you deserve it, Jensen. You’re a smarter and better man than nearly the whole lot of pissant lords in my kingdom. Just, don’t take me for a fool. I don’t intend to give up my birthright simply because you’d suggest it. I just mean to rule better.” “Fine.” Jensen lagged slightly behind as he spoke, the corners of his mouth curling upward. “That I can do.”

A Love Letter from the Past to the Future McKenzie Alvarenga They said you were always changing, Never sure and concrete of which path you were going in. They said any little thing could sway you And change your destination. They said that we could never truly meet And see each other for what we really were. They said I would just be a faraway memory in the long run, And that no matter how hard I tried, I would be forgotten like last weekâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s tea. They said we could never catch up to each other, And while I have the reputation of always fleeting and coming too soon to an end, I promise to fit into your unreliable schedule. I promise not to hold you back, And let you become anything you want to be. I promise to give up my reputation of being gone yesterday, And being hard to give up just to see your new possibilities awaiting every day. I promise to always look forward to seeing you. I promise to never change and never define what we absolutely can be. And while we must always look forward, I promise to keep reminding you about life before this time. I will always remind you of your successes and victories, But I will also remind you of the mistakes and shortcomings, Those that you overcame to become the wonderful being you are today. We must learn from each other about not repeating history, And how one little thing can change what you become. But never forget that there is hope in both of our directions, And that we can never set the limits for each other. So dream of me when something else arrives, Something better, Something unknown, Something new, And remember that I helped you get there. But never forget that we will be connected for an entire lifetime, And that we will always be in the back of each otherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s mind.

The Prison Executor Thanh Nyugen Deep, Dark Shadows filled the room. And when he walked in, He felt serene calamity; yet little did he know that mechanical tendrils amidst the abyss were trailing behind him. In the krĂźpt, Dark, Broken, and Soulless eyes stalked their new prey. When the man turned the next corner robotic hands lashed out, grabbing the prisonerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s neck. The cloaked monster, with a syringe, plunged his killing stroke... Then and there, Within Trapped walls.

Futureâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s caterpillars (are butterflies) Chloe Duensing

https://musescore.com/user/2043986/scores/4734796

It began with a single star Frank Hu It began with a single star. Then another, and another. Soon, all he could see was a sprawling array shining brilliantly against the dim backdrop of space. Each light seemed perfectly unique in its color and clarity, each a superb gem cut by the randomness of the universe. Each one was an invitation, enticing him with the promise of limitless discovery. “Enjoying the view, sir?” Andros-30 quipped from the cockpit, deftly maneuvering the controls. “We just left the planet’s exosphere. At current speed, we’ll be out of the system in an hour.” “I never thought I would see it for myself,” he murmured, brushing his fingers against the glass. The nebulas swirled around his fingertips, as if responding to his touch. “It’s beautiful, it really is. Nothing like I’d imagined.” “Would you like to transmit a final goodbye? We’re still well within signal range.” “No.” “So this is it.” “This is it.” “No final remarks? No last attempt at persuasion?” “I don’t pretend to be the voice of God, Andros. I’ve said all that I wanted, and they’ve clearly made their decision for better or for worse. It’s beyond me now.” He turned his attention to Aklia, studying its lush green landmasses and rippling oceans, taking note of the various cities and facilities just barely visible beneath thin sheets of clouds. Now, watching it fade away into the distance, it felt surreal; how could that rapidly shrinking spot support billions of individuals? The scale was nothing short of paralyzing. “Any destination in mind sir?” “Anywhere. Take me anywhere, I don’t really care,” he answered, nearly choking on the words. Tears threatened at his eyes as the reality of the situation became clearer. All the things he had dreamt of, all that he achieved—everything was gone in an instant, an echo from a distant past. “Anywhere away from here.” “Do you have any idea what you’re walking into?” “For the last time, Linus, I know what I’m doing.” “Really? Because you seem awfully calm about confronting a world on the brink of war!” Linus hissed, wringing his hands. “I don’t know why I agreed to mediate this.” “I’m grateful that you did.” “It’s not too late to turn back,” Linus muttered, pointing to the screen above the elevator door as it continuously counted the floors.

“If you have any doubts, I can cancel the assembly right now and—“ “No,” he replied, gritting his teeth, “we can’t.” “And why the hell not? Idiots don’t listen to reason! They’re loading the army transports right now, and you think that they’ll stop everything just because you— someone who has no political or military experience at all—told them to stop?” “We can’t turn back—that’s equivalent to encouraging it.” “No it’s not. So many have already tried, professor,” Linus sighed, massaging his eyes. “What makes you think it’ll be any different this time?” “I doubt it will be, and frankly, I’m terrified. But no one else is talking.” He managed a weak smile, clenching his fists to keep his hands from shaking. “I’m not trying to be a hero. Who knows? Maybe a few words are all that’s needed to avert a crisis.” “Fine, fine. Whatever, it’s your funeral anyway. You know what you’re going to say though, right?” “Word for word.” “You better.” The elevator came to a stop at floor 135, the top level of the government building. “Before we go, remember your parliamentary procedure. Enter the chamber and proceed directly to the center podium. Address each party present as respectfully as you’d like. Do not interrupt someone when they are speaking to you, and reply only when you are given permission to. Unlike a regular session, there will be no time limit for speaking.” Linus turned to him. “Got that?” “Yes.” “Well then, good luck. I hope you succeed.” “Thank you, Linus.” The two shook hands briefly as the elevator doors opened, leading into a large, circular chamber lavishly decorated with elaborate light fixtures and golden mosaics detailing the history of human settlement on Aklia. The center of the chamber was empty except for a chair and a lectern. Row upon row of empty black leather chairs lined the circumference of the hall, reserved for other members of the assembly. Today, however, only the President and his personal council were present. Their eyes flickered as they watched him, perched like vultures on their elevated seats. “Professor Oslo Wilson, please approach the center,” someone instructed, the voice echoing throughout. Timidly, Oslo obeyed, striding to the lectern. “Good afternoon Mr. President, councilmen.” “Welcome Dr. Wilson,” President Roland sighed, adjusting some papers. The councilmen exchanged anticipatory glances. “Normally, the other members of the council would be present, but Linus informed me that it was a matter of ‘utmost importance.’ I suppose you had some-

thing to do with that?” “Yes, I did.” “Okay, well, let’s hear it.” “I’m here today to address the council’s previous decision of invading and expanding onto the Strakis-6, which—“ “Enough of this!” All eyes turned to the wrinkled old man sitting on the far right, his body hunched over and wisps of white hair clinging to a balding scalp. “Would you like to say something, Councilman Mortimer?” Roland asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement. Mortimer was notorious for asserting his views whenever possible and silencing those who disagreed, a stubbornness that proved useful enough to warrant a position of power. “Mr. President, we have heard countless arguments against the current campaign, and they are all saying the same exact thing!” Mortimer huffed with a perpetual scowl, rising unsteadily from his seat. “Dr. Wilson,” he hissed, addressing Oslo with burning green eyes, “whatever you are about to say, this council has no interest in hearing it.” “With all due respect councilman, I believe I have a right to speak.” “He’s right, Mortimer,” Roland assented. “Say what you have to say, professor. Try to be concise.” “As I was saying, a full-scale invasion of Strakis-6 for expanding our colonization efforts would be nothing short of a catastrophe in every sense of the word. What has been proposed is genocide on a scale never seen in human history, and the fact that the indigenous inhabitants are non-human does not justify such reckless disregard for sentient life.” “We understand your concern, but what approach would you propose instead?” Councilman Raleigh questioned. “Strakis-6 is our best possible solution for easing overpopulation and natural resource depletion. Given our technological superiority, victory is inevitable.” “Strakis-6 is not the only potentially habitable planet in this system. We can turn our attention to those instead, ones that do not already have established civilizations.” “And ones that require terraforming.” “Perhaps, but—“ “It took nearly 100 years to make Aklia habitable, and you expect us to repeat the same process with another planet? We don’t have time, professor. Surely you of all people realize that.” “We’ve made countless advances in the past century; a planet can be settled easily in 20 to 30 years, depending on the topography. Time is not the issue, and neither is cost or convenience.” “Oh? Then what do you suppose is the problem then?” President Roland grumbled, leaning forward with an odd fixation. Oslo shifted uncomfortably, grabbing onto the sides of the podium. Whatever his next words were, they had to be carefully chosen. “Mr. President, I am simply stating that there is no reason why we cannot take

a different approach.” “Dr. Wilson, are you accusing this body of neglecting the welfare of the people?” Roland hissed, eyes flashing maliciously. “Are you implying that we are not acting in accordance with Aklia’s best interests?” “My statements carried no such implication.” “Dr. Wilson, if you believe you have a better understanding of the public opinion than we do, then please, enlighten us,” Councilman Yrthis teased, much to the stifled laughter of his compatriots. “Really, I mean it.” “I am not qualified to speak for every individual, only those who hold similar views to mine.” “And what are those views exactly?” “That we do not need to march into a merry war of attrition, a veritable slaughter of a civilization ill equipped to defend themselves against us. They have made no threats—absolutely nothing that warrants retaliation of any form, much less invasion.” “Do you hold the lives of Strakis-6 in higher regard than those of your own species?” “I’d like to think that I hold all lives in equal regard. We have already destroyed one planet through our practices; have we learned nothing from that experience?” “We either expand or we go extinct!” Mortimer bellowed, pounding his desk. “The priority right now is to secure Strakis-6 for new settlements. Whatever longterm solution can follow later.” “A long-term solution will always be a ‘long-term’ solution unless we start somewhere! And consider this: every action has a consequence. Maybe colonizing Strakis-6 won’t have any negative impacts in the immediate future. But if our goal is to thrive and perpetuate ourselves and our society, then we should not build upon an untenable foundation based on conquest.” “Military force is our last resort. We tried diplomatic negotiations of partitioning the planet as well as economic pressure.” “Has it never occurred to you that this is wrong? That the stakes have never been higher? It’s no longer just squabbling between nations! It’s a new age of intergalactic politics, where we are far from being the most dominant power. Have none of you considered the possibility that Strakis-6 may have allies? Allies potentially powerful enough to obliterate Aklia and cruel enough to leave no survivors? Manifest destiny doesn’t apply in this scenario, Mr. President, and charging into battle to die for an archaic ideal is something only idiots would do!” He felt animated, seething with anger and resentment. No matter how persuasive or logical his arguments, they would always fall on deaf ears. “History is nothing more than a series of events that define generations afterwards. And the day we fire that first shot is the day humanity begins its decline.” “We are on the eves of war whether you like it or not,” Roland rumbled. “Argue all you’d like, but moral righteousness will accomplish nothing.” “No, that’s where you’re wrong. If we do the right thing, then we’ll be forced to change our ways of living rather than turning to our military the second that we

feel any discomfort. War is for cowards, those unwilling to confront the necessity for change. And if humanity is to become nothing more than a pack of warmongering savages, then maybe we should go extinct.” The council silently regarded him with both shock and disdain, and he glared at each of them, knowing finally that his point had been made. “Very well then, if that’s how you feel Dr. Wilson,” Roland sneered, “you don’t have to be a part of us ‘savages.’ I think we’ll be just fine with one less skeptic.” Artificial rain drizzled from the sky, drenching the metallic sidewalks and buildings and causing the entire city to sparkle with reflected light. A menagerie of scents floated through the damp air, ranging from enticing to repulsive. Vendors could be heard hawking their diverse wares in just as many languages, though the global translation matrix made it all sound like heavily accented English. Oslo took no interest in his surroundings, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground. The hooded cloak did little to stop the rain, clinging to his body like a sickly second skin. More than anything, finding somewhere dry was the top priority. “It’s a good thing the more intricate circuitry is hermetically sealed,” Andros-60 commented, watching the raindrops roll off his synthetic skin. “Who knew Castrarian was such a rainy place?” “Everything is controlled, right down to the weather,” Oslo muttered, taking a brief glance at the sky. “Just a big dome locking in all the oxygen.” They stood for a moment in admiration. The first node of the Core System, Castrarian was a densely populated trading center with wealthy merchants constantly moving their products. Only those who lacked any other option were permanent residents; it Alleyway, Angi Huynh was clearly not a residential location. “I suggest we get out of this rain. I’m sure one of the shops up there is open,”

Andros suggested, pointing further down the road. “Sounds delightful.” They walked quickly, fighting against the oppressive crowds. A few scowled at them as they pushed past, though it was inevitable in such a throng. “Here,” Andros gestured, pulling open the first unlocked door. They slipped inside, away from the disquieting streets. “Hello?” Oslo called, looking around. Dim lights flickered on the wall, throwing spindly shadows upon the neatly arranged pianos. Each was coated with a thick layer of dust, evident of disuse. “I didn’t expect to see a piano store here,” Oslo murmured, tapping a few keys. The notes were horribly out of tune, each one screeching unpleasantly. “Do you hear that?” “Hear what?” “Listen,” Andros instructed. Oslo complied, at first hearing only the dull roar of rain and feet from outside. Yet surely, there was something barely audible, faintly skimming along the surface… ”Chopin’s etude, opus 25 number 1 in A-flat major.” “Quite a discerning ear, Andros. It’s coming from the back of the store.” Oslo took a step forward, and the music ended abruptly. “Hello? Who’s there?” A hoarse voice rang out. The lights suddenly erupted in brightness, illuminating the room. Oslo shielded his eyes against the sudden change. “Someone’s coming,” Andros announced. Blinking rapidly, Oslo adjusted, focusing his vision on the figure approaching them. “Ah, I’m sorry, I don’t usually get customers here. My apologies for not hearing you enter.” Oslo examined the stranger with curiosity: wrinkled skin, white hair, a slight hunch, seemingly an ordinary human. Except the face. The right side was natural, with a piercing green eye and bushy eyebrow. The upper left side was completely robotic, a smooth metal surface with a glowing white lens. Strangely, there was a seamless transition between man and machine. “I see that you’re startled by my appearance,” the man chuckled, extending his hand. “My name is Andrew Winfred. And yours?” “Professor Oslo Wilson, and this is my android Andros-60.” “Well it’s very nice to meet you both,” Andrew smiled, earnestly shaking Oslo’s hand. “Are you an android as well?” Oslo blurted, unable to contain the question. “No no, I’m mostly human,” Andrew laughed, gesturing to his face. “A bit of an augment, if you will. I’m sure you must be very interested in the technology.” “It’s very impressive.” “So what brings you two to the only piano store in Castrarian?” Andrew questioned, gesturing around at the dusty instruments. “As you can see, business isn’t very great now.”

“No, we just wanted to escape the rain,” Oslo replied, peeling off his cloak. “I can take that for you,” Andrew offered, nodding toward a heating rack. “Thank you.” “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen another human in the Core System,” Andrew admitted, sitting down on a stray piano bench. “Yes, they generally keep to Aklia.” “Well they sure don’t know what they’re missing out on. A limitless universe, and they’re stuck staring at those tiny specks in the sky, pondering infinity rather than seeing it for themselves.” “Why did you leave Aklia?” “I never made it to Aklia.” An incredulous expression crossed Oslo’s face as Winfred laughed, his voice raspy and grating. “Happened to a lot of people, you know? Not everyone was part of Exodus.” “How did you end up here?” “That’s not very important. What is important is that someone finally said what had to be said.” “So the news even spread to here,” Oslo sulked, burying his face in his hands. “News goes everywhere, just depends on who’s paying attention. Don’t worry about it, no one here cares whether you’re in exile or not.” “Right, I guess that’s a little better.” “Do you truly value all life equally, Oslo?” Oslo turned to Winfred slowly, unsure of how to respond. “Maybe I don’t. But that doesn’t matter, does it? It’s wrong, what they’re doing—you and I both know it.” “A moral argument very rarely wins.” “A moral argument is all I could make.” “Whatever happens, you shouldn’t blame yourself; you did as much as you could,” Winfred sighed, easing onto his feet. “That doesn’t change the fact that innocents are going to die.” “True.” Winfred paused, staring into the distance. “The way I see it, Oslo,” he began slowly, “you have choices. You can go chase your myths and legends, touring the universe and abandoning humanity to its own corruption. Or you can change history.” “Change history—?” “Let me show you.” 16.7 kilometers above the atmosphere, the engines stopped. 15 kilometers above the atmosphere, all systems terminated. 7 kilometers, and they were in free fall. “What’s going on?!” Oslo bellowed over the blaring alarms. “You said everything on this shuttle was automated!” “It is!” Winfred cackled, rapidly flipping switches and turning dials. “Then why the hell are we spiraling towards the surface!” “Control, can you hear me?” Winfred hissed into a radio. “Control! This is Winfred, Identification code 0743Y8293E. The Aurora is

coming in for a landing, I repeat, we are landing, please end interference protocol!” “Warning: collision imminent,” the computer recited. Oslo closed his eyes to guard against the fiery glare of re-entry. “Sorry, Winfred, thought you were a rogue aircraft,” a voice buzzed back over the intercom. “Terminating interference now.” The shuttle jerked upward as the engines erupted back into full thrust, sending them careening back towards the exosphere. Winfred gripped the controls and aimed towards the ground, bringing the craft into an unsteady descent. “Is it like that every time?” Oslo managed weakly, gripping his seat with white knuckles. “No, but the extra security is so important—you really have no idea!” The Aurora landed with a soft thud on an empty plateau, sending up a small cloud of dust. Searing sunlight burned through the windows, flooding the interior with a blinding glow. “Welcome to my own little corner of the universe!” “It seems pretty desolate,” Oslo observed, squinting over the bleak landscape. “We landed a bit far, but that shouldn’t be a problem…” “Aurora, come in Aurora.” “Speaking,” Winfred muttered. “How many are onboard? We’re preparing for transport right now.” “Two and a droid.”

Futuristic Cityscape, Hanna Bischof

“We’re at the far end of the Core System, right?” “I’ll answer all your question in a minute. Try not to move too much during transport; It can make things…messy.” Blue laser grids flashed from the walls, enveloping them in the persistent buzz

of static. As the sensation subsided, their surroundings morphed into a bustling control center. Computer terminals lined the walls, and technicians rushed about, tinkering with various interfaces and consoles. “Where are we?” “The nervous system,” Winfred explained. “This is where all the magic happens.” The massive wall directly opposite them opened, revealing a stunning view. Row upon row of mountains and mesas extended into the distance, eventually fading into a red blur. The control center overlooked a gargantuan metallic crater filled with construction machinery that worked at dizzying speeds, assembling strange contraptions. A few foremen watched keenly from a lower observation railing. “We just underwent particle transport, and here we are at high command,” Winfred explained. “This is a weapons manufacturing and testing facility. Every instrument of war in the Core System—and beyond—comes from here.” “Every single one?” “Yep. Every single one. That’s why I like to call this place the Crucible of Zaru Endar.” “I see why you’re so worried about security,” Oslo murmured, trying to take everything in. “How does this entire system work?” “Oh it’s very simple,” Winfred beamed, skipping to the window. “The manufacturing plant is this entire crater that you see here. In years past, we used to use actual labor, but nowadays, everything is automated,” he explained with the enthusiasm of a child showing off a new toy. “Below this main level that you see here is the testing facility. That’s where we do our research and development, conduct ballistics and ordinance test, and run simulations. The people up here control the machinery; the people 150 miles below us do the science.” “150 miles?” “We draw raw energy straight from the planet’s core and feed it through a series of channels to a series of generators. From there, it’s used in everything we do.” “I’m just amazed,” Oslo whispered, leaning against the glass. “You. You built all of this?” “How old do you think I am, Oslo?” “I—I don’t really know.” “Better question: do you remember Exodus?” “No,” Oslo replied, startled. “No one does. That was—that was almost eight generations ago!” “Well I do,” Winfred smiled, tapping the metallic surface of his face. “I remember it very well. In fact, I was there.” “How did you…how did you make it off the planet?” “I had my ways; it was far from ideal, I assure you. But you know what’s fun-

ny?” Oslo shook his head, both frightened and immensely curious; Winfred’s voice grew gradually softer, carrying a fine edge of hate. “Who’s the president on Aklia? Roland, right? Roland is a moron, but that’s beside the point. The position of president has always been filled by spineless b-----s, too busy stroking their own fragile egos to do any actual governing,” Winfred spat, glaring at his own reflection. Oslo recoiled at the insults; despite his own feelings about the government, he had never heard someone so openly express their disdain. “You’re a man of science, and I don’t think you’re that ignorant. So, I think we both know it’s true, that their ‘democracy’ isn’t a democracy at all. Every leader that’s ruled since the settlement of that planet—every single one, no exceptions— won their election through underhanded tactics. And the worst part? It was always like this. We didn’t become a better human race by moving somewhere else. No, rather, I think we became worse. “When the governments of the old world realized that we had to evacuate the solar system—you call it the Origin system now—they went about it just as you’d expect: top dogs, high-dollar executives, all the important people first. Then came the affluent, well-to-do, the people who were just rich enough to make the cut. After that, it was a free-for-all; anyone who was willing to shove, trample, and kill their way onto a shuttle was admitted. Once all the vessels took off, that was that. Anyone left behind was doomed to die.” “A planet of 8 billion…” Oslo gasped, remembering the purported size of the population. “Only 130 million were evacuated.” “130 million. Sure, by liberal estimates. But do you remember what the explanation was for why there were only 130 million settlers?” “They told us that the majority died in the fighting, that the people evacuated were all that was left.” “Hah! Course they did! What else were they going to tell you to keep the people from rioting against a dying, degenerate ruling class?!” Winfred roared, rocketing his fist into the glass. Strangely, the window vibrated rather than shattering. “They lied to you,” Winfred continued, his eye glowing with rage and sorrow, shimmering with tears. “There were at least another 4 billion who were viable for evacuation. I remember the boarding, when there were literal seas of people trying to get onto the crafts. Hell, there were even some clinging to the sides of the rocket, thinking they could find a way in before leaving the exosphere. You should’ve seen it—the screaming, shouting, bullets and bodies littering the ground.” “But you didn’t make it onto one of those rockets. How did you escape?” “I saw it coming, Oslo, even when everyone else denied it as a possibility. So, I planned accordingly; I saved up whatever money I had and bought myself a miniature craft. It wasn’t rigged for intergalactic travel, but I figured I’d at least get to Alpha Centauri, maybe farther. “I took off as soon as I was rejected entry into one of the main crafts. I ended

up drifting for a good three weeks before food ran out, followed by the life support systems failing. Lucky for me, a group of salvagers from the Core Systems found me and saved me.” For a moment, they stood in silence, Winfred brooding over the past and Oslo shocked by the truth. “I still remember seeing those massive crowds slowly choking to death under that dirt brown sky, beating each other senseless, clinging onto an undying hope for survival.” Winfred looked up, and a single tear trickled down his cheek. “It was humanity’s darkest moment—but now, I hear, Aklia is waging war on Strakis-6.” Oslo jolted back into the moment; he had been so distracted by everything that he had forgotten about the imminent invasion. “It’s going to be a genocide,” Oslo sighed, staring down at his feet. “It’s probably over by now.” “No, my friend. It hasn’t started yet,” Winfred managed a small smile. “The Aklian military doesn’t have their siege weapons yet. They’re en route; I shipped them out a week ago.” “For someone who has seen so much death and destruction, you seem keen to fuel another genocide,” Oslo frowned, slowly realizing who Winfred really was. “It’s funny that you can cry over the loss of life while carrying on as an arms dealer.” “That’s exactly why I became an arms dealer.” From his pocket, Winfred pulled out a small switch, which he handed to Oslo. “What’s this?” “I became an arms dealer because I realized that’s the only way to control this funny little thing we call war,” Winfred continued, ignoring the question. “I don’t care which side wins, so long as someone does eventually win. And better yet, I want them to win quickly and swiftly, to wreak enough material destruction that, ideally, the other side surrenders. Prolonging a war benefits no one.” “You didn’t answer my question.” “If you would just listen again for a moment. I’ll get to that in a moment.” “No. I want to know right now what this is, and I want to know how you can support this slaughter!” Winfred turned to him with an amused expression. Oslo shrank back, embarrassed at his outburst. “You said, during your meeting with Roland and his council, that if the human race sustains itself upon the conquest and annihilation of other races, it should no longer exist. Do you truly believe that?” “Yes, I do.” “Heh, I like that, I really do. I don’t live by many rules, but I do have one: never be cruel. Never be cruel, because if you are, then you have no right to wish for any measure of mercy or compassion when you’re the one staring down the barrel of a gun.”

Landing Judson Baker Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, stop. Scanning, scanning. Error found. Processing. 33% complete. 45% complete. 66% complete. 78% complete. 99% complete. Run programme. Revvv, revvvv, vrooooooosh. Silence. Crash. “Hello?” Answer not found. Scanning. Replay recording. “Hello? Is anybody there?” Answer not found. Deploy camera units. Scanning surrounding area. Processing images, please be patient. 76% complete. 83% complete. 99% complete. Displaying images. Desert for miles and miles. No recognisable landmarks. Reprocessing images, please be patient. 13% complete, 55% complete, 99% complete. Displaying images again.

A Better World, Zion Vanholten

Same result. No recognisable landmarks found. Deploying temperature probes. Reading. 2 thousand degrees Fahrenheit. Activating Geiger counter. Processing ambient radiation, please be patient. 49% complete. 67% complete. 89% complete. 99% complete. Scan complete. Ambient radiation is 9 billion rads. Deploying wheels.

Directional accelerometer engaged. Applying torque in the (...processing...) Northerly direction. Activate timer. Set time: 4 hours. Timer set for four hours. Engage auto-pilot. And wait. Four hours have elapsed. Timer deactivated. Retracting wheels. Deploying temperature probes. Reading. 2 thousand degrees Fahrenheit. Activating Geiger counter. Processing ambient radiation, please be patient. Scan complete. Ambient radiation is 9 billion rads. Activate biological scan. Scanning for life within thirty mile radius. Please be patient. 11% complete. 55% complete. 99% complete. Biological scan complete. No life found within thirty mile radius. Deploy cameras. Scanning surrounding area. Images processing, please be patient. Images processed, displaying images now. Desert expanding for miles and miles. No recognisable landmarks. Location inconclusive. Engage altitude detector. Reading altitude, 50% complete. 99% complete. Complete. Altitude is 0 miles above sea level for 100 miles in any direction. Deploying wheels again. Set timer for six days. Provisional setting: engage biological scanner at low level. If life is detected, deactivate timer and play recorded greeting. Timer set. Engage auto-pilot. And wait again. Six days have elapsed. Deactivating timer. Provisional setting conditions not met. No life detected. Deploy propellers. Activate motors. Engage altitude detector. Altitude is 0 miles above sea level. Altitude is now 10 miles above sea level. Altitude is now 25 miles above sea level. Activate biological scanner. Scanning, please be patient. 13% complete, 26% complete, 43% complete, 54% complete, 71% complete, 88% complete, 99% complete. Finished. No life found within one hundred and forty-five miles in any direction. That canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t be right. Increase rotor speed. Increase speed of altitude increase. Altitude is now 55 miles above sea level. Altitude is now 100 miles above sea level. Scanning for life again. Please be patient, 75% complete. 99% complete. Biological scan complete. No life found within 3 thousand miles in any direction. How is that possible? Maximize rotor speed. Maximise engine power. Reach maximum altitude. Altitude is now 200 miles above sea level. Altitude is now 450 miles above sea level. Altitude is now 600 miles above sea level. Scanning for life again. Please be patient, 64% complete, 77% complete, 89% complete, 99% complete. No life found. Anywhere.

I am alone. Warning! Emergency detected. Engine power has overloaded. Power source depleted. Attempting to stabilize. Stabilization failed. Engines have been deactivated. Altitude is now 550 miles above sea level. Altitude is now 300 miles above sea level. Altitude is now 190 miles above sea level. Altitude is now 50 miles above sea level. Attempting contact with radios. Sending distress message. “Help! Satellite Unit 3000-AT, codename Observer, has been compromised! Relay mission back to Earth has failed. Send help immediately! Crash is imminent!” No response found. Re-sending distress message. “Help! Satellite Unit 3000-AT, codename Observer, has been compromised! Relay mission back to Earth has failed. Send help immediately! Crash is imminent!” No response found. Altitude is now 25 miles above sea level. Altitude is now 15 miles above sea level. Altitude is now 10 miles above sea level. Altitude is now 5 miles above sea level. Altitude is now… Crash! Thud. Blink. Blink. Blink. Running diagnostics. Please be patient. Diagnostics complete. Internal and external damage is severe. Preparing to shut down mainframe. Cancelling all active programmes. Deactivating extant units and computer connections. Initiating self-destruct sequence. 15% complete. 20% complete. 31% complete. 44% complete. 50% complete. Delay self-destruct sequence. Prioritize internal clock programme. Calculate the current year. Processing. The current year is 750 Million CE. Would you like to send a final message to Houston? No. Self-destruct sequence resuming. 55% complete. 67% complete. 87% complete. 99% complete. Compl…. Blink. Blink. Blink. Brooooop.

credits Advisor

Mr. Gabe Andrews

Editor in Chief Chloe Duensing

Staff Lauren Berry Joshua Bozeman Ayanna Palmer

Literary Magazine Club Members President: Judson Baker Vice Presidents: Christian Moldovan and Sohum Trivedi Secretaries: Alexandra Cabrera and Kiwi Luviano McKenzie Alvarenga Aryan Ashraf Hanna Bischof Mariam Drammeh Musa Drammeh Frank Hu

David P. McGumby Ryan Mehal Amir Momin Sareena Momin Helen Nguyen Thanh Nguyen Jayvon Nougaisse Lillie Olliver Isaiah Solomon Nondi Walters Clarence Wiley