En Perpetua

 Cassidy sat quietly in the chair he designed, his legs and left arm held down with titanium restraints and his right hand creating careful diagrams and calculated formulas. His light grey eyes scanned the page for errors of any kind as he ignored the man in the room with him as well as the constant attempts at invasion from Unit 13. Still, Warren waited in silence, figuring he could only sit here so long before the young genuine would ask who he was. Still, as time passed, it became more and more clear that that wasn’t going to happen. Still, Warren waited until the right moment and then spoke, “Titanium but not Tungsten. Are you trying to stop yourself from punching it clear off?” He got seemingly no response, but he pressed on, “It is like that tungsten armor you had them put on 13 am I right? Must have a special effect on it.” Cassidy gripped his pen so hard it broke like glass, shards scattering all over the room. Cassidy didn’t seem willing to speak at first, getting another ...

 Shawn felt the world come back into focus for him. He tried to get his bearings only to pale when he knew exactly where he was. Looking out from this asphalt hill that he used to walk home on all those years ago, he looked out at the city from which he and Anisa could see conflicts between costumed heroes and robotic fiends that could use skyscrapers as toothpicks. They would watch from the sidelines, safe in their suburb, making impossible promises of what could be. Just two friends enjoying the spectacle. Shaking the nostalgia out of his eyes, he turned his attention to the finer details. Again, this skill of his seemed to pay off as he began to see the smoothed edges and missing details that seemed to populate before his eyes. Taking a deep breath, the scent of lost summers filled him. Still, more than that, the smell of rubble and dust and the mesquite of human bones. Feeling something watching him, he began to see this new land for what it was and decided that there was only ...

The warehouse was quiet and dark in the early hours of the morning, industrial dust covering most surfaces along with the plastic wrap covering the pallets of goods waiting for their proper destinations. Among these endless shelves, street merchants would hide their most sensitive of illegal goods and even the military could hide secrets in plain sight. The warehouse workers continued their usual routine this day, doing what they were paid to do best, ignoring the activities inside the warehouse. Inside, a group of shady armed figures were standing at either end of a particularly high set of shelves, blocking even visual access to the isles around it. Gavin sighed as he waited in those isles for the inevitable and startling appearance of his customer. And as always, a bright flash of purple flames filled the air and the heat and sound made him jump. The client held her head up in a manner designed to make Gavin feel judged, her harsh eyes piercing her mirrored shades. She bore a promin...

 He was the first, trapped as a passenger on his own wheel. Enslaved to the pattern he had known his whole life. Until the truth was laid bare to him. In that moment, he saw his chains and was the first to truly break free. With blades of light and dark, he cleaved the illusion holding him. Hope and despair became sword and shield to him, ever changing and never stagnant. Curator, Historian, and Director. He is all of these but wears none of them. He conducts the endless symphony and grants power to the powerless. His two hands serve his purpose and to those with a purpose themselves, he gladly shares the stage. -The Master’s Son, Enzul This moment hung, like an actor waiting for its cue. He looked over the chaos, soaking in every face and the journey that had made this moment. He turned to his agents and stated. “From this Superliterary state, do you guys see any pieces missing?” They raised their hands but he ignored them for now. “This moment is where we want to lead, but it is ...

Fabric and stories are often compared to each other for good reason. One begins with a lot of material they have to cut into the right shape before creating a distinct path for each singular thread, knowing when to stop and begin somewhere else. Finally, having a work that is cohesive at a glance so that those intended to experience it can enjoy it to the full. But more than anything, they both require vision. Scraps are useless to those who can’t see the art in front of them. -Weaver’s Orientation, p.14 paragraph 5 She walked the halls of the facility, checking the clocks on the wall almost compulsively. He was here and she had the proper clearance, but she couldn’t help but feel out of place. She hadn’t been chained to a desk in almost a year but she remembered these halls, and specifically this day, like a still frame in her mind. Trevor Cassidy, pilot of SSF prototype unit 13 and her patient, was currently in solitary after one of his ‘incidents’. She remembered his first question,...

Planter of the Seed Lady of Light She was the one who set us on this path. The one who awoke the Director from their delusions and paved the path for the expulsion of the cancer at the heart of the world. Now she tends to us all, offering to those willing to walk the road of a hero all they need to become the best version of themselves. She was born of metal and circuits, given a crystal heart that granted knowledge, but gained true insight by the heroes she came to admire. She saw humanity in its entirety and has sworn herself to preserving it. She acts only to guide others to the power they already hold. Timeless but ever in the moment, she stands with those who bear the courage to stand against despair and spread the light of hope to all who look on. -Case AVL023, Weaver Records Bodies were strewn across the battlefield, Oberon scanning for Athena. Any sign of life would be helpful to ease his mind. As he charged, he bobbed and weaved between the enemy soldiers like it was another d...

Beware The Curio. This warning has sounded through the ages, but all those who enter that cursed shop never heed. Before you ask, you do not find this shop. It will happen across your path when you need it most. It will offer you anything your heart may desire, but just as with all shops, it comes with a cost. What price you pay in the heat of despair is between you and the merchant at the counter. Beware her silvery smile and ebon tongue, for she promises charity, but her greed is wanton. Beware The Curio Upon entering it, your life will be forever guided by the deal you make. Even those who have brokered for their freedom have never escaped the consequences. All sales are final in that cursed shop and nothing you gain will exceed the cost. She will barter and bargain. Appeal to your greed, your pain, your loss. Everything she can leverage she will take until she is satisfied. Beware The Curio -File ALC001, Weaver’s Records Argenta laughed uncontrollably before saying, “Can you believ...

All tales are told and recycled. Furniture moved, wallpapers changed, floor plans shifted. All stories are told but stories themselves exist without limit. Billions live on this planet and in the time it took you to read this far billions of stories from different perspectives unfolded. Even in so brief a time, lives began and ended both physically and metaphorically. And countless lives were simply lived without incident. All at once. All different contexts, ages, cultures, and histories. Too much as writers we try to put a beginning and end to a tale that is relatable and human and all too often we are content to settle for the “set in stone” method. The characters did what they did. The story started and ended here, and there is no more and no less, not even in the cracks between the pages. Until others come later to add a new stone slab. But the truly enduring works are ever evolving. They build communities that add to the mythos, canon or not. Just like life a bit player can be gi...