Pain, Pleasure, and Pedaling

He slowly, painfully, lowered himself into the chair, letting out a groan.  He quickly and silently prayed for the drugs to kick in faster.

It didn't seem to work.

He thought he'd decided not to work out this week.  Apparently the faceless force that decided what he did everyday at work thought differently.  Who knew teaching a kid to ride a bike would be so painful for the instructor?

At least it was something different.

He closed his eyes.

Slowly letting out a deep breath, he counted to ten and opened his eyes.  He couldn't believe he had a crawler on his ship and didn't realize it.  Thank the elements that Hemming had had the foresight to cut off the admiral and get off the bridge before his transformation.  No captain could live down the shame of having a crawler ranked that high on his crew.

He pressed a small yellow button on the arm of his chair.  Within seconds, four garrisons had entered his quarters unannounced and presented him with a communicator.  He attached the receiver to his ear and placed the mouthpiece under his tongue.  He hated using these things, but the ship's onboard comms were compromised now.  They had no way of knowing the crawler's post-shift intelligence level, but if it had half of Hemming's knowledge as a communications officer, even this system only stood a shadow of a chance.

"Tell me you've got good news."

A voice echoed in his ear and felt like it was reverberating through his mind.  "We've managed to narrow his location down to the seven central-most decks, but he's sealed us out, so we can't narrow it down more than that."

"What kind of personnel do we have enzone?"

"Most were evacuated by the automated system to the lowest decks, but two garrisons are unaccounted for."

The captain sighed and braced himself.  "Who are they?"

"Diangen and," the captain mouthed the all-too-familiar name along with his first officer, "Corson."

"How did I know he would be right in the middle of this?"

A new voice jumped into the conversation.  "Because Hood's Captain-on-High knowst his crewmen better than they knowst him."

Captain Hunter paused, immediately recognizing Corson's voice and pondering this new development.  "I suppose I do.  In fact, I know my people well enough to realize that the real Corson would have said 'with higher superiority' instead of 'better'."

"Well played, Captain," said the being speaking with Corson's voice.

"Hemming?"  The captain's voice was level, matter-of-fact.

"I used to be.  He's lying somewhere back on the central deck now, though.  He wasn't very lively anymore.  Have you figured out yet how he was able to smuggle me onboard?"

Hunter tried to dodge the question.  He refused to believe that Hemming would willingly help a crawler.  "What about Diangen?  Is he still alive?"

"Yes.  I believe he is, but he isn't enzone anymore."

Thank the elements.  "You said Hemming is on the central deck.  Where are you?"

Corson's voice laughed heartily.  "Are you seriously telling me you haven't figured that out yet?"

There was a sudden hissing in his ear as the lights flickered.  "You're in the tertiary nub, aren't you?"

Another flickering.  "You do know your ship, don't you, dearest Captain?"

"You know you've left me no choice, right?"

"I know."

Hunter turned to the garrisons with him, addressing both them and his first officer he hoped could still hear him over the communicator.  "I'm so sorry about this."  Then he stood, walked to a purple, square-shaped button mounted on the wall.  He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and pressed the button.

"We're with you, sir," said one of the garrison's confidently.

He was grateful for the support, but it didn't make hearing the computer's voice any easier.  "Please state your position and authorization route."

"My name is Aberth Hunter, captain of the Ridinghood, route Sehkmet-Left-Aleph."

"Route confirmed."

"I'm sorry, Captain," Hemming's weak voice echoed over the ship's loudspeakers.

Hunter realized his eyes were still closed, but didn't really want to see anything when he gave his final command.  "I will not see this ship fall under crawler control.  By the Gods, their elements, and under the jurisdiction of the Grande Admiral of the Left Fleet," he paused, taking in his last moments in command, "initiate Keresian Protocol One."

A sudden pain in his back prevented him from considering the vast importance of this moment.

He opened his eyes.

He sat up slowly, agonizing more and more with every inch he moved away from the almost-comfortable chair that had been his almost-bed for the last hour.  He was reminded once again how bad of shape he was in, but he couldn't help but relish his current situation.

He hadn't felt this sore in months.

And he kind of liked it.

At least it was something different.

Gotta Get Down on Friday

He let the door close behind him and took in a deep breath, savoring the wonderful air of the outdoors.  After locking the door with a sense of finality, he walked slowly to his car.  He was in no hurry, and for the first time in a long time, he truly appreciated that fact.

He hadn't been this excited about it being Friday in months.

There were no elaborate plans for the weekend . . . actually there were no plans at all for the weekend, but he was still somehow excited about it.  Maybe he was happy that he had a couple of days that he didn't have to come in to work.  Maybe he was looking forward to having a day to sleep in after a week of sleeping like a baby (waking up frequently hungry and cranky).

Maybe he was excited about the current economic state in southern Australia.

Screw logic.

For a rare moment, he really didn't stop and think about it.  He just went with it.

It kinda felt nice.

As he walked to his car, he spread out his arms, looked to the sky and breathed deeply from the cool afternoon air.  A sudden wave of self-consciousness overtook him, compelling him to look around to see if anyone had taken notice of his moment of exuberance.  When he realized that not only did nobody notice, but that there was nobody to notice, he threw caution and dignity to the wind and ran across the parking lot to his car.

When he got there, he quickly realized in just how bad of shape he had gotten.  It took a bit for him to catch his breath.

So he closed his eyes.

Slowly, cautiously, repressing his nerves and frustration, he opened his eyes to look at the assembled crowd.  This was going to split them down the middle, and he was the one who had to break it to them.  How did he end up here?

"It's time, Cap," the government agent said with far too much familiarity.

"I know," he said with far more confidence than he felt.

He turned to look at the other two members of the soon-to-be-disbanded Alpha team.  Lance was sitting straight-backed in his chair, grinning at their fellow Archers with his typical far-away stare.  Primadame was pacing back and forth right behind him, occasionally glancing around, but usually staring intently at her feet.

Captain Superior turned and called the assembly to order.

As he went through some standard protocols he could have done in his sleep, he did a mental check of the Archers and who would most likely end up where.

Beta team was easy.  Sam would follow Arcano anywhere who would, in turn, stay with Captain Superior.  The Keresian would be compelled to keep herself on the side of the government.  Daedalus of Gamma team would fall in that same category, taking Galatea with him.  Diri would likely go with them as well if for no other reason than to stay with his teammates.  The other teams were a bit less predictable.  Sharpshot and Cowhand would almost certainly leave along with Folivora-Man, but he expected Irene and Astro Defender to stay.  Mr. Simon, Malice, and the entire rest of Epsilon were wildcards.  Their decision would depend on what happened in the next hour.

Then there was Delta team.

He looked over at them.  Corson was listening intently, or at least pretending to listen intently, while Ghost and Haze whispered back and forth to each other.  They were linchpins.  They were low-ranking enough to still be seen as comrades to the rest, but high-ranking enough to be seen as leaders.  They were both dangerous and unpredictable.

There was a distinct possibility of Corson avoiding both teams just to stay out of the conflict, but Ghost and Haze would stick together.  However much they fought and teased each other, nothing was going to separate them.  If the decision was left to Ghost, he would probably stay with the Archers to spite the government.  Under different circumstances, the same could be said of Haze, but it was far more likely that he would leave to spite Captain Superior.

He suddenly found himself at the point in the meeting he had been dreading.  "And now," Superior said, feeling much less than superior, "here is Agent Qualm of the NSA to explain the real reason for this meeting."

Captain Superior slowly, begrudgingly sat down, yielding the floor to the government.

"Thank you," the agent said pleasantly as he stood, "but it's just Qualm.  There's no need for the 'Agent'."  This guy was good.  He was dressed in apparel almost as flamboyant as most of the Archers and had even given himself a codename that made him sound like one of them.  He was trying to convince them he was on their side.

Superior let a spark of hope slip into his soul as he saw Haze and Ghost quietly mocking Qualm.  Just maybe this could go his way.  Maybe.

"As you all know," Qualm continued, "when Lance here first approached the presidency about being a superhero, they didn't exactly get off on the right foot."  A chuckle echoed through the group.  This guy was really good.  "And then when he said that he was forming a whole team of heroes, the government supported the decision."

"Eventually," Lance interjected, bringing on an even more vigorous round of laughter.  Damn them for being good at this.

"Now," Qualm continued, smiling but not missing a beat, "we would like to offer you all the opportunity to become members of the NSA.  You have the unique opportunity to become the first League of Authorized Nexters, Crawlers, and Extraordinaires, or L.A.N.C.E."  No one in the room wondered who came up with that name.

Malice suddenly stood up, anger flaring in her eyes and across her skin.  "You're recruiting us?  Are you kidding me?"  She threw out her arms, unleashing a burst of energy.

Captain Superior leapt out of his chair, floating a few inches in the air, shielding his face with his arms.  At least now he knew where Malice stood.

He opened his eyes.

After finally catching his breath, he got in his car and started it.  Maybe today was the day he would finally start working again.  He yawned widely, remembering how little sleep he had gotten that week.

Then again, there was always tomorrow.

It was Friday after all.

Something New

For what was certainly not the first, second, or even third time that morning, he habitually flipped over to look at the monkey-on-his-back that was Facebook, not truly expecting anything new.  As he scrolled through the pointless posts and the meaningless messages, he toyed with the thought of deleting his profile for what was certainly not the first, second, or even third time.

Suddenly, something shifted in the universe.  A soft and gentle bloop issued from his computer as a small red icon appeared toward the top of his screen.

A friend request.

He had heard legends speaking of such things, but had never considered the possibility that one would actually grace his screen.  As he moved his mouse to find out whose profile the fabled request heralded, he felt honored, nervous, and a little hungry.  (It had been a while since breakfast, after all.)

He clicked on the red icon to find himself confronted with the face of a girl.  Her short, auburn hair and unnaturally (i.e. clearly photoshopped) green eyes were completely unfamiliar to him, so he instinctively clicked "ignore".  He had enough people he knew clogging up his feed with addictive nonsense.  He didn't think he needed that from someone he had never even seen before.

He pulled away from his computer in frustration.  Was this really what life had become?

He closed his eyes.

When he regained consciousness, he looked around the room.  A dozen or so other people were scattered across the floor in similar varying states of functionality while a few others stood alongside them, some completely lucid, others apparently comatose.  It left him a little concerned that he was hardly phased at all by their current situation.

Was this really what life had become?

What did they expected when someone had the brilliant idea of gathering all 21 Archers together?  Lance had had some bad ideas over the years, but this one took the cake.

Most of the Archers were fine.  They could be put in any situation and keep their cool no matter what.  Others, though, didn't take disagreements very well.  Given the fact that the room was filled with some of the most powerful beings on Earth, temper tantrums were something not to be trifled with.

As he recovered from Malice's most recent outburst, he righted his chair, heavily sat down, and turned to his teammates, Ghost and Corson, who both appeared to have been unaffected by the tirade.  He assumed that Ghost had "ghosted", allowing the energy to pass through him, leaving him unscathed, and very few things seemed to do any damage to Corson.  He really needed to learn how he did that.

Ghost was openly cackling at him while Corson had let a smile cross his masked face, the closest anyone had ever seen him get to laughing.  "Come on, Haze," Ghost said playfully.  "You're making Delta look bad!"  The three had developed a relaxed rapport with each other that allowed for open mocking.  He would get them back for it eventually.

"Yes.  Perhaps," Corson said in his deep, mystic voice, "you shouldst ponder requesting of the good Captain-of-us-all for guidance in eschewing such eruptions.  He doest appear unscathed."

A low blow, but still permissible.

"Yeah," said Ghost enthusiastically.  "Maybe, while he's at it, he can show you how to close a deal!"  A flick of his eyes and slight twitch of his head said more than his words possibly could have.

Too far.

"Well at least she considered dating me," said Haze retaliatorially, "unlike some people here."

Ghost's face suddenly darkened.  "You and I both know she's only got eyes for Cap.  Neither of us stood a chance."

Haze smirked as he sat back in his chair.  "I did."

Just as Ghost was about to lunge forward and start the tirade cycle anew, a throat being cleared at the front of the assemblage reminded them where they were.  Captain Superior looked down on them smugly.  "Is there something you boys would like to share with the class?"

Haze really hated Superior sometimes.

Corson stood confidently.  "My fellow Delta-encompassed team members were enthralled in deliberations regarding the respective likelihoods of copulation with she-whom-all-adore," he said proudly, gesturing unnecessarily toward a girl across the room with short brown hair wearing an equally short pink skirt.  Her eyes seemed to glow an even brighter shade of green in embarrassment.

Haze shrunk down in his chair as low as he could, fighting the instinct to phase out.

He opened his eyes.

As he thought about it, he hadn't given someone new a chance in quite a while.  Perhaps someone he didn't know was exactly what his news feed needed.

He quickly plowed through the unnecessarily complicated process of finding the girl's profile again and scrolled through what he was allowed to see of it.  A few pictures told him she was gorgeous, but a few posts told him that she rarely posted anything interesting in any sense of the word.

He closed the browser.

Maybe it wasn't a day to try new things.

RING RING

He pulled his head away from the wall and reached up a hand to rub his now throbbing cranium.  Perhaps literally banging his head against the wall hadn't been the best way to express his frustration, but it had seemed like a good idea just a few moments before.

Still rubbing his head, he slowly returned to his desk and dropped heavily into his office chair, effectively forcing it to yield and drop a couple of inches.  The phone rang again and he looked at it a bit mournfully.  Whoever was on the other side couldn't possibly do anything to improve his day at this point.  Chances were that they would actually make him even angrier than he already was.

After deciding that he couldn't ignore it forever and had waited about as long as he possibly could to answer it, he begrudgingly lifted the receiver and gave his standard, pre-programmed greeting.

After an almost unreasonably long pause in which he decided there wasn't anyone on the other side of the line, a faint voice quickly sputtered, "Hi.  This is Zach," before falling silent again.  He quickly and cheerfully responded, thankful to be talking to someone he didn't already hate.  After another unreasonably long pause, he heard the distinct click of someone hanging up.

"Hello?"  No response.  "Helloooooo?"  No response.  "I like to lick seagulls.  Have a nice day!"  And he hung up.

A part of him was relieved and grateful that he didn't have to deal with anyone, but there was another equally sized part of him that had been looking forward to some human contact.  He sat and stared at the wall for a few minutes, letting the two sides fight it out for a while before returning to the arduous task of pretending he was doing something productive.

That lasted all of five minutes.

Then he closed his eyes.

"I don't know how," he said desperately, pleading with the strange man.

The light that had left the forest returned just as quickly as it had faded, bringing with it even more of the joyous rays.  "Oh.  Well why didn't you say so?  This way!"  The strange man suddenly pointed back in the direction Paschar was almost positive had led him to where they were now standing.  Of course, he knew better than to think that anyone knew where anything was while in the Forest of Diri.

A sudden and dangerous idea struck him.

"You know, if you know your way around this forest-"

"I should hope I do," said Diri cheerfully.

"Then you could lead me to the lance, couldn't you?"

Diri suddenly rounded on him and looked deep into his eyes, just inches from the young captain's face.  He paused for a long time, a serious face scrutinizing Paschar's every detail.  Then, very seriously, though somehow sounding childish, the strange man spoke.  "It's not called the lance.  It's called the Lance."  He suddenly looked away very thoughtfully.  "Actually, L.A.N.C.E. would probably be more accurate, though it occurs to me that you can't hear punctuation."  He suddenly turned his attention back to Paschar.  "Can you?"  It was an honest question.

The captain slowly shook his head, still not sure what to make of his new travel companion . . . and seriously wondering what he had done with his previous companion.

"I thought not," Diri said quickly, returning to his original course.  "Besides, if I showed you where that was, I'd have to kill you.  Violently."

Paschar gulped and followed Diri at a distance.

After a few minutes of walking, the darkness seemed to return, bringing with it a sense of dread.

But there was something different about the darkness this time.  It seemed closer, more tangible, and, most importantly, Diri seemed to take notice of it.  The strange man looked around, reaching out with a hand as if hoping to grab hold of the shadows themselves.

When he did grab hold of them, Captain Paschar seriously considered running for it, but something held him in place.

Suddenly, streaks of lightning coursed through the shadows, forming into a strange symbol that caused Diri to recoil.  The symbol charged at the strange being, ramming hard into his chest.  Lightning then began to pour out of it and envelop him.  The energy grew brighter and denser by the second until Paschar couldn't look at Diri anymore.

Suddenly, the light faded back to normal, and Paschar turned back to see what had become of his companion.  He quickly decided that one of two things had happened.  Either Diri had transformed into the incredibly human man now standing in front of him, or Diri had somehow been driven away and replaced by barefoot man clothed in simple, tattered, grey clothes and hood with brightly colored tattoos covering his legs.  The captain wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know which it was.

When the man spoke, Paschar quickly made note of the fact that while this newcomer didn't look young by any means, his stern but cheerful voice sounded significantly older than he looked.  "Are you alright?"

Paschar paused for a long time just staring at the man.  He finally managed to form a coherent sentence.  "Who are you?"

The man almost smiled.  There was definite movement around his lips, but not enough to actually call it a change in emotion.  "I'm what's left of L.A.N.C.E."  He paused dramatically as if listening to something way off in the distance.  "You can call me Haze."

A sudden ringing filled Paschar's ears and completely overtook his mind.  It didn't take long before he couldn't focus on anything else.

So he opened his eyes.

The ringing stopped when he picked up the phone's receiver, instinctively greeting the person on the other side.

There was a long pause before a somewhat mechanical male voice began to speak.  "Hello!  I am calling on behalf of . . . "  He spaced out for a moment and didn't hear who this pseudo-person was with.  "Did you know that by updating your listing in . . . "  He spaced out again.

"Did you know," he responded cheerfully, "that I hate the smell of waxed mongoose tongue?"  And he quickly hung up.

He let his head drop down and land with a loud thud on his desk, immediately regretting the decision.

He rubbed his forehead in his hand.

Did real people still exist?

A Corner of the Union

He banged his head against the wall as he reeled back in shock, frustration, and mockery.

"Oh, really, Mr. President?  You think team USA's gonna do great at the Olympics?  Clearly that is an important part of the current state of the union," he shouted sarcastically to the empty room.

He didn't normally get into politics, but for some reason, he was actually sitting this year, watching the State of the Union Address.  He was really glad that the station he was watching had explained some of the history behind it, but it also was kind of pissing him off now.  If it was just a random pointless speech, he would care ever so slightly less about how pointless it was.

. . . then again, he was frustrated by just about everything any politician did these days.

Who was he kidding?  He was only paying enough attention to get himself angry enough to post something clever on his blog . . . and there really was nothing worth writing about here.

So he closed his eyes.

He heard the door close and watched one of the most powerful men in the world walk to his desk and sit, head in his hands, letting out a huge sigh.

"Hello, Mr. President!"  The president quickly leapt to his feet, reaching instinctively for the phone that was no longer there.  "Sorry.  I borrowed your phone.  I'll get it back to you later.  Alright?"  The intruder's face and voice were both infinitely cheerier than the president, who looked both terrified and angry.

"Who are you and what do you want?"

"Straight to business then?  Alright.  I'm a victim . . . well actually a friend of a victim . . . well actually a friend of a friend of a victim."  He paused and stared into space for a moment.  "Anyway, I want justice."

The president didn't respond.  Instead, he began slowly edging his way toward the door they both knew was hidden in the wall behind him.  He managed to reach the handle, but before he could turn it, he found the intruder's hand holding his wrist.  "How did you . . . ?"

"Oh, Bill.  Can I call you Bill?"  It was an honest question.

The president looked confused, but the question seemed to catch him just off-guard enough to inspire honesty.  He spoke very slowly and cautiously.  "My name is . . . "

"I didn't ask what your name was," he said still innocently, but with a sudden spark of anger.  "I asked if I could call you Bill."

A sudden sternness overtook the politician.  "No.  You may not call me Bill," he said with more anger than he had intended and less dignity than he had hoped.  He tried to recover by stepping back toward his desk and straightening his jacket.

"Great.  So, Bill," the intruder said, walking back over to the seat he had been occupying before the president had so rudely forced him to get uncomfortable, "like I was saying, I want justice."

A sudden calm professionalism had overtaken the politician as he sat down at his desk.  "And what exactly do you want justice for?"

"Everyone and everything," the intruder said matter-of-factly.

The president had taken out a piece of paper and began writing on it.  The furniture in the room was arranged so that he knew the intruder wouldn't be able to see what he was writing, but he somehow knew that trying to keep secrets from this man wasn't going to work.  He avoided writing anything classified just in case.  "I think we all want that.  Don't we?"

The intruder leapt to his feet, gesturing wildly.  "Thank you!  Finally, a man who understands the people!"

"So what do you want from me?"

"I want you to sign an executive order officially making me a hero!"

"A hero?"

"Yes!  The United States' first superhero!  Just think how good that will look in the history books!"

"Look," he paused.  "I don't know your name."

"Oh sorry about that," the intruder replied cheerily.  "You can call me Lance."

"Alright, Larry . . . "

"It's Lance."

"Right."  The president smirked a bit.  "So, Larry, you realize that I can't really make anyone a superhero.  No one can be above the law."

Lance was suddenly standing behind the politician, gently rubbing his shoulders.  "Oh, Bill.  I think you'll find that I'm already above the law.  I just want you to make it easier on everyone and keep the authorities out of my way."  He leaned in close to whisper in the ear of the leader of the free world.  "And it's Lance."

He opened his eyes.

He must have dozed off.  Based on where the commentators were in their analysis of the president's speech, he had been out for hours.  He glanced out the window to check on the state of his little corner of the union.

Yep.  Still there.

Why did they need a two-hour speech to tell everyone that?

Annual Pedantry

He stifled another yawn . . . then gave up stifling them and let them flow freely.

It wasn't that his church's annual meeting was boring.  It was really more like . . . no.  His church's annual meeting was boring.  It wasn't always.  In fact, some years, it was downright exciting once they got on to something controversial like last year's time change proposal that he could have sworn almost came to blows.  This year, however, there didn't seem to be anything worth fighting over.

Lame.

He tried to listen to the members bringing up the same points and getting confused by the same reports and volunteering for the same things they did the year before, but that was a hopeless endeavor.  He tried to get involved in the conversations himself, hoping he could throw everyone a curve ball that would catch everyone off guard, but he couldn't focus enough to add anything.  He even tried to imagine that it was actually a mafia assemblage (the heads of all five families were present, after all), but there wasn't even enough excitement for him to make that work.

As they started to open discussion on the proposed budget for the coming year, he accepted that money was never going to be something that he could make sense of anyway and settled back into the pew.  He stretched out his arms, careful to make sure to keep them low enough that no one thought he was volunteering for something, and allowed another yawn.

And he closed his eyes.

He felt a warm breeze blowing on his face, filling his nostrils with their first glimpse of the outside world in years.  His first thought was that it was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.

His second was that it smelled like burned salmon.

His third was that he had no idea was burned salmon smelled like.

He opened his eyes and looked around at the ruined laboratory surrounding him.  Whatever had set him free of his confines must have been incredibly powerful to leave this kind of impression on his captors' fortress.  Broken glass covered roasted corpses and the ground surrounding them while large gaping holes riddled the walls.  A layer of ash gave everything the feel of an old black-and-white movie.

He smiled, reveling in his newfound freedom.  He felt a slight twinge of guilt about the joy he felt towards the bodies he was walking on, but it was so strongly outweighed by the relatively chemical-free air filling his lungs that he didn't actually care.

A sudden scraping noise on the large metallic door across the room pulled him away from his revelry.

He turned slowly, a manic grinning spreading across his face as his hands gently traced the trail he had taken since he had awoken.  As they moved gracefully in front of his face, he slowly curled his fingers into a fist and marched forward with sudden deliberateness to meet whoever was knocking on the door of his long-time home.

He reached the door just as it swung open to reveal a heavy-framed, humanoid form.

Without hesitation, he reeled around, lifting his left leg gracefully into the air and planting his heel hard on the figure's head.  Before he could figure out what kind of effect this had on his new visitor, he leapt through the doorway, lifted effortlessly off the ground, and flew off into the sunset.

"Great," a voice echoed from somewhere just beyond the horizon.  "Thank you for doing that!"

He opened his eyes.

Several people in the room had turned to look at him while others whispered to each other, gesturing at him with nods and even a point or two.  He took a quick inventory of himself to find one arm stretched straight up in the air.  His sister was giggling quietly next to him.

Uh oh.

He smiled up at the president of the church council and nodded curtly.

What exactly had he just volunteered for?

A Sold Soul

He thumbed through the cookbook absentmindedly, not really seeing anything on any of the pages.  His hands seemed determined to find a recipe that would spark the rest of his being into actually cooking something, but they weren't having any luck.  His mind simply wasn't there.  Actually, if he was being honest with himself, his mind hadn't been spending much time around his body at all that day.

He suddenly slammed the book shut and went back to his computer.  He could always order pizza.

Three unicorns, two llamas, and a course in oceanography (or was it oceanology?) later, he managed to force himself off of YouTube.  A quick glance at Facebook told him nothing new was happening anywhere at all in the world, so he tried to pull himself back to the real world.

No such luck.

After selling his soul for a username, he scrolled through the newest blue-birded abyss of his online life.  He then quickly shut his laptop before something else could suck him in.

And he closed his eyes.

He peaked through his eyelids at the chaos surrounding him.  How could he have done this?

They deserved it!

He tried to convince himself it was true, but it wasn't doing any good.  No one deserved this.  He glanced quickly at the corpse lying closest to his feet, not daring to look for more than a second.  She certainly didn't deserve this.  She had only been trying to help.

You couldn't stop yourself!

It may have been true, but it didn't change the fact that he could have simply never come here in the first place.  He could have stopped his niece from having anything to do with the Archers.  He could have turned his abilities in on himself a long time ago, and none of this would have happened.  So many things could have gone differently to stop him from ever getting to the point where stopping himself was a necessity.

You couldn't have known!

"SHUT UP!"  He screamed as loud as he could at the voices in his head.  They weren't helpful, and no one was around to offer him even the slightest odd look for chastising them.

No one is anywhere to offer you any kind of look!

Apparently yelling at them wasn't going to do any good.

Moreover, he knew it was true.

Far off on the horizon, a single standing structure caught his attention.  A dark pillar rising above a vast, blank . . . nothingness.  Within seconds, a wave of energy had carried him to its large metallic door.  He brushed off a thick layer of ash to reveal an all-too-familiar acronym:  L.A.N.C.E.

They were prepared for you!  They're still alive!

But do you really want them to be alive?

It's better than no one!

Is it?

"I told you to shut up!!!"

He easily threw open the heavy door, trying to remain void of hope . . . in either direction.

And he opened his eyes.

Who was he kidding?  It wasn't selling his soul!  It was simply adding another form of entertainment to his repertoire.  With the amount of free time he had, he could use all the help he could get to keep himself from getting bored.

Boy did he need a hobby.

Or maybe another job.

In the meantime, he took the advice of one of his fellow interwebbers and followed a link to what promised to be the best video he would ever see.

Ok.  So maybe it was selling his soul.