WWE-The Imperfect Grind



The dreamer can daydream for so long before the sands finish slipping through the hour glass, and the dream is over.

The dream had seemingly passed, but he knew the opportunities had not yet ceased to settle

As he stormed into Vince McMahon’s office, the dreamer focused on adjusting his vision, fixated on the road signs that led to the grand event known as Wrestlemania, and the prize at the end of the rope.

He had champions in his corner, a slew of Youtube vloggers who had made their case for what was due him. He would plead his case to the Authority. He felt certain that this time were more clear on who they wanted to headline the grand stage against the beast incarnate Brock Lesnar

All they needed to hear were the voices of the disenchanted. Of the people.

Those in attendance in Philadelphia had made their voices heard too. They had rejected the sultan of ‘suffering succotash’, the man who could make even a crowd deeply entrenched in appreciation of wrestling lore boo a run-in and endorsement by the People’s Champion. The crowd had rejected Roman Reigns, and would hopefully continue to reject him

He opened the doors of Vince’s office. He was met with cold, dead stares. There was a creative meeting in place. Some demanded to know what the dreamer was doing here unannounced.

Some burst into fits of laughter, knowing exactly why the dreamer was doing here.

“This is no laughing matter” said the dreamer. “No matter what you and some opposed to me on the internet may believe, to most of those who pay good money and indulge in great appreciation for this art form, I am professional wrestling, I was cheated out of the rumble, the people all know it, they want me dead centre in the main event of Wrestlemania, I just know it”

“Curtis, do you remember the “genesis” speech you cut on NXT years ago? That alone makes Roman look like Edgar Allan Poe in terms of precision promos”

“But…I…was an intercontinental champion, I have beaten the likes of Wade Barret and The Miz”

“Barret loses every week and Miz is a loser every year”

“I teamed with Ryback”

“And he’s barely recovered from THAT” pointed out a writer.

“I was a Heyman guy”

“Paul E is the kiss of death for anyone who isn’t Lesnar, just ask Cesaro”

“These are all credentials you can’t diminish with a few minor ‘buts’ in the details” replied Curtis

“We can dismiss them when we see how many butts in the seats those accolades generated, ZERO” snapped back Michael Hayes

“My point I was unjustly denied my Rumble entrance by Eric Rowan, I have a legal right to the championship, this has happened before and been approved”

“Oh yeah?” said a writer, “Who else?”

Curtis twiddled his fingers apprehensively, “Maven” he said.

The uproar of laughter was enough to send the dreamer well on his way out of the door

Curtis Axel, the dreamer, thought back on his career, and how much he had gone up against the day to day politicking of the professional wrestling world

How much of it could he still take?

He took a photograph out from his jeans and looked on it fondly.

He looked to his blood. He looked to his family, and to his father.

His perfect father.

“How did you manage it Dad?” Curtis asked the kind hearted soul in the photo.

Curtis Axel, a Henning, lifted up his head and walked back down the corridors, and thought ahead to another day. Be it another edition of Main Event, be it another outing on Superstars, he would work against the Imperfect Grind, he would be the canary in the coal mine, and he would make as few butts in the seats as possible marvel at the diamond detail he would craft in the ring.

He would earn his respect. If not from the writers, if not from Vince, if not from fans, then for himself and his own family

And that would be enough


Spider-Girl-Delicate Strings




Note: Well, as any fan of Mayday knows, ASM#8 sees her return to the printed page as part of the Spider-Verse comics event. Alas, it seems Dan Slott has chosen to put her and her family through the emotional wringer. I know some of you are probably upset by this, but hey, look on the bright side, this could easily be retconned down the road as one of many similar alternate realitys.

Relax. It’s comics. The continuous positive and negative of this business is this:

Everything is temporary.

DC’s Helena Wayne was killed off in Crisis on Infinite Earths, and she’s currently active as Huntress again. Hell, all of Earth-2 was destroyed once in the same event, and has since been restored/rebooted

So here’s a little story to keep some fresh hope alive until the day Marvel gives Mayday stability again. There’s no true despair without it!


Disclaimer: Mayday and the MC2 Universe are owned and trademarked by Marvel Comics.

My name is May Parker, I am the daughter of Spider-Man, and I’m not allowed to take strange things home with me.

That’s the rule.

It’s occasionally bent when push comes to shove, but anything that could pose a true danger to the family need not be invited so readily into the Parker household.

This is a tad different. It poses no danger. At least not to anyone staring inside the window, looking within the worlds on offer like they were a snow globe

No, this is something that affects only the mind.

In my hand I hold the Quantum Bolt. Recovered from the Neither Prisms by a contingent of Spider-Men led by a version of my father that had been seasoned in multi-dimensional experience. That and a few other hang-ups.

He told me my mom was made out of H20 in his universe. Very weird.

He also told me to take this to my dad, he said he’d understand. He had helped recover the bolt once before from the Frightful Four.

It is said it can create and sustain a whole multi-verse. Not just one world or two, but a vast infinite realm of possibility.

Most of the time the bolt was used to channel positive messages, and as a result it created worlds with positive outcomes. But then it became corrupted by the High Evolutionary of the Counter-Earth once visited by the Spider-Man that had seemingly seen the unlimited scope of every possible reality. The bolt was injected with a type-A disruptive pathogen forged from the blood of a cloned chaos demon. The Quantum Bolt began corrupting and disrupting the otherwise perfectly stable realitys, infecting the thoughts and feelings of the people inhabiting it’s network of parallel worlds, causing them to act out-of-character.

I recall the strange dreams I had not too long ago, nightmares of a brand new day that invited big time change, only to lead to less than superior heartbreak.

My mom told me we Parkers would never break like that in real life.

The nightmares continued even after that. I dreamt a whole plethora of hunters called “Inheritors” came looking for my family seeking to feast on something called Totem energy, they broke into our house and burned it to the ground. Nobody was safe. Not Mom, not Dad. Not even Wes.

Wes. I have to keep him safe from the strange, strange things I bring home to us.

So many responsibilities.

I took a peek inside the bolt, a small triangular orb held aloft within a glass hexagon prism, tiny nebulas dancing around each other, nested together like bees in a hive.

It was like looking through a kaleidoscope. The bolt sensed it was being observed, and it opened it’s realms to the splinter of my eye. I saw the corruption first hand, the inversions, the axis, the avenged and the x in the equation, disassembling, reassembling, I saw the Other, I saw the totem, I saw the Silk, I saw the turn of the cat, I saw…


Utter. Nonsense.

My mom would turn and mock the strange let alone face it. The High-Evolutionary had sacrificed consistency of character for inane stunts that flew in the face of how the heroes of my world, the heroes of many reality’s, acted. This was an anti-verse, a nexus of improbable decision making and poor choices.

What manner of evolution do you call this?

Of course, I realized this was the counter-Earth Evolutionary, so it would make sense out of how counter-productive this all was.

And worse, I glimpsed worlds where my nightmares had come true.

The bolt’s nature remains a mystery, it contains within a fragment of space and time, what if every creeping thought, every fear, every weakness, had been channelled into the bolt like a conduit? What if the bolt in turn channelled it out?

Chicken and the egg syndrome. What passed through first?

The strings that bind this web of life together are delicate, and it surprises me that we Parkers can be made to look as fragile as butter in these worlds of negative consequences

I need to bring the strange homeward. I need to tell my dad, and we need to fulfil a promise.

No matter who ore what comes looking for the Quantum Bolt, we Parkers will not scatter, we will not flee.

We will fight.

We will endure.

And we will survive.

That is the only possibility I will tolerate.

As for why the bolt is within my hands, what my dad needs to know, these questions are best left to the future.

And there’s a good possibility my dad will ground me for bending the rule in that forthcoming future.



TMNT-To Discipline A Shadow




Disclaimer: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles are trademarked by Nickelodeon. All rights reserved

Note: This fic takes place in the same continuity as my TMNT novella series. You might want to take a read of them before advancing

Additional note: Pepperami is not a typo. It’s a food snack.

The scent was unmistakable. Saturn velvet. A strong kind of perfume with an enticing aroma. Only worn by the brave on a special occasion, usually a date, and there were plenty of handsome evenings that could weave themselves around the aroma picked up by one Chad Dawkins.

He clenched the crowbar in his hand tight as he checked the alley nearest to the warehouse he was safeguarding. Inside a deal was going down, a trade of over $17,000 worth of silver skeleton keys, a jewel embedded in the center of each one. A prize catch, and a dangerous asset to either party if they were caught handling them in these circumstances.

Chad’s job was to sniff out, literally, anyone who was capable of exposing them.

And he had pulled through. What he was sniffing out was indeed intrusive. It was a threat.

Better yet, it was a woman.

“You can’t hide anywhere” he said aloud, hitting his own hand with the crowbar ever so gently. Upon stumbling on a nearby trash can, half of it’s contents oozing out from under the lid, he kicked it to one side with his heavily laced right boot and then jumped down on it, attempting to partially crush it, he then wildly began beating the can with the crowbar, letting out frustrated wolf-like howls, he was seeking to intimidate, the response he got was far from feeling anything of the sort.

“Impressive” a voice rang out from the silk shroud of cool night air.

“Show yourself broad, ain’t no outdoing this sniffer dog, and my bite is a lot worse than my bark”

“I’ve read up on you, bit of an animal, but in the Pepperami sense”


“Pardon me, just reminiscing on my boyfriend’s taste for well over-processed salty snacks, I need to do some errands tomorrow and get him more of that. Such a drag”

“Don’t give me food for thought when I can easily have you for seconds, once I get a minute” threatened Chad

“You’re going to have to cover a lot of dark to bring me to light” replied the voice

“Say, I know that voice…you’re that reporter from Channel Six aren’t you? April O’Neil”

“Covering the latest breaking developments, always on time with things as they happen” replied the voice.

“Where are you hiding? I’m gonna make you the story”

“Answer a question first…unless you prefer not to catch me at my best” said April from the shroud of evening.

Chad turned to his right, believing he had heard a small footstep, he darted over the left side corner and stumbled on a wild kitten

“Careful around cats..you never know when they’ll pounce. That sure takes me back to when I had claws that were hard to cut off” replied April

Chad was slowly showing signs of irksome impatience.

“This hide’n’seek’n’destroy mission is gonna go my way broad” he said, “Don’t try to delay the inevitable”

“I’m trying to conduct an interview with someone at the heart of the matter, the least you can do is afford a girl like me something to leave behind before I sleep with fishes”

“Word on the street is you sleep with Turtles” said Chad

“Ah, well informed, I’ve picked a right fruit, now let’s make sure you’re no lemon…answer my question”

“I will if you come out of hiding”

“Answer my question and I’ll take a bold leap forward”

“Ask away” Chad said.

“You’re a shadow aren’t you?”


“A shadow. A guardsman for the mooks making the mint back in that building. You’re not paid to sit around, your job’s to sniff out any intrusions, to make sure that prickle on the back of their necks isn’t the breath of a cop or a rival gang member standing close enough to seize an opportunity to snarl or to snare. Answer me truthfully, do you consider yourself a shadow?”

“Yeah, I guess I am” said Chad, slightly taken aback by the calmness of the questioning, and the stimulating ease he was finding in this conversation. His hold on the steel crowbar loosened a bit, he put one hand to his jaw and scratched underneath it slightly to do away with an unsteady itch

“Now, here’s the next question, two of two, after this, I’m in the clear. Ready?” she said

“I guess” said Chad, now very confused, and not liking such a state of mind.

“What are they to you?” she said

“They…I…do I have to answer this?” he said

“If you don’t, I don’t appear, I go straight to the cops, I give them the location and details of the deal going down, we’ve got trackers in that building monitoring everything, I’ve got friends in very low areas, and they don’t mind getting high either…in a blimp, not on the funky mushrooms on their pizza toppings”

“Ok, ok…they’re…dependable, I guess. I got a family back home, had a kid just a week ago, money’s not so tight, so figured I’d…”

The impact was sharp, heavy and sudden, Chad felt his knees buckle. Somehow, incredibly, he could only stagger from what had hit him over the head. He immediately checked, rubbing his hands over his scalp, in it he found pieces of glass.

Another blast came from behind, he heard something compress, he tried turning around, only to have his forehead come head-to-head with the nozzle of a camera. It hit him hard, blasting and breaking his nose.

“Shouldn’t have went into detail like that” April said, revealed in full, emerging from the shadows in an attempt to bring discipline to one. “A family huh? Wonder how they’re feeling right now, wondering what their dependable shadow is up to?”

Chad groaned in pain, feeling the full weight of the impact from the camera to his skull, he got up and ran towards April, who let his gut feel the fury of a sharp thrusting kick from her right leg. As Chad clutched his stomach, April elbowed him on the back and brought her kneecap into his chin, before clenching a tight fist and, like a lightning bolt, it brought a sudden and sharp jolt of pain to Chad’s noggin as it struck him.

“April, don’t become the story” snapped a snarky voice from behind her. It was Vernon.

“Relax, we’ll just pin on the guys when they get down here”

“Graphic violence isn’t key to their demographics” said Vernon.

“And that’s why they lost their popularity to import sensations from Japan, slight scandal will do them wonders and do good ratings for us. Think big Vernon, this isn’t the 90s anymore”

“I didn’t think we ever left the 80s” snapped Vernon, “Those decades sort of bleed one into the other”

“I was going to let you off easy pal, but you had to bring family into it…that just raises my ire and it ignites a fire” April said to the groggy and near unconscious Chad.

“Just so you know April, that damage to the camera is coming out of your check” said Vernon as he picked up the remnants of the equipment.

“Small price to pay for enforcing perspective” April replied, before she removed her Turtle-com from her belt buckle and patched in to Donatello, high up on the Turtle blimp.

“Boys, swoop in, they’re all yours”

High overhead, the Turtle blimp flew down, ropes descended from atop it, and the four familiar forms of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles slid down onto the roof of the warehouse. Donatello popped open a hole in the thatched sky loft of the structure with his Bo, and with a familiar cry of “Cowabunga”, the Turtles dealt their own swift brand of vintage vice to the dealers of the silver skeletons.

“April…” began Vernon, only to find she was gone, with only an open manhole left to provide a clue to her whereabouts

April made her way through the sewer network, using her Turtle-com to follow a homing beacon that her boyfriend had placed in one of his spare coms in the desk drawer of their bedroom.

Once she found her way to the Turtles’ lair, she creaked open the door and gently walked through the murky interior. She spotted Splinter deep in meditation, a half-finished game of Mouse Trap laying beside him.

April made her way over to the Turtles’ bedroom, stretched her arms, and sat down on the bed belonging to her and her boyfriend, she slipped off her boots and delicately peeled off her yellow jumpsuit and changed into a silk nightdress that Michelangelo had left nicely folded for her on the spread. She clambered into the bed and checked the right side to check if the book she had been reading the last night she had spent here was still in the same position she had left it. It was.

She spent the next couple of hours immersed in the pages of her book, and slowly but surely the warmth of the soothing romantic prowse contained within was settling her down, and she ultimately drifted into slumber, that is, until she heard several footsteps, followed by all too familiar overzealous, cool, cocky, and a little inch of crazy, yells and self-congratulatory chit-chat from the four Turtles.

As soon as they entered the sleeping quarters of their lair and saw what appeared to be April’s still and snoring frame, they immediately backed off, leaving only one amongst their ranks as the only other occupant in the room.

Smiling, Michelangelo tucked into bed beside her.

“You’re not getting any better at this April, I can totally tell we woke you again” he whispered

April opened one eye and grinned mischievously, “Playing sleeping beauty always gets me alone time with the prince”

“You missed out the word ‘handsome’ in that title” joked Michelangelo

April turned around and faced him with her strong and caring eyes

“So, like, what’s got your brain frying this time?” he asked, observing the novel, “It really can’t be this mush”

April swung her arm over his shoulder and rested her head gently on his chest

“Family” she replied

Michelangelo gulped.

“We’re having the same chat we had last night at your place aren’t we?”

“It’s not a job interview…I’m a reporter, different sort of beast, just think of it as a press conference and relax, imagine a crowd, an audience, imagine all the people…”

“Raph was right, bring romance into the fab four and watch the Yoko factor play out” groaned Michelangelo

April sighed, and kissed Michelangelo on the nose before snuggling back into his arms.

“Look, I had a rough night, I played mind games with a mook and it really preyed a bit on my own head…people will take ridiculous risks for the people they care about, I was curious about the nature of the those that have thankless jobs on both sides of the coin, be they good or evil, the ones that stick by our side even if we sometimes take them for granted, I asked what were those we protect to them…and I got two things out of it…dependability, and…and family. I guess I expected the last thing, but that’s it is’nt it? The shadows, they’re our constant companion, they’re an imprint of life in the city as much as real shadows are moving on walls…it got me to thinking, if we start a family, what would I be to my shadow, my companion, you, would I be just as dependable to you? Would I be able to provide something you need?”

Michelangelo smiled “Babe, you provide plenty…and I’m not just talking about the Pepperami or the cheese’n’chilli Pizza on a cold Thursday night, you bring me not just love and laughter…you bring this loyal shadow discipline”

April trailed her fingers across Michelangelo’s rough stomach, whilst Michelangelo placed a hand on her head,stroking it through her hair like a tender brush

“Shadow…nice name for our kid don’t you think?” April asked

“Oh so we are having the exact conversation…i thought for sure you were trailing off, but never one to subvert expectation are you?” asked Michelangelo, folding his arms. April laughed

“All you fear is the paperwork, not the responsibility” April said, and turned off the nightlight beside the bed

“Don’t worry” she whispered, “If Shadow ever asks what we mean to you, I’ll be sure to say one thing…”

“Discipline?” asked Michelangelo

“Drive” she whispered back.

“I hope that doesn’t mean you’ll be taking Shadow on road lessons…I’ve seen you trying to ride the Van…


Doctor Who-Lose Lose (Fanfic)




Disclaimer: Doctor Who and all characters are trademarked by the BBC.



The amount of civilians flooding into Heathrow airport was the last thing on Elliot Peterson’s mind as air traffic control began urging him to make his way outside

A fleet’s worth of police had arrived.

Given all that was going on at Heathrow, with 228 flights cancelled and over 100,000 passengers stranded and left in a variety of unpredictable emotional states, he wasn’t surprised at such a development, and he knew he had to assure most of the huddled masses of humanity not to be start feeling terribly uneasy about developments

He made the decision to instruct the people who ran the intercoms to inform the passengers of the abundance of enforcers while he went out and dealt with the heart of the matter.

He went through the doors leading to the exits of the airport and met with the first officer approaching the structure.

“Detective Seb Culbertson”

“Eliot Peterson. Traffic control. What can I do for you?” said Peterson

“We’re here because of the miscommunication with the control glitch, you should be right on top of it considering it’s a blunder within your department” said Culbertson.

“I can read people very thoroughly, as much as security here is warranted at this time, having as many as you have out here does feel a bit excessive” said Peterson.

Seb was impressed by the observational sharpness of his accuser.

“Look, this is looking on record to be the worst on record for the airport in terms of traffic scuffles, there’s already problems at London City, Edinburgh, Glasgow, Bristol, delays ranging from 1,300 flights…”

“I’m all too aware of my own problems, you don’t want a teeming army such as this barging into the airport, and you’ll frighten the passengers. As much as we’re going to try and calm things with them, I would appreciate it if you…you know, just sort of eased your way into the building…now cut the commotion and tell me point blank who you’re looking for”

“You that confident it’s someone we’re searching for?”

“Terrorist. Jewel thief. Something exotic I’m sure” replied Peterson jokingly.

Seb was keen to inform him this was no laughing matter

“Justin Lent. Responsible for four heists in the last week or so. One of which was alien tech. hasn’t shed any bloodshed, but the rag tag outfits he employs had no concerns pulling triggers”

“Talk about your word being your Bond…this truly is exotic, next thing you’ll be telling me everything going on in there is the result of espionage” replied Peterson.

Dwight’s stony expression didn’t change

“I think I best let you in” said Peterson, immediately understanding

As the police teemed in, one small unit every ten or so minutes, Peterson directed them across the left and right corners of the airport, covering the major exit ports.

Seb raised his hands up in the air

“Let it be known for the record. I surrender” he said

“What do you mean?” Peterson asked

Seb snapped his fingers. The police around him began looking dazed, unsure of their surroundings; some were asking what they were doing here

Seb suddenly reached into his coat and pulled out an automatic. Swiftly, he set it off, immense firepower ringing through the air.

He began to run towards the escalators and up through the upper floor, the small army of officers panicked and began ordering everyone to duck and cover.

Peterson couldn’t comprehend what was going on, and before he could find a way to intercept Seb, he was pinned down by the officers as they scrambled to assert control.

Dwight ran towards one of the terminals, shoving his way through the corridor leading to the exit ports which in turn led outside to the airstrip. Some angered passengers were trying to grab hold of him just to give him a piece of their mind for being so rude as to try and breeze through them like they were revolving doors.

Seb knocked some down as he carelessly shot down the corridor and nudged more people to the side in his mad bid to part a sea of citizens, some tried tripping him up as the police intercepted him, telling the public to hit the ground as they opened fire themselves, but Seb had managed to reach the exit terminal and had shot out of the building onto the airport’s landing strips.

Outside he spotted a sleek black and silver stripped private carrier perched perfectly, a tall woman in stiletto high heels with and a long purple petticoat held up a sign reading simply “Justin Lent”

“Timing” Seb said as he and the woman boarded the plane. “Lousy. Timing”

The armed officers poured out onto the strip, only to be greeted by the sight of the plane not exactly taking off, but gradually shimmering in and out of visual recognition, an electronic hissing noise trailing off of a wheezing groaning sound.


On board the plane, now in flight within the time/space vortex, Seb ordered himself a drink provided to him by one of the plane’s air hostesses

“You weren’t supposed to collect me this blasted early” Seb said as he took one shot of the drink, tequila

The woman in the glowing petticoat manicured her nails and tucked into some freshly served caviar, “The timing was ideal. Two people vanished this day. Justin Lent and Seb Culbertson”

Seb out a small handheld device and a handkerchief containing a small figure, a miniaturized figure, a figure that was the exact double of him

The real Seb Culbertson.

“How did your last incarnation die?” asked the woman

“Took one in the back on the gang’s last heist. He cornered me in an alley, but not before I got him back” Seb said, “Then I regenerated, but, as is sometimes the case with how fate flirts with our features, how about you?”

The woman gave a playful smile, “I had an eating disorder”

“I took on Culbertson face. I was able to assume his role in the police but I was attracting a lot of suspicion by not exactly acting in-character, its sheer luck I wasn’t caught out. Then I got your video messages. You interrupted three successive training seminars I was giving some rookies with your hocus-pocus intruding on the television screens. Good thing only I could see it”

“So why did you bring a whole fleet of police?” asked the woman, taking the napkin that contained the shrunken corpse of Seb and dabbing it on her mouth to remove the caviar stains around it.

“And that takes us back to lousy timing” Seb replied, “You selected the age of the worst airport disaster in recent memory, I had no choice but to take that percentage out with me in order to cause the most amount of fuss from the percentage of the public that wouldn’t take to being ordered around, leave them with distraction after distraction, and leave the remaining percentage that did pursue me and bore witness to my escape to become maddening truthers for the rest of their miserable days. I had to blow my cover because at the end of the day the manhunt for Lent…the manhunt for me… would have proven fruitless and it’d have given everyone who suspected I wasn’t quite myself on the force the perfect ammunition to investigate me. It was lose-lose really. And I still consider going home a loss after all the effort I put into establishing a comfy nest. I do hate to fly the coup”

Seb stared out at the stormy vortex, lightning bolts dancing and dicing with one another

“What exactly did you want with this anyway?” Seb replied, holding up a pocket device, one of his more recent ‘acquisitions’, “It’s the messier and more literal kind of tissue compression eliminator, all it can do is grind every molecule into dust”

“They’re old-fashioned. I’m very much that these days” the woman replied

“Yes, I don’t think there’s that many of us on Gallifrey left that prefers taking on the form you have, far less masculine” he said, suddenly feeling compelled began to blink a bit more rapidly. For some reason, he felt something wriggle across his gaze.

Suddenly, his head shot backwards, then forwards, he heard a sharp ringing tear through his ears, he reached out for both ears with his hand and shook back and forth, his eyes widened, the pupils began to spin around rapidly, small tendrils formed where his eyelashes were and gradually the eye socket lost all trace it’s flesh -like substance and turned grey.

Seb tried to scream, but found his vocals charred and blistering, the tinge of iron fluid drowning his interiors.

His left and right pupils delicately popped out of their sockets and, blood coursed from the now empty pours, and they marched across Seb’s shoulders and onto the shoulders of the woman, who stretched out her hands to greet them

“I’m sorry Kaldorf” she said, addressing the time lord by his real identity “If not for you I would not have acquired either the Data Slice, there were no grand days out for the pair of us beyond that little adventure back home ” the woman replied, before she got up and walked over to one of the flight attendants.

“Afraid your days traveling with me are up, I need to replace your avatar in the memory space with a simulation of poor Kaldorf instead, I’m sure he’ll appreciate being a key master to my gatekeeper…I do hope he’s seen that movie and gets the reference. Never mind dear, if it’s consolation, I’ll get the silver giants I’m working with to practice your safety routine, it’s the liveliest thing they’ll ever do given what’s to follow…you do understand don’t you pet?”

The attendant nodded, the woman noticed a small tear coming down her eye, and the woman hovered around her with the pocket device.

“Ah yes, I forgot, you were a real attendant in your original life weren’t you? All that longing the serene and simpler day-glow day job, the opportunities to fly all over the world, all those hopes and pleasantries packed up inside you like a school lunch your mammy put together, you want to cling on to that purpose that I pried away from you so badly, well…I’ll give you a shot at it hen, just say something nice

The attendant looked into the woman with a shaken expression, but remained resolutely silent; she couldn’t say anything even if she wanted to.

For the woman was her mistress. And she would obey her.

Obey her to the end

The device was triggered, and the attendant crumbled to dust.