I jogged to keep up with Mother, my clanging footfalls on the raised metallic walkway nearly lost to the cacophony of the market. The unique technological marvels in the city of Cantabile had convinced our captain to land on this world and let me, the crew’s
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“Good morning, sir.” The smiling woman in the white lab coat held the door open. “Cubicle One, as usual.”
“Thank you.” Donald returned her smile as he limped through with his cane. I’ve wanted superpowers all my life, but this is what
Aberrant Psi44126108-4127R
Hall of Reclamation, Location Undisclosed
Year 468
The best—and worst—thing I have ever done is lie to my beloved. The right and wrong of that falsehood swirl into a whirlpool of white and black, and I shall drown in the engulfing grey.
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As I clicked the holovision remote, images cycled with lazy ease, adding unintelligible noise to my apartment. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, illuminating the stagnant monotony of my life.
The micro-oven dinged and I peeled the cellophane seal from my premade dinner for one.
“All this trouble just so you can cuddle some alien vultures.” My sister landed our gyro-flyer near one of my video recorders, which was showing a lone adorb. Usually they were in herds of a dozen or so. “A year with
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Jane hunched over her desk, staring at myriad pieces of hardlight holocube projector core. Even through her shade visor, the world was headache-bright. That omnipresent gritty burn seared the corners of her eyes.
She balanced half the core in her palm, slotted in another part. Tried to
Marjorie woke up strapped to a surgical table in an unfamiliar laboratory. One minute, she had been walking to her car alone, worried her life was going nowhere; the next, she’d fought for it as a pungent cloth covered her nose and mouth.
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If life were a streaming service, Max would’ve hit “Skip Intro” a long time ago.
Every day played out the same: wake up, scroll, eat cereal that claimed to “optimize your morning,” and try not to think about the flashing ad
The Agents Against the Abuse of Arcane Accords had originally been pitched as the Break-A-Wish Foundation, but someone thought that might be irreverent, so they went with Quintuple A instead.
Agent Vera Fray, Quintuple A’s best wizard, listened to the morning’s recorded call for clues as
“Why are you soaking wet?”
Scamper reeled back from his best friend, HearSay, to avoid the shower as the awkward, towering droid dripped water from the ragged trench coat draped on his thin frame. HearSay brandished three glimmering fish impaled on his makeshift spear for Scamper
A job for Icebird, on Dad’s birthday. How ironic is that?
One year ago, Houston Haas had taken up the mantle of Icebird from his late father, complete with costume, jetpack, and freeze ray, but in a wholly different direction. His father, Jerry, had used his inventions to help criminals commit robberies for a cut of the loot.
Amy steeled herself at the base of the wall, tucked just out of sight at the perfect sniping point. Below her, a labyrinth of platforms and staircases sprawled outward in a confusing maze.
If only she had ammo.
She swallowed hard and scanned for movement. Above her, the strip of neon yellow lining the ceiling pulsed,
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