The Geonzell was dark as we sprinted through. Our steps metallic and rapid across the path. At long intervals, there were dim lamps of crackling neon blue light, some sort of plasmic substance of unknown origins. The staff in my hand, attuned to the star of Cosma, hummed and released small strings of power each time we passed one. If worse came to worse, I could probably use its power in a fight. Each time we passed one, I hoped we would not have to fight.

I felt disoriented here. My sense of space and time skewed with my link to the stars cut off. I didn't even know what level we had ended up on. The airship was a beast in size, its underbelly as long as a battleship and dipped in a way that made it impossible to see its end, but I didn't need to see its end—that was not my job—I just needed to make sure no one was following us.

I peered over my shoulder a fourth time, into shadows and a hall with no end.

"Almost there," said Tzader.

I didn't look forward to our destination either.

"After this bend there should be a hatch that'll take us to our exit," he called.

I made a face. 'Exit' was not the word I'd use. The term was propaganda in the face of the spithole he was referring to, but I didn't voice this—lest I wanted Tzader's mockeries to be added to my list of problems.

A room ahead caught my eye and I pushed my staff in front of him to slow his pace. "Wait, there could be an ambush," I warned.

Tzader came to a stop and allowed me to go ahead. I twirled my staff once, warming its energy in preparation. A crescent of gears hung over the gem of Cosma at its end, they spun in tandem with the staff's motion, and I kept it moving.

Nimbly, I slid to the corner of the hall's end, erasing the clanging of my footsteps as I neared. I sensed two presences, but at a distance, their spirits docile. I risked a peek around the corner and spotted no one in the hall itself. Instead, two large cells took up the back wall before the path broke away. I twirled my staff back down, its gem safely pointed towards the floor, then I rounded the corner freely, forgetting to inform Tzader.

"Oi!" He must have sensed them too.

"Its fine," I said distractedly. It was hard not to be upon facing the person in the cell. His eyes already on me before I could step into the opening. He sat referentially on the ground like some kind of ancient king. His hair the colour of midnight, long and straight, his eyes deep purple and powerful. On his mouth was a mechanical muter with retractable creases that wrapped the full length around his face. When he saw the both of us, he rose. Long, regal clothes followed him, cascading down as he stood tall. With his hands behind his back, he looked down on us with no real malice, but that in itself was threatening, for his power was great. My staff rattled in response.

"Whoa," voiced Tzader, "Who's this?"

"Don't know, but he must be important enough to have his own secluded cell." And not just any cell. No metal bars or a visible lock, just a cosmic field that looked like a transparent layer of space dust and various strokes from a paint brush. It shifted slowly between our gazes.

"Think he can hear us?" asked Tzader.

"I doubt it..." I gestured the words: "Can you?" as I spoke them. His demeanor didn't change, he just watched for a while longer, then slowly looked to his left and back to us. His left held the second cell, one he could not possibly see into. But we would if we kept to our trek down the hall.

He did not seem to care much about our presence, but I couldn't tell if that made him a friend or foe. I peeled down the collar of my robes and showed him the tattoo that rested there. The emblem of our people and our cause.

He took long to react—to the point where I began to wonder if he really was looking down on us, but finally he shook his head. I narrowed my eyes and pulled out the badge of Zemnas that helped us break through many of the doors here. I circled the enemy's crest with my finger and then pointed to him.

He shook his head again.

"I'm gonna break him free," said Tzader without warning.

"What? Are you crazy? He just said he's not one of us. We don't know who he is or why he's down here. He could be a serial killer for all we know." I refuted but knew once Tzader had decided this, there was really no stopping him.

"He also said he's not one of them and any enemy of our enemy has gotta be a friend, right?" Tzader had already rolled up his sleeves. The gems embedded into his arms pulsed and warbled the air around them. His fingers curled diabolically and Tzader smirked as if the illegal activity of the day had only now turned fun for him. And of course it was; it's not like he ever found joy in logic.

"Things must be so simple in that mind of yours," I muttered as the field shook and swirled in on itself before popping out of existence. Suddenly, nothing stood between us and the regal man, and my staff was back up at the ready in case he was hostile.

He'd watched the field go down but did not move. Instead, his expression went serious and he shook his head a third time and nodded his chin to his left, directing our attention there again.

"Huh?!" said Tzader, clearly confused. "The heck is wrong with him? Who rejects freedom?"

My mind was not quite as simple, and so I went to check the neighboring cell and was stunned to a standstill as my eyes fell upon the someone blindfolded there. She was but a child, curled up in rags that may have once been a dress and hugging herself with a shiver. Her hair was a blanket around her and a deep, dark blue. Thick, transparent wires and plugs stretched from the walls to her body.

The Geonzell rumbled.

I rushed back to Tzader, hesitating between the cells, and realized wires were connected to the man as well from the shadows behind. Spurred by the rumble, something like liquid plasma streamed from the ceiling through the cords, slowly making its way towards both inmates before pausing around the girl's restraints alone. Pre-emptively the man steeled himself, cementing his stance, clenching his jaw, and the neon liquid retracted away from the girl alone but continued towards him.

Ultimately, the man could not prevent what happened next.

The blue substance barreled through his body. His eyes glowed with the same toxic brightness as the blue pulsed around him, lighting the room, throttling my staff. And all at once, it drained him of colour and strength. The man could not even gasp or shout out in pain as he crumpled to the ground.

In response, the airship creaked and yawned all around them, and then lurched to the side as the structure no doubt rounded the final peak of the Gren mountain range; the final peak between the Geonzell and the start of a war; the final phase of their mission before the valley of their home. And if all went right in our plan, soon, this very ship would explode.

But it was also that very moment when the gears clicked in my head, and a buzzing took hold of my brain that I realized: this was the moment nothing would go right. Because of this man and the girl he was trying to protect, because Tzader had a heart of gold, because these people were the power source of the ship—not some mysterious plasmic substance of unknown origins. These people were the origins. The planned explosion... depended on them.

It felt like an eternity after the man was downed that the system finally stopped. The liquid draining away. The moaning of the ship muted.

"This is cruel," said Tzader, looking disgusted, the gems in his arms sparked and crackled in that way they did when he was furious. "There's no way I'm leaving him now."

He didn't understand.

In a moment, he propelled himself up into the man's cell and panic seeped into the deepest crevices of my chest.

"Wait!" I called, but the man reacted at once, swivelling his restraints away from Tzader as he took a defensive crouch. He was sweating, breathing heavily through his nose, but his stare was deadly. There was no way he knew of our plan, but it was his eyes—for a moment, a reflection of mine but—those eyes told me he understood the weight of whatever happened here. Like me, he had someone to protect.

"Th-there's a girl in the neighboring cell." I struggled to keep my voice level, keep my emotions impassive. I just needed to get Tzader to stop. "I think he's protecting her—" The man's eyes snapped to me, stealing my breath for a split second before my voice returned. "—If... if you're freeing him, I think we must free her first."

Don't free him. We can't free him. If we do, our people would die. There would be nothing to power the explosion, but they didn't need power to drop their poisons. I had people to protect. Not just one but a city in a valley. Was it selfish of me to think this man's burdens were that of just her? One girl to fight for. Versus one civilization of dreams and promises set ablaze on my neck. My thoughts were on fire.

Tzader's thoughts were simpler: "Then we free her." His voice was in front of me as he passed. I hadn't even seen when he approached.

Let me think! I wanted to pound the message into his thick skull. His every action fueled by blind beliefs. His stupid ideations. The 'we can save everyone' mentality. No sacrifices. Never that. Everything works out in the end. Happily ever afters make the world bend. This was Tzader. This was his faith.

My heart plummeted as he dispelled the second cell. It felt like the Geonzell made another lurching turn, but I knew it didn't.

We had no time for arguments, but he would never agree to whatever plots my mind was avoiding, and when it came down to it, I couldn't really beat Tzader in a fight. But he would want to save everyone. Could we save either of them?

Wait!

I watched him slice the toxic wiring around the girl who screamed and shuddered away. The only power source left growled with fury beneath his muter and I found myself raising a hand, placating him, reassuring him: "She's okay," I said, but my words felt hollow.

Why reassure him? I thought I was the logical one. Yet logic was letting me juggle the weight of this man's life, holding it on a scale with mine. Not my people but mine. It was my life that would be inconvenienced if this man didn't die. But Tzader didn't know that yet.

I gripped down on my staff so hard I was surprised it didn't snap. But it did rattle. Staying forever in motion. Continuously collecting its cosmic power while my breaths felt like they were collecting dust.

Tzader had donated the girl by my side and hopped back into the man's cell all too quickly. His hands gripped invisibly at his own power, his arms crackling in preparation for the final strike. But all the while, the power source kept his stare on me. Perhaps just as surprised as I to see my body snake behind my friend.

The buzzing filled my ears and the staff in my hand was raised high like a lantern. And flew down like a brushstroke. Its end colliding heavily with Tzader's thick head. And I watched his body crumple to the ground.

A defeated breath shook out of me. I stood stunned above my own action, watching the power source as he watched me. His gaze fell first, sliding to a spot beyond my back. I blinked and followed his eye to the girl. "Sh-she will be okay." I said. "I will protect her. But... but I—... you— I—"

I didn't have time for this. For my thoughts to make sense or for logic and reasoning to extract itself from things like empathy and regret. But he didn't wait for either. Much like Tzader, he didn't hesitate.

I watched him gather himself in a single stabilizing breath, clutching a knee as he sat referentially, one leg crossing with the other. He straightened his neck and back and rose his chin like a king sacrificing himself for his kingdom. Determination clung to his every breath, his gaze tightly bound onto some distant noble cause.

Like his thoughts were so clear. Like he knew exactly what he needed to do and was confident in his power to do it. Like he was so ready to sacrifice himself for just one. One girl.

While my fumbling fingers heaved Tzader up, ignoring the blood from his wound, I mounted his stomach over my shoulder. Then feeling like I couldn't breathe at all, I backed away. My bloodied staff fighting my hand as I flung it toward the girl, cushioning her in a nest my powers could carry. I had the power for this.

The power to sacrifice a life, to sacrifice a friendship, to sacrifice my emotions and its accompanying sanity; the power to run, the power to face my phobias and jump off an airship, the power to hold back tears, and then watch from far below, in a peaceful, bloodfree valley... I watched my soul explode.

For most people it’s sad to think about: Two subjects deemed fit for a sick experiment disguised as a technological advancement. The trial is the first, and could easily be the last.

It’s interesting to observe the popular movie trope and cliche first hand, as I am doing while watching Cade and Jasper. We’ve all heard of time loops from books and shows, an anomaly which Cade believes he is in. Jasper, on the other hand, doesn’t believe much of anything. As far as she knows, all of this is real life. She is really serving coffee to a stranger, his name is really Andrew, and she really loves her job. All of these are really not true. That’s what I mean by the “sad” part. The higher-ups will say that since she came from such a terrible life, it’s okay to use her for a study. It’s a harmless experiment, right? Jasper was a victim of an abusive relationship, hardly ever able to leave the house. She was brought here with scars and bruises like you’ve never seen. So is it okay for us to waste weeks, maybe months of her life because it’s “better” than what she had before? Good question.

Cade comes from a bit of a different story. As I mentioned before, he thinks he is in a time loop. In a way he is, but not through some anomaly of science or alternate universe. Instead through psycho-manipulation and a little bit is sedatives.

Geez, I’m getting ahead of myself. If you’ve got a moment I’ll explain. I’m sure this all sounds pretty confusing.

Cade and Jasper were brought here 74 days ago, Jasper with serious head injuries and Cade with a concussion from a fall he took after passing out. Both members sustained some sort of memory loss from the incidents, which our team took advantage of. The new discovery we are testing is called Psycho-Telepathic Pairing, or PTP for short. While Jasper and Cade’s brains were in a vulnerable, injured state, surgery was performed to tap into what we call “No-Man’s-Land.” You know how they say humans only use 10% of their brain? That’s a myth. However, there is one nearly microscopic region that remains unused and has been inactive since humans began writing things down. That’s No-Man’s-Land: unused potential in the brain. These surgeries’ goal was to inject a unique atomic compound called Neuro-7 into the No-Man’s-Land of Cade and Jasper. In theory, this “bluetooth” chemical is able to send signals or data from one cell to the other if separated. All this happens on a microscopic, atomic level of course. The other part of the theory is that No-Man’s-Land was once the region of the brain which allowed for, well, telekinesis. I know, it sounds crazy.

This area of the brain has been inactive for all of recorded history, due to the evolving of humans, their language, and artificial stimulants. Again, this is theory as we don’t know for sure why telekinetic energy disappeared in the first place. But what about this seemingly sick experiment? Well, the experiment is a carefully constructed scenario played over and over, meant to create the perfect environment for telekinesis to flourish. We believe it will take a long time for Cade and Jasper to develop that part of their brain, which will then allow for the Neuro-7 to take root. It’s like that section of their brain is still an infant; it needs to be developed, just like how a baby learns to walk. Now, about the experiment.

Cade thinks he is in a scientific anomaly time loop. He goes to the counter, grabs his coffee, drinks it, and everything goes black, starting the loop again when he wakes up. He can’t get out of the room and the waitress, Jasper, isn’t much help. Well, the coffee does in fact make him black out, but nothing more. Once he blacks out, a team swoops into action, resetting the scene. The coffee is removed, his posture is reset, and we wait for him to wake up as if the loop started over. And Jasper? She is drugged with the same stuff that’s in the coffee, only in gas form. The little coffee shop acts as a cage of sedative gas when the time comes. She falls asleep, we reset the room, brew a new cup of coffee, and wait. When they both wake up, the sedative will have erased their short-term memory, leaving only hand-picked long-term memories.

So why do they both believe they are in different realities? Well, Jasper was brought here with severe loss of memory and identity. She didn’t know who she was or where she came from. We proceeded to tell her that she was Jasper Collins, which she was, and that she was a barista, which she wasn’t. She loved this job and she would never want to quit. Things like that. Surprisingly, it worked. A little friendly brainwashing never hurts. So, she believes she is in real life, hence the continual happiness, diligence, and lack of asking questions. Cade is quite the opposite. A former drug addict, Cade was found on the streets raving about random science gibberish. He was delusional, using phrases like “space-time continuum” or “multiversal transportation.” But the most common delusion phrase he yelled was about a time loop. He was clearly influenced by mainstream sci-fi and would be easy to convince. He was put into a coma directly after his surgery and forced to listen to podcasts about time loops, movies about time loops, audiobooks about time loops… really anything mentioning time loops. All of this while in a concussed, once again vulnerable state. This influence, plus his prior drugged-persona of a mad scientist, instilled the idea firmly in his long-term memory. Just like that, the subjects were primed and ready.

Finally, the details. I promise it’s almost over. We believe it is important for Jasper and Cade to slowly build the ability to speak telekinetically on their own. We want them to hear each other’s thoughts. We believe they might even be able to feel each others’ feelings. So, that is why we gave Cade the alias of “Andrew.” He knows his name is Cade, but never tells Jasper out loud. He only thinks it. After all, what’s the point if he’s in a time loop? She would never believe him, and it wouldn’t make a difference. So, if Jasper ever begins to feel as though the name Andrew is a fake name, we will know it’s working. He told her in his mind.

We also believe telekinesis flourishes in a romantic relationship. It’s the strongest bond and not a lot of words are said. Like having a “moment.” There is a lot of room for sub-speech communication in these situations. This is why Jasper’s beauty is so paramount, so that Cade will be attracted to her. When she begins to look around in a panic, realizing something seems off, Cade will reassure her without saying a word. He’ll think “don’t worry,” and somehow she won’t. What can I say, he’s a romantic.

The success of this experiment largely banks on Cade not trying to convince Jasper that they are in a time loop; and her not believing him if he does try. Cade is conditioned to believe no one will ever take his word. He has always been the crazy addict on the corner, never able to convince anyone. Jasper, too, will never believe him. After all, she wouldn’t want to. She is sure she lives the perfect life she has always wanted, and doesn’t want anything to get in the way of it. She would never start to believe anything which puts her “reality” at risk. Her trauma from the abusive relationship feeds this disassociation. It really all works together perfectly.

So here’s the end of the theory: Cade will eventually telepathically tell Jasper that his name is not Andrew. She will understand, although she won’t know how she gained that information. Surprised, he will work to tell her more and more through his thoughts. After all, someone finally believes him. The more he tells her, the more they communicate, and the stronger their bond. Once they have developed their telekinetic ability over time, she will realize it, and confront him about it. Their brains will have molded together via both of their No-Man’s-Land and the Neuro-7 compound. By the end, they will both be aware of their telekinetic connection. Then the experiment will have to end. After that, who knows. There are too many variables in the next stage, so we haven’t planned any further. We don’t even know if it will work in the first place. I am skeptical, but I’ve got hope. It would be devastating for this to all come crashing down, leaving two scarred, brainwashed, and chemically altered people. No lives, no homes, and no memories.

If it does work… I don’t want to imagine what will happen to them. Nothing. I’m sure nothing will happen.

Yet I’m afraid something will happen.

Something terrible.

“Medium black coffee for Andrew?”

I call out a second time and he still doesn’t move an inch. I’m sure he’s hearing me, as there isn’t much in the room to distract him. It seems to me as if he’s staring at the ground, lifeless. Sort of strange, isn’t it?

I realize I don’t know “Andrew,” or at least I’ve never seen him before. Come to think of it, I don’t really know much of anyone. That can’t be right. Surely I know someone? Sheesh, maybe I also need a coffee right about now.

My waffling is interrupted by a slow movement in the man’s upper body. He straightens his back and begins scanning the scenery nearby.

The large foyer the two of us inhabit is quite the sight. An art student’s nightmare; or maybe their dream? The furniture is all constructed of a beautiful green leather, almost pistachio in tint. It has curves, no edges, and a vaguely hilly appearance. It reminds me of a field of grass or even mountainous meadows. The carpeted floor is soft and orange, almost like a fading burnt red. It is reminiscent of a dry mesa filled with that rust-colored dirt whose stains last forever. I’m not sure how I know that, since I have never been to such a place. I guess the little fact seems believable enough. My little shop is tucked away in a corner, unsuspecting but charming enough. The walls of this large abode are off-white, vaguely gray. I think they match perfectly with the other colors, bringing out the vibrance of the furniture-on-floor contrast.

I love working at the cafe, though I’m still unsure why. It just feels embedded within me to take pleasure in it. It’s why I don’t easily lose patience with unpunctual customers. Customers like Andrew, it appears.

Speaking of Andrew, he is on his feet now. The warmth of the cup spreads to my hand as I wait longer yet. At last he turns and makes his way towards me. Now I am sure I do not know Andrew. Meeting someone as handsome as he is would have surely lingered in my memory. That is a crazy thing to think, Lor.

I realize how odd it is that I’m still standing here with this stranger’s drink. Normally, I would set it on the counter and let them grab it on their own time. Why am I doing this? Do I want something from him? What do I want?

“Andrew, right?” The words come out sweet and friendly. Hopefully now he will know I’m not being impatient. We have been looking at each other for a bit now, as if both of us have agreed to do so until each has sufficiently studied the face of the other. Once again, he is very handsome. Oh, Lor. Not again.

Now I actually look at his eyes. Now we are actually making eye contact. Now say something. You have to say something.

“Are you… sure you don’t want sugar or…” I give up on that sentence. This is happening and I suppose it’s best not to try and stop it. There is such a look of peacefulness on his face, making my nervous comment seem pathetic. It seems like he’s done this a thousand times before. It is clear he has. It is clear I’m shook. Guess I should give him the coffee. My thoughts are sarcastic. I fall into these moments far too easily. Our fingers brush in the process of trading the cup. Well, more like his finger touches mine. I’d rather be on the receiving end of this situation…

You know that feeling when your stomach flutters and your heart beats a little faster? The room quiets and all distractions fade to black? Why do I even know what that’s like? Oh lord I’m blushing. I can feel the blood rush to my cheeks, and I can only imagine the rosy pink color. It’s sure to expose my vulnerable state of mind.

Suddenly, I’m struck with an unfamiliar feeling. A sensation. Who am I staring at? Normally I would feel the caution and nerves which come from talking to a stranger, but not now. Andrew is different. This room is different. What are you thinking? This room is the same every day. I try to picture the past customers I’ve served. Has this ever happened before? Now that I’m thinking about it, I can’t remember any previous interactions. Surely there have been some. Of course there have been.

Now I’m scanning the room, breaking the bond of our eyes. Soon enough I’ve surveyed every inch of wall, floor and ceiling. Not a single door. Not a window in sight. Where am I? What kind of place has no doors? I want to ask Andrew if he has ever noticed this. Should we be worried?

Before I can speak I feel fingers grabbing mine. His touch is light and careful. It cares. He cares. He shakes his head as if to say “Don’t worry.”

Spinning.

My head is spinning. I forget my worries from a minute ago. I’m falling.

Falling in love? Yes, somehow.

Then nothing.

I pull my fingers away from their tender embrace.

I’m back between the light colored walls, above the burnt orange carpet, and nearby the man I love. I love him? Why do I love him? I don’t even know him. That’s true, but it doesn’t change the fact. I have to say something. Once again he makes his move just as I think to speak. He swipes his drink off the counter to my left and turns his back on me. I can tell he doesn’t wish to leave me. He has to.

As he makes off towards his seat, I squeeze out all I can think to say.

“Why do…” Lor, this is ridiculous. “Why do I love you?” Obviously he doesn’t know the answer. He doesn’t break his stride. This is where it normally ends, but I continue thinking. Normally I can’t reason through anything like this. I’m often stumped by such situations. Nothing really makes sense at all. I love a man I don’t know, yet I think he knows me somehow. He knows what I’m thinking, better than I even do.

His name… it’s not Andrew.

A wave of nostalgia washes over me. I’m overwhelmed with fear, dread, hope and elation. Memory of a plan, a consequence, a life. No details. A whole book with chapters, paragraphs, sentences, but no words to be found. It’s on the tip of my tongue, the whole answer. Even his real name. The hurricane in my skull intensifies. My mind is a whirlwind. This has never happened before. Just as he lifts the cup to his lips, I spit out all I can think to say. The mere thought makes me smile.

“Your name isn’t Andrew, is it?” I’m beaming now. I smile from ear to ear. I know this man, and I am near a breakthrough which will change my life. I will be happy again, picking up where I left off. My dream partner whips his head around with such speed he nearly falls off his seat. My smile doesn’t fade. There is a look of shock so potent in his expression. His peaceful disposition transforms to one of excitement. I know I said the right thing.

Oh…

He looks unwell.

Then he falls.

I shut my eyes.

I can never bear to see him hit the ground.

It happens every time.

I come back to earth and inspect the steaming cup within my grasp. I need to stop zoning out. I was making this for someone, right? What was their name again? I scan the cup, eyes landing on a name written in Sharpie. Ah yes, Andrew. Medium black coffee. Seems bland. I wonder if he wants sugar or anything? I’ll be sure to ask.

“Andrew?” My call rings through the near empty atrium. All I hear is a faint buzzing across the rust-red carpet. My ears ring faintly from lack of noise.

“Medium black coffee for Andrew?”

“Andrew?”

The green-eyed barista calls out in anticipation. I hear her, but make no reaction. Pretty eyes scan the empty foyer, coming to rest on the back of my head. She waits an instant before following up.

“Medium black coffee for Andrew?” Her voice is questioning, slightly confused, but not annoyed. I react this time, re-focusing my eyes after their long blurry gaze into space. I could have fallen asleep. She’s calling me…

I wait longer, my hands folded in my lap, seemingly unaware of the girl’s stare. A dull buzz creeps in from somewhere distant, far from this vacant atrium. It tickles my ears. The room I find myself in is garnished by solitary juniper furniture on a brazen, orange floor. The collection consists of small couches, chairs, futons, coffee tables and loveseats (or just seats, really). Each piece possesses its own features, bubbly and imaginative like a bad art school project. The legs of said objects are hidden out of sight underneath the avocado leather, creating a levitating effect. There is nothing else in the room, aside from the tiny nook-turned-cafe. Much too large of a room for the two of us.

I scan the floor now, taking in all the burnt amber carpeting and patches of shadowy, rusty coffee stains. Such a shame to spill one’s “energy juice.” At last I stir. Noiseless and with ease, I stand and meander my way towards the corner. Each step is silent, yet feels hollow, as if hinting at a hidden room below. Perhaps a room of brilliant navy or deep maroon. Could there be grand, royal magenta on the walls, far surpassing the “beauty” of the eggshell walls here? Maybe there is dandelion yellow, rose red, or brown like the bark of an ancient oak. Or more black. Probably more black abyss.

I have arrived. What do you want?

Shamrock eyes gaze up at me. I love those emerald eyes. They always give me butterflies, but only green ones. Yes, tiny, green butterflies.

“Andrew, right?” The pupils remain fixed on mine. I love this part. I say nothing, keeping still, tranquil. I do not smile, but am not upset. “Are you… sure you don’t want sugar or…” She gives up. We exchange the cup, fingers brushing each other in the process. The butterflies are happy to flutter mindlessly in my abdomen, forcing a breath from my lungs. I like to think there are moments where the clocks stop, just like in the movies. The buzzing quiets. All feeling in my body lifts from me. I can’t feel the dull, apricot carpet under my shoes. Then it is gone. Now I am holding a cup of warm, plain coffee. A girl stares and stares, questions whirring through her head, left, right, up, down. Never through her mouth, though. I can see clearly the moment she realizes the room we are in has no doors. Or windows for that matter. After a lifetime, she breaks our connection and her lime eyes dodge and dart around her. Now I smile. She is pretty when she’s nervous. Lightly grabbing her hand, I rebuild the bridge between us; her pupils to mine. I shake my head. After a second she nods, before realizing I have her hand. She lingers, but pulls away soon enough. A draft hits my neck, and the hairs stand in salute. Her cheeks begin to change color. Such a transformation from pale to precious. From a quiet tan to a rosy pink. It lights up the room. Green surrounds me, her eyes feel nearer. The colors blend, twisting and turning, hugging and stretching. It’s impossible to put into words. I feel myself in a whirlwind. My vision is cloudy. All I see is her.

Then it is over.

We are close.

I feel a semblance of someone.

We never touch.

We never speak.

We never will.

I turn around in a moment and swipe my coffee from the counter.

“Why do…” She speaks with faltering tone. I can hardly bear the sound, almost a whisper. “Why do I love you?”

I don’t know.

Upon reaching my seat, I lift the cup towards my lips. To my surprise I hesitate. What? There is no need for that. There is no more here. There never is. I close my eyes and tilt back my head, waiting for the hot sensation of liquid on my tongue. Just as I feel it, I hear a voice sound out once again.

“Your name isn’t Andrew, is it?”

Shock rocks my still frame and my head jolts forward. What did she just say? She’s not supposed to say that. That isn’t part of…

I fling myself around, half of me hanging off the olive futon. My vision begins to darken, blots block my view. I stay conscious long enough to see the girl, my girl, standing upright in the entrance of the cafe.

There is a smile.

A radiant, sunny smile.

A glimpse of heaven, or paradise below.

I cry out, reaching to grab at nothing. My own shrieks sound distorted and strange. Then nothing.

My serene, auburn eyes peel open. I am still. I feel nothing at all. Nothing is new, nothing feels off. My hands are folded in my lap. I hear nothing but the distant hum of some lost hopes and dreams. This room is way too big for just me. I almost smile at the thought.

Finally I hear the voice call out across the vast expanse of furniture. Not louder, not softer; not confident or shy.

“Andrew?” A pause.

“Medium black coffee for Andrew?”

In the vast expanse of the galaxy, humanity had once been a mere flicker of existence, their technology underdeveloped and their potential untapped. But when the Galactic Empire swept across their home world, Earth, they were instantly conquered. The Emperor's speech echoed through the airwaves, reaching every corner of the planet. "As the ancient creed dictates: Strength is forged in the furnace of suffering. Weakness is an illusion that we, the Empire, shall burn away. Let the galaxy bear witness to the consequences of defiance."

After months of ruthless purging of anyone who resisted, humanity was left subjugated and treated like slaves at the mercy of the Empire. Their status as death worlders, known for their resilience and tenacity, only fueled suspicion and distrust among the other species within the Galactic Empire. From the grandest metropolis to the smallest outpost, humans were viewed as worthless scum.

As the years passed, humanity suffered under the weight of oppression. They were blamed for every mishap and catastrophe, from a simple bottle of liquor getting smashed to the destruction of an entire capital ship. But in the shadows, a resistance was quietly taking shape. But humanity can only endure so much. For years, they bore the weight of injustice, their backs bent under the Empire’s yoke. There was no grand plan, no secret network of resistance waiting in the wings. Just simmering anger, a collective frustration that burned in silence.

It all came to a head one fateful day on a bustling Imperial outpost. A human child, no older than seven, threw a ball to an alien playmate with more force than intended. The alien child stumbled, fell, and scraped their knee. A minor accident, but the Empire would not tolerate even the faintest sign of aggression from humanity.

The child and there family were dragged into the street, accused of fostering violence. A crowd gathered, silent and powerless, as the Empire's enforcers broadcasting their delivered swift and merciless "justice” across galactic news. That was the final straw.

Something broke that day. The horror of it all—the cries of the children, the sneering indifference of the enforcers, the rising stench of injustice now festering like a malignant rot—ignited a spark in the crowd. Someone, no one even remembers who, hurled the first stone. Then another. And another. The enforcers fell beneath a storm of fists, rocks, and fury.

Word of the uprising spread like wildfire. Across the galaxy, humans and even some sympathetic aliens rose up in solidarity, armed with whatever they could find. It wasn’t organized, and it certainly wasn’t coordinated, but it was unstoppable.

They didn’t need a plan—just the shared understanding that enough was enough.

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Hey everyone, first time posting my writing in a specific genre area so I hope you all enjoy it! And to those who have read my previous stories, i'm back and going to try and have a more consistent schedule as I (Admittedly) let writing slip away from me (Hoping my work still entertains at least some of you). But anyway, I hope you all had a wonderful holiday (Be it Christmas, Hanukkah or even just some time away from work/school)! As always, if you have suggestions about this piece or anything (Be it prompts or another piece of media) that you want me to write something about then let me know! I hope you all have a lovely Day/Night

"Hello I am Hunter, what is your name?"

-'Hello H U N T E R we, are different from you'

The newly arrived fleet of ships, at what's to become the staging ground for that years Burning man (or so "Hunter" thought, but he was 3 weeks too late and about 2000 miles off )

'We do not excrete waste because that, is wasteful.

We

Intake specific kinds matter to help fuel our waste removal process.

Where your anus spews garbage ours takes in

garbage

and that garbage essentially burns our FECES equivalent within us and that energizes us more'

"Well that sounds like a fancy way to say you shit yourselves for a living, shitception

No

Inspepcus"

'Pop culture reference to our differing forms of EVOLUTION to help cope with the impending doom'

"Doom?"

'this place is full of GARBAGE that we need to HIT THE CAN, Pop Off, empty the sepsus tank'

Hunter looks around to the sandy wasteland they think is garbage

"Are you fucking with me?"

The aliens devouring the sandy air and dunes like piss water spinning down a shitty drain do their thing while the communicating one looks at them, then at the one that calls himself Hunter

'Yes' the alien then opens their version of an anus and sucks in the Hunter, who currently thinks he's having either the best or 2nd worst trip of his life