The Cyclical Game (Pre-Archive Otherworldly Adventures)
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The username is Lunvxgylrx.
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Answer: Complexico
Explanation: Using Caesar Shift +9, you get “Clemoxpcio”, which is an anagram of Complexico.
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Answer: ??
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Complexities
Complexity 1.1.1
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Answer: Nine
Explanation: Each line contains one number. Line 1 gives 78, since Major and Minor represents Tarot Cards, and the number of cards in a deck is 78. Line 2 gives 105, since the second line is representing Zeisel Number, and the first is 105. Line 3 gives 110, as Eleventy presents 11x10=110. Line 4 gives 101, as Big Brother represents 1984, and the room 101. Using decimal on "78 105 110 101", you get "Nine".
Link: https://twitter.com/Lunvxgylrx/status/1283633882735116288
Complexity 1.1.2
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Answer: Mage
Explanation: With the help of Complexity 1.1.1's answer, taking every ninth letter from the grid of circles, you get "Ziti". Using Vigenere with the key "Nine", you get "Mage".
Link: https://twitter.com/Lunvxgylrx/status/1284359084125249536
Complexity 1.1.3
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Answer: Corrupt
Explanation: There are items in the hotbar, which is a red herring that says "It's cold".
Taking the Minecraft Item Codes from the center of the image, you get
White stained glass pane = 160
Dark oak wood stairs = 164
Gold block = 41
Melon block = 103
Activator rail = 157
Acacia wood = 162
Dark oak wood = 162
Slime block = 165
Decoding it with Octal gives the answer, "Corrupt".
Link: https://twitter.com/Lunvxgylrx/status/1284786296896933889
Complexity 1.2.1
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Answer: Ipswich
Explanation: There are 3 parts to this puzzle. Part 1, the letter T is missing in “iLLUMINATED” and “PuSHBUTTON”. Part 2, the words vertically says "illuminated, pullchain, mercury, pushbutton, membrane, pushwheel, on/off, level". These are all instances of switches. Part 3, reading the green letters from left to right says "icupurpov", which says I C U P Ur PoV, or "I see you pee your PoV". When you see someone pee from their PoV, it wouldn't be inaccurate to say "I pee", so you get "Ip". When combining all together, you get "Ip+switch-t = Ipswich".
Link: https://twitter.com/Lunvxgylrx/status/1285418698656763906
Complexity 1.2.2
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Answer: Lamp
Explanation: The green words and the picture in the background reference the album 'The Living Dead', in which the song Lamp is 4 minutes 32 seconds long.
Link: https://twitter.com/Lunvxgylrx/status/1285471012566360064
Complexity 1.2.3
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Answer: AD or ADs
Explanation: The first line references AC/DC, the former of both halves being AD. The second line refers to A07, the ATC code for Antidiarrhoeals or ADs. The third line is subtracting a negative, meaning you ADD. Put it all together you get AD, ADs and Add. So the answer is AD or ADs.
Link: https://twitter.com/Lunvxgylrx/status/1290788397364084737
Complexity 2.1.1
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Answer: Coffee
Explanation: The first two lines reference The Women's Petition Against Coffee, where it is described as 'base, black, thick, nasty, bitter, stinking, nauseous puddle water'. The third line references an old term for a coffeeshop, a 'penny university'. Lastly, the fourth line references William H. Ukers, who wrote the book All About Coffee. Thus, the answer is 'coffee'.
Complexity 2.1.2
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Answer: Dead
Explanation: The three cubes refer to 3×3x3, which is 27. The 7 inside the square refers to 7×7, which is 49. The five 2s refer to 2×2×2×2×2, which is 25. Lastly, the pentagon and heptagon refer to 35 (count the sides and multiply). Using Nihilist cipher, with 'coffee', the answer to 2.1.1, as the key, gives Dead.
Link: https://twitter.com/Lunvxgylrx/status/1305563815510122497
Complexity 2.1.3
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Answer: Weight
Explanation: The glowing letters, d2VpZ2h0, are MIME base64 ciphertext for 'weight', which is the answer.
Link: https://twitter.com/Lunvxgylrx/status/1305566458437496832
Complexity 2.2.1
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Answer: Stick
Explanation: Fill in the square as you would a Sudoku. Translate the numbers into their respective elements and read over the filled in diagonal gives S Ti C K.
Link: https://twitter.com/Lunvxgylrx/status/1310657667241635840
Complexity 2.2.2
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Answer: Match
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Link: https://twitter.com/Lunvxgylrx/status/1311482576624738304
JFK Worldline
Case File No. 1
Part 1 - A Sordid Seared Scene
Title of Image: Mobilefish-Complexitiy-Case-No1-Part-1.png
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Answer: ImageCorrupt
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Part 2 - “Think paranormal police”
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Answer: Lampadsoveripswich
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Tuskkin Worldline
Case File No. 2
Part I
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Answer: Dead Weight
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Part II
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Answer: Matchstick
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Part III
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Answer: Pride
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Otherside
The Morningstar
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Answer: Heretofore
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Link: https://twitter.com/Lunvxgylrx/status/1320370547411152897
Part 1 - A Sordid Seared Scene
Summary of Receipt
Summary
Transcript
Ardent flames licked the curling wallpaper of a nursery’s walls. Soft pastel bunnies melted into sulfuric amalgamations as the fire crept along the walls. Antique wooden toys crackled and burst into searing embers. Puffs of smoke billowed to the ceiling pooling into a stygian haze, as ash rained down onto the hardwood floor. Among the many wild flames, a single matchstick hovered in the air. Its bright red tip unexcited as wild flames danced around it. A murmur could be heard echoing through the collapsing walls. “Redo ad flamon, redo ad flamon, artos de flamon, redo ad flamon, mi alavok ad Uriel.” As the murmur grew to a shout, the levitating matchstick burst into a flame with a loud hiss. In an instant, the blaze around the matchstick was sucked into its tip, condensing down to a single flickering flame. A man snatched the matchstick and extinguished it with a flick of his wrist.?
“So, fire demons, eh? Nasty bunch, they are.”
“Is there anything you can do about the damage? It is... Rather… Extensive.”
“Oi, I’m not a bloody interior decorator, choice? I can deal with the demons, but you’re goin’ to ‘ave to deal with the smoke damage yourself, mate.” The man knelt down to the ash-covered floor. He dragged his index finger through the soot constructing intricate occult sigils and symbols. “So who’d you royally piss off to get such a warm welcome?”
“How would I know? I didn’t even believe in demons, and ghosts, and faires a week ago! You’re the expert, Mr. Myerscough. Surely, you must have an idea of where these… What were they, you said? Fire demons, was it? Where they come from or what they want from me.”
“I do, and I don’t. Besides, Eddy, flattery won’t get me to cast a clean-up spell. In any case, these oughta keep ‘ya safe. Don’t bloody touch them.” The lanky man got up and wiped his finger across his pants. “Now then, Edmund, a tour of the grounds?” Without waiting for a response, the man had already begun to leave the sordid seared scene.
“Wait… Clean-up spell…? So there is a way!” Edmund rushed after him, pleading to fix the damages done to his antique estate.
Jericho Myerscough was anything but altruistic. Granted, he could fix the damage to the house. He might even consider the prospect if a large enough sum of money was involved. Although, the less he needed to use his powers, the better. Each spell, each incantation, each sigil, even the slightest form of divination, came at a steep cost—a cost that could not be repaid by any sum of money. Jericho is what many would call a Warlock. He did not study ancient texts for years to gain his powers. He was not born with them, and they were not his birthright to have. To achieve his skills, he made a deal with a higher being. Most Warlocks choose to venerate high or elder demons. A simple exchange of powers while alive and service to be rendered upon death. Jericho was unusual, only in this regard. He venerated a different type of master—a master who did not want his service in the Otherside but instead demanded it in life.
Part 2 - “Think paranormal police”
Summary of Receipt
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"So this manor of yours is a right creeper, innit?" Jericho laughed as he took in the eerie atmosphere of the Ipswich abode.
"It has been in my family for generations. With my mother's recent passing I inherited the estate-"
"Oi, and all its bloody skeletons it seems, eh?"
"So it would seem. Now I am paying you a reasonable sum of money, could you, at the very least, tell me about these fire demons?" Edmund wrung his hands together as he followed Jericho throughout the large sweeping corridors.
"Right, right, you've got Lampads, choice?"
"Lampads?"
"Nasty little nymphies they are. Hail from-" Jericho stopped in his tracks and whipped out a small leather-bound journal. He flicked through the pages with manic zeal before shutting the book and returning it to his jacket pocket. "Hails from the Amaymon region. Think of it like the pits 'ov hell, right? These little birdies carry the flames of Asmodeus the, Demon Prince of Lust. So you most likely pissed off Mistress. Tommy Tit that sucks to be you mate. Well best 'ov luck with that-"
"Wait! You have to help me!" Edmund jolted forward to grab Jericho's coat. "Please, I have no one else to turn to."
"Knobbly knees, Eddy, just call up Iris. They're... more or less on the up and up, choice?"
"Iris?"
"Think paranormal police, they can get you sorted. Probably shuffle you away to a safer house than this, and your demon problems will be solved until you die." The blood in Edmund's face drained. "Come on, mate, you know everyone goes to hell when they die, right? Nothing to worry about-"
"No. It's not that. I can't leave this house." Edmund let out a deep sigh as he wrung his hands even harder. "I haven't told you everything. How about I get you a drink, and I'll start from the beginning?"
Jericho rolled his eyes and produced a small glass flask from his other coat pocket. A sparkling green liquid sloshed around inside it. "No worries, mate, I've got it covered. Come on, then, let's hear your weep and wail."
Part I - Dead Weight
Summary of Receipt
Summary
Transcript
The Calhoun Birthday Bash Massacre
Part I - Dead Weight
Mr. Donaldson leaned forward. Sweat dripping from his bulbous flushed forehead onto his cheap laminate desk. "Tell me." His husky voice rasped. "Tell me why I called you in here." Situated across from him, a young seventeen-year-old girl stared back with cold intensity. Her heterochromatic icy-blue eye, searching for his weaknesses. She let a huff of air out from the side of her mouth to push away her self-dyed hair.
"Because I'm 'deadweight,' right?" She shot back, motionless. "That's what you said to Sally yesterday."
"I never said you were 'deadweight,' Melanie."
"Mel."
"Mel, whatever. I said to Sally that your shift was dead weight. We make no Tokens during A-Shift. So I need to shake things up." Mr. Donaldson said as he popped another stick of banana-flavored Y5 gum into his mouth. Y5 took the edge off of interdimensional displacement sickness—known to most people as "burn out." His jaw crinkled and popped as it attempted to accommodate his ever-increasing wad of gum. Yellow-tinted spittle streamed from his lips as he chewed with increasing desperation.
Mel watched in ambivalent disgust as he gnawed on his gum. This wasn't the reaction she wanted. "It's only me on A-Shift. Ergo I'm the deadweight. It' s—whatever. I'm the worst, right? So how're you gonna 'shake things up'? Fire me? Kick me out?"
"You know I don't want to do that, Melani- Mel. Ever since your parents, well, you know—" Mr. Donaldson said between his messy smacks.
"Died in a horrible fire?"
The words punched out from his chest. He bent over, spitting out the golf ball-sized wad into the waste bin. "Yeah, uh, that. Ever since—that, I've done all I can to keep you off the streets. But you keep making it so damn hard. I just want to help you, Mel."
"You want to feel like you didn't let my dad down. And, I mean, you did, didn’t you? I live in the break room of a crappy store in the Mall eating your leftover takeout."
"That's not—" His voice broke. This sadness is what Mel wanted. Pure agony. A moment of misery unmatched by Robert Donaldson's already pretty miserable life. Unbeknownst to Mr. Donaldson, Mel’s left iris slowly chilled over to match her icy right eye. You see, Mel needed to feed on others' negative emotions. In a sense, she could rip them from other people, leaving them numb and egoless—for a short time. Taking the negativity from someone gave Mel a few precious moments to once more feel things herself. The rush was akin to winning the lottery or finishing a graduate degree. It was unmatchable ecstasy that could be found nowhere else but in other's pain.
Mel O' Connolly is a half-demon. At some point during the Great Demon War, her family intermixed with—well—demons. The specific ancestor and tribe of demons was unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Most half-demons never bother with the specifics anyway. Half-demons are too busy facing constant burn-out on top of their otherworldly and strange powers. Mel was no exception. When her powers first appeared as a child it left her homeless, parentless, and looking rather freakish. Her right eye permanently morphed from a warm brown to chilling crisp blue. Although, other than her odd eye, Mel passed as a regular human. A rough around the edge human, but human nonetheless.
After a few moments of prolonged silence, Mel finally spoke up. "Sorry, I hit a nerve, huh?" She said in a refreshed chipper tone. "Well, don't you worry, Mr. Donaldson. I'll shape up!" Mr. Donaldson slouched in his chair as his gaze wandered into oblivion. "Well, if that's all you needed sir, I'll get back to the sales floor." As Mel got up to leave, Mr. Donaldson snatched her arm with an unreserved grip.
"Wait." He said in a cold and unusual demeanor. "You are dead weight, Mel." He relaxed his grasp on Mel's arm and sat back down.
"I—"
"You should know, this Mall—this Mall is alive, Mel. It demands Tokens. Tribute to the fallen Prince Mammon. We are but symbiotic parasites living off the back of this hellish beast. And you need to start paying your dues, Mel. Bleed the chattel who enter this unholy dominion dry. Feed the beast. Coins to the coffer. Talkers not walkers."
Mel let out an agreeable chuckle and nodded her head. "Alright, sir, I'll make you proud."
"Pride cometh before the fall, Mel. A fool needs pride. I need Tokens." Mr. Donaldson said in a chilling monotone voice. With that morbid reminder, Mel sealed Mr. Donaldson into his office letting him steep in his uninhibited madness.
Mel made her way to the sales floor of Bedlam ‘n Brimstone. A cramped little pawn shop in the corner of an old brick wall in the East End Mall. Its walls—covered in various demonic trinkets and kitsch. The air inside hung languid and heavy, saturated with dust and exotic incense. One wrong breath could cause a coughing fit for the ages. The only light in this outlandish outlet came from flickering faux candles dotted around the shelves. Their small paper flames swaying back and forth with mechanical imprecision. Dilapidated speakers played a soft occultic sounding jazz. Ominous chants mixed melodically with sporadic piano and thundering brass-band thuds. A strange store indeed, for only the strangest of customers.
Mel leaned against the front counter and, without a second of hesitation, pulled out her phone. She tapped away at its small clicky keys, pulling up various news articles. "Children's Orphanage in the Lower Dive Receives a Big Grant!" "Man Wins BIG in Fortune's Lot!" "Can You Believe This Puppy?!" She poured over every feel-good story she could read as she surfed her temporary happy-high. She let each fluffy word wash over her like warm waves tempting her to dive deeper. To finally fully submerge herself into the ocean of emotions that everyone else felt in their day-to-day lives. The store's door sensor let out a high-pitched demon scream in two tones. Most people jump at this poor attempt at a joke, but Mel only rolled her eyes and stashed her phone back into her pocket. Two girls, one tall and one noticeably short, made their way into the cramped store. Mel’s left eye slowly faded back to brown and the warm waves of joy receded. Once again she was alone on her dead and isolated beach.
"Hi. Welcome to Bedlam ‘n Brimstone. East End's most fiendish shop for all your Demonic and-or Hellish needs. Just, like, let me know if you need assistance or whatever." Mel said on-script. The two girls ignored Mel and darted into the nearest corner of the store. With an indifferent sigh, Mel peeled away from the counter to stalk this most unusual prey. These weren't the typical purveyors of demon trinkets. No, these were two bleach-blonde ditzy girls from the Sunnyvale Suburbs. A far cry from the pale, middle-aged men who would rub their greasy hands on anything and everything. Mel began adjusting merchandise as she crept closer to the two out of place girls. Each detached fidget, fuss, and fiddle brought Mel closer and closer to earshot.
"So like, why are we here again, Kimmy?" the shorter girl said in a hushed voice.
"Because, dingdong, Daddy asked me to." the taller girl shot back.
"He asked you to come to a creeptastic goth store? Like, as a punishment, or?" ‘Dingdong’ asked.
"No. Well, kinda. Like, Daddy wanted me to find some stuff for his party next week." The taller girl, 'Kimmy,' said as she scrutinized a box of shimmering hellfire glass.
"But, like, isn't your party tonight more important?"
"Yes. Well, no. I said we were going to the Mall to get outfits for tonight. He put 300 into my TCard on the sole condition that we pick up some weird old-fart stuff for him and his boys."
"His boys?"
"Yeah, the Kings-of-whatever. Daddy's weird friends from Parzival. The ones he hangs out with all the time in his study."
"Oh, those creepy old-farts. Gross."
"Does this look like an... umbral heart?" Kimmy said as she held a strange metal box in front of Becky.
"Uhm—no. That looks like Bloody Mary's music box. Ugh, why doesn't this store label anything?!"
Mel closed in, ready for the kill. "Sorry. I overhead a bit. You two are looking for, was it, umbral hearts? Yeah, we keep those in the back." Kimmy's eyes lit up. "Although, I'm not sure I'm even allowed to show them without my manager's permission." Mel stalled for a moment before pantomiming a concerned look behind her shoulder. "He's not here right now, so I could probably get them for you."
"Oh my, Morningstar! Really? Thank you so much!" Kimmy exclaimed as she let out a small excited hop.
Mel sauntered to the back of the store. After digging around for a few moments she settled on a box in the far back. The scribbled label on the box read ‘Shadowmen Eyes?’ Mel squinted as she rolled one of the inky black orbs in her palm. These could be umbral hearts. They’re black. They’re hearts shaped. Or sized, kinda. Do those two even know what a heart looks like? I mean, the question mark on the label is pretty open ended right? Rob must’ve mislabeled these. Mel thought to herself as she palmed the small sphere. She started to make her way back out to the store but first she stopped at Mr. Donaldson’s office. She rapped her knuckles against the door then belted out, “Hey Rob, how much are shadowmen eyes worth?”
“Point two T.” Mr. Donaldson shouted back from behind his door.
“Unrelated question, how much are umbral hearts worth?”
“We don’t have any in stock—”
“I said unrelated.”
“Sixty four T.”
“Thanks boss.” Mel shouted as she made her way back out to the sales floor. She threw a few more cautionary glances as she closed in on Kimmy. Mel leaned in close and said in an unnecessary hushed voice, “Okay, you can look. But I don’t think I can sell it to you. It’s not even supposed to leave the back without permission.” Mel let her fingers bloom revealing the prized piece of junk.
“Wow…” Kimmy said with forced enthusiasm. “Look, I um, like really need that. Are you sure you can’t sell it to me? I’m willing to pay a bit extra.”
“Gosh…” Mel said with a reluctant tone as she curled her fingers back around the small orb. “I guess I could sell it to you. 100 Tokens. Even.”
“Okay!” Kimmy said as she whipped out her TCard. Mel snatched it from her and took it to the back counter. She rang up the sale and proceeded to wrap the worthless piece of Asmodian trash in the finest wrapping paper this side of the East End. With all the showmanship and grace Mel could muster she handed Kimmy the most valuable—as of a minute ago—item in the store. Kimmy let out a bright smile and thanked Mel before fluttering off to spend her remaining 200 Token surplus. Mel let out a mirthless chuckle as she closed out the sale watching her prey prance back into the dangerous marmoreal wilds of Mammon.
She then nonchalantly made her way back towards Mr. Donaldson’s office. Without even knocking she shouted through the closed door, “Hey Rob, I sold a 64 Talkers worth of junk. So… I’m taking the rest of the day off.” Mel cocked her ear towards the door. She heard a muffled sound, something between a gasp, a laugh, and a cough. “Thanks bud.” Mel said as she picked up her wallet and keys from her locker and made her way out into the labyrinthian Mall.
Part II - Matchstick
Summary of Receipt
Summary
Transcript
The Calhoun Birthday Bash Massacre
Part II - Matchstick
The East End Mall, so named because it consumes up-to 80% of the East End district, is indeed a strange place. It was built only twelve years ago in 2097 and back then it had only three stores. Legend has it no one really knows which three stores they were or are to this day. In 2103 the Mall expanded, despite low sales and foot traffic. See, the East End district was more-or-less a historic district back in the day. Veterans of the Demon Wars, fading stars from old Hollywood in the Shining Coast, and eccentric demonologists called it their home. By all accounts, it would have been smarter to build the mall on the West End of Dive, somewhere in Upper Dive or Sunnyvale, perhaps. But no, this strange little Mall kept expanding. By 2106 the Mall had grown so large and pervasive that the residential areas and the Cathedral of the Final Testament of Jesus Christ in the East End petitioned the Dive City Board to break up the district. The motion was agreeable to stockholders and thus East End was fractured into East End and the newly formed and protected historic district of Eltersin, which unoriginally just means East End in demon. All that was really left in the old East End were a few low-rent apartments and the ever-present, ever-open, ever-expanding East End Mall. Mel just happened to work there.
Mel made her way through the polished marble corridors. Natural light from the massive glass ceiling crept through the Mall, casting odd shadows as the scant August clouds lazed above. The air reeked of sterility, summer, and the vague sense of a food court somewhere. Mel had never seen the food court but had heard rumors of it. One day she might even treat herself to some overpriced deep-fried mall food to celebrate its discovery. The Mall was quiet at this hour. Most people were either still at work or just getting out of school. But the silence of the Mall was broken with the all too familiar sound of gunfire.
Oh, come on. Really? Mel thought to herself as she dug for her small headphones from her oversized hoodie pocket. She slid the tiny foam covered discs over her ears and cranked the volume up on her tunes. Despite this, Mel could still make out the faint sound of continued gunfire and commotion. She glanced around, searching for the source of her disturbance.
Figures. Mel made out four figures engaged in combat. On one side, a spunky girl dressed in bright pink and blue neons. Her hair was tied in two pigtails, her smile twisted and gleaming, and her eyes hungered for chaos. In her grip was an impressively large machine gun, which she fired with reckless abandon. With each recoil, the spritish girl bounced up and down with growing enthusiasm. It was hard to see from this distance, but Mel could swear she had more ammunition and weapons tucked away in her cutesy school backpack—as if the machine gun might be insufficient. At her side was a humongous towering visage of a half-man half-ape creature. In his grip, a sack full of some plundered loot, perhaps some stolen TCards.
The other side of the conflict was more recognizable to Mel. It was Coven the Sorceress and… Plant—Plant Girl? Well, maybe not that recognizable, but it was clear they were both Good Guys. Good Guys fighting Bad Guys. Causing unnecessary property damage, injuries, chaos, and noise pollution. This is what you get when more than a quarter of the population has some kind of demonic power, a bunch of outcasts who like to play dress up and smack each other around. Some claim it is for the protection of safety and order. Others claim freedom.
Mel continued her stroll through the Mall, trying her best to go around the costumed adults. The whole concept of dressing up and picking a side was so infantile to Mel. She glanced back over her shoulder once more. Coven was now floating six feet in the air as her indigo energy tendrils attempted to apprehend the trigger-happy girl and her monstrous mammal accomplice. With his free hand, the Apeman smashed through her magic and sent Coven tumbling. The plant girl, Alchemilla, called forth walls of bramble and briar as fast as the gun-toting Bangboozle could mow them down. As she meandered by, Mel flipped the whole lot of them off. Mel’s feelings had nothing to do with power envy.
Flash! Bang! Mel stumbled back, her headphones now shattered on the ground, and her ears ringing. Ugh, stupid—
“What are you doing here?!” A wispy nasal voice barked at Mel.
“I work here. What are you clowns doing here?”
“You need to get out now! It is not safe here.” Coven commanded, hovering closer to Mel.
“Who’s fault is that?”
Coven gritted her teeth and let out a sharp, frustrated hiss. “Who’s fault?! Who do you think! Agh—some of you are hardly worth saving. Ca suffit.” Coven said as she enveloped Mel in a magical barrier and flung her towards the exit.
As Mel soared away from the conflict, she felt something. This wasn’t her normal emotional absorption. This was something new—a new feeling—anger mixed with adrenaline, which bubbled behind her bright sky blue eyes. Mel let out this rush of emotion with a short exhalation met with a burst of dazzling blue flames shattering Coven’s protective spell. Mel skidded across the marble floor as she fell mear inches from the back exit of the Mall. Dazed, she looked at her hands, which were draped in the same blue fire. As the rush of emotion faded, so too did the flames. What—what was that?
Stumbling out of the Mall, Mel ducked behind a nearby dumpster. The thick muggy August air billowed the rancid smell of trash into Mel’s nose. Her face instinctively scrunched up as her stomach threatened to turn over. She yanked her shirt over her nose, attempting to filter out the stench but to no avail. Mel turned her palms out towards the dumpster and began to focus. She scraped every last lingering feeling she could and, with another sharp exhale, released a blanket of blue fire onto the Mall dumpster. These flames were even shorter-lived than the last as Mel toppled over with a sudden profound sense of nausea, dread, and paranoia. Her vision doubled, then tripled, then burst open with a thousand dancing stars. Her entire body shuddered as her face became covered in a cold sweat. Among all the pleasantries of burn-out, Mel was also treated to the lovely aroma of now burning trash. Bad idea. Bad idea. Gonna die. Bad idea.
Mel shuffled her hands around her hoodie pocket. She was searching for anything that could ease this burn out bout. At last, her fingertips felt the calming metallic presence of a single stick of Y5 Gum. Wasting no time, Mel shoved the gum—wrapper and all—into her mouth. She winced as the foil wrapper flirted with her fillings. The vague banana taste was overpowered by the sharp metal notes, but the gum worked all the same. As her vision began clearing up and her body temperature leveled, Mel spat the metal and rubber wad onto the alley pavement. Mel trembled to her feet, high-fiving the gritty cement wall for support. During her burn-out, Mel was unaware of how eager the trash was to burn, its flames now licking fifteen feet up the side of the Mall. Pretty sure I saw Coven set that fire. Mel thought to herself as she limped from the scene.
Mel made her way through the East End’s shady back streets, she pulled out her phone and began texting one of the privileged few in her address book. She sent out a simple message to a contact labeled ‘Colly’; it read, “hey do you have a sec? something strange just happened at work. thx.”
Silence. Mel opened and closed her messaging program. She dragged her fingertips across the squishy plastic keypad on the bottom half of her flip phone, and with each circuit, she’d reopen the app—nothing. She began flipping the phone open with a sigh just to close it with a sharp clack seconds later. After tiring of fidgeting with her phone, Mel dug around her pockets for something more substantial to look at. All she could find was a small matchbox from the Fortune’s Lot district. She tore off one of the matches and rolled it with her fingers. What’s taking Colly so long? She always texts right back. Maybe I should— Mel reopened her contacts and keyed down to ‘Rob’. Placing the matchstick between her teeth, she started her message the same way. Mid-sentence, her phone vibrated with a dull rattle.
“heyy srry 4 the l8 txt--keepin busy lmaooo whats up buttercup?” Colly responded.
Mel tapped her thumb against the back key and switched over to Colly’s message. “i think i have powers?” Mel sent back.
“yeahh i kno like the sad sucking thing right?”
Mel grinded her teeth against the matchstick. “no like new powers. like fire powers.”
“woaah howd u find out?”
“i sucked out someones anger and they just kinda shot out of my hands.”
“o thats crazy dude. r u gonna use em?”
“use them?” Mel texted back as she slid the matchstick from one side of her mouth to the other. ver. Tha “yeahhh u kno like dress up and burn some beeyeetchzzz... could be fun lmao!!”
“hm. maybe. im not sure how they work yet so that could be bad.”
“being bad is half the fun silly! worst case say u didnt kno u had powers and cheese it lol.” Colly sent another text immediately after, “hey luv u got2go let me know if u end up getting bbq tonight lol get it? <3”
Mel snapped her phone shut. I could try my powers out on something that isn’t trash-related, I guess. But I don’t want to hurt random people either. Mel plopped down on the cracked sidewalk and pulled out her phone. She let her eyes dance over the text conversation. Unsatisfied, she once again pulled up Rob’s number and stared at the blank text. What could I even say to him? ‘Hey, looks like I have powers, what should I do?’ That’s stupid. He’d probably say something about being responsible or using my powers to drum up business. Business... —Huh. Mel took the matchstick from her mouth and gazed into its little red tip. Her mind raced to sinister arsonistic thoughts.
36 Tokens in a day isn’t bad, but it won’t last foret Kimmy girl from the store today—she’s having a birthday party in Sunnyvale tonight, right? She’s not random, and she’s got more money than common sense. If I crashed her party, then caused a big scene, I’m sure she’d get mad. Mad enough that I could light it up. All it’d take is a little friction. Mel scraped the matchstick against the pavement as it hissed to life. A simple smash and grab. The glow of the flame flickered against her face. Well, smash, burn, and then grab. Huh—That really is an idea, Colly. Mel flicked the matchstick aside letting it smolder out as she typed in her phone’s search engine ‘Kimmy Sunnyvale Party.’