Thousands of lifetimes ago, the Cataclysms sundered the Myriad Worlds.

  From forgotten pasts, the present bleeds.

  The day is unusually cold even for the winter, and a brisk gust follows the esteemed (and rather handsome) Rear Admiral Gahn Pei Ramlik through the door as he enters the bar. Typically of warmer, humid climate, his homeworld rarely ever sees such a dramatic temperature drop, let alone the presence of ice on the roads. It thus became a celebratory occasion that almost everybody could call off work today, besides the poor bastards making his drink.

  Looking around the crowded room, he spots his group, deep in enthusiastic conversation. His normally uptight manners relax. Tilko spots him back, and waves him over with a mischievous expression. Almost immediately, Gahn becomes the new subject to be their punching bag.

  “Well look who arrived right when we agreed to!” says Tilko.

  “I’m only a little late,” Gahn groans.

  “Yeah buddy, by a whole hour!” laughs Mohya.

  “We thought you was dead,” chuckles Tilko, his leaves rustling. “Actually, I was taking bets here with Mohya to see how you’d end up in the local news tomorrow.”

  “Oh, shut it!” said Gahn. “I had some delays, and there was a bit of traffic.”

  “Traffic? What traffic!” roars Mohya, his circuits beeping. “Who’s out working now?! What, you keep slipping walking on that ice?”

  “I’m a rear admiral, you know!” exclaims Gahn. “Show some respect to authority.”

  “Not here to you, we don’t!” jabs Tilko. “We get special privileges here in the group.”

  Mohya and Tilko continue to cackle, and in retaliation, Gahn plucks a few leaves off of Tilko.

  “Ow-hey!” yelps Tilko. “Now what was that for?”

  “Oh just my small fee for the humiliation,” smiles Gahn, holding in a chortle. He grinds the leaves into smaller bits, rolls up the joint, and lights it. Mohya and Tilko create a facial expression as if they had just witnessed the most abominable crime occur, and Gahn blows the smoke out to their faces.

  “You did not just smoke me,” says Tilko.

  “Yeah I did,” quips Gahn as he takes another puff. “And the flavor’s good!”

  “Yeah, The Great Omniahh should’ve just smited you on the way here,” says Mohya.

  “Woah, woah!” Gahn raises an eyebrow. “Is it not sinful of you to wish harm upon another being? And maybe Omniahh was guiding me here with peace and grace.”

  “It’s The Great Omniahh.”

  “Alright, Great Omniahh.”

  “No, it’s The Great Omniahh.”

  “Yeah, alright, alright! The Great Omniahh. Now what have I been missing before I got here?”

  “Missing us talk about all the ways you could’ve died on the way here,” jokes Tilko as he gets a final jab in.

  “Okay, no, stop, seriously!” says Gahn. “Catch me up to speed, I haven’t seen you both in a week.”

  Tilko and Mohya look at each other first with a side eye, then turning to face the other.

  “What were we really talking about before this?” Tilko asks.

  “I don’t know?” says Mohya. “I just got too caught up with dogging on Gahn here. Too bad Vertan and Hilgo aren’t here with us for that!”

  “Oh, right! So, we were talking about them for a little bit, and how all of Mohya’s opinions are completely wrong.”

  “Hey! I’m entitled to have opinions just like anybody else.”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever, still wrong. Okay Gahn, yeah, we were just talking about them for a bit since they left about two weeks ago. Haven’t heard from them since and the group’s felt a lot smaller now.”

  Gahn takes another puff of his joint and settles on that thought for a second. He had been so busy with work, the wife, and kids as of late that he hadn’t taken the time to stop and wonder, where have those two been? He knows that they’ve gone on the Special Expeditions as part of the many foreign volunteers, but now he realizes he hasn’t heard a peep back from either of them.

  “Huh, yeah, neither of you have heard back from them either?” asks Gahn.

  Mohya and Tilko pause their arguing for the moment. Mohya takes a sip from his drink.

  “Wait, doesn’t your religion forbid you from drinking that?” queries Gahn, looking at the half empty glass.

  “Oh, that’s not—that’s just for today,” replies Mohya.

  “Okay, buddy.”

  “What?! It’s just a break for today—”

  “Yeah, we haven’t heard back from them either,” answers Tilko. “They both decided to go on the uh, the uh, whatever it’s called?”

  “The Special Expeditions?” Gahn clarifies.

  “Yeah, that,” Tilko continues. “Haven’t heard anything back, no letter, no mail, not even a message through StarComms. I’m saying there’s always been something suspicious about these Expeditions to me, they just don’t sit right with me whenever I hear about them!”

  “Oh there he goes on again about it,” groans Mohya. “He’s always suspicious about everything, everything’s always got an ulterior motive or some conspiracy behind it.”

  “Your brain is an evolved computer, your kind can literally think faster than either me or Gahn here, I can’t believe you won’t stop to at least think about it,” retorts an exasperated Tilko.

  “I have thought about how everything always winds up to be proven to be nothing time and time again!” responds Mohya.

  Gahn flicks a bit of his joint into the ashtray and considers for a moment.

  “What do you mean by suspicious?” he asks Tilko.

  “Well, okay, think about it,” Tilko replies, preemptively motioning to Mohya to not interrupt him. “Since a few decades ago, the Coalition’s been all up in arms about how there’s this whole, uh, what you call it, discovery of this supposed danger—”

  “It’s not a ‘supposed’ danger, Tilko—” intervenes Mohya.

  “Man, let me talk or I’m shorting your circuits!”

  “Alright! Alright, damn.”

  “As I was saying, they happen upon this ancient site, and accidentally awaken old angry demons, superweapons, and the like. Fine, whatever, they need a threat neutralization program and need all the hands they can get on deck, I get it. What I don’t get, is why aren’t they done by now? And what’s more, they set up this whole career-building thing around it that so many people get into. But how often do we ever hear back from them, if ever?”

  Gahn takes another moment to process the thought. He finishes his joint and disposes of it in the ashtray.

  “Well, I heard that they’re coming close to the end of their operations,” Gahn remarks. “The threat is supposedly from pre-Cataclysm, so I doubt it’s an easy or clean undertaking in any sense. I mean, we don’t understand any piece of debris coming out of that era, let alone a whole demon-world. And besides, most people probably want to move to the Coalition, everything’s always bigger, richer, and better there. I’ve always wanted to see the headworlds of Alpharion.”

  “That’s the thing,” says Tilko. “They’ve been saying they’re ‘close to being done’ since forever. It’s always been ‘close to done’ without ever reaching ‘done’. Meanwhile people, money, resources, keep on pouring in. Where’s all that stuff going?”

  “Yeah, no,” Mohya finally interjects. “It’s a duty for the greater good that we step up to contain a threat that jeopardizes the rest of us. And besides, Vertan and Hilgo are at least out there doing more than what we are, sitting here at home! They’re at least joining the fight and making an opportunity for themselves, I figure if they ever want to come back, they’d live like royalty with all their hard-earned money. I’m sure they get paid real good for retrieving all those artifacts.”

  “If you support it so much, why don’t you go fight those demons then?” scoffs Tilko.

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  “Nope, not doing that!” quips Mohya. “Those two are braver than me. I heard those demons can hit you on all sides at once, I’m not about to drag myself across the galaxies for that. Those guys got it.”

  “Okay, so let me make sense of this,” says Gahn. “You think it’s suspicious that it’s taking them so long, is all?”

  “I’m suspicious because I think they want to prolong it,” declares Tilko.

  “Well yeah, but how come?” asks Gahn. “I thought this whole thing was a threat. Like an existential kind of threat. Wouldn’t it be in their best interests to, you know, not prolong it? Why would they want to keep fighting ancient demons?”

  “I theorize that the Coalition doesn’t have that much going for it as we think they do. They’re setting up a whole system behind these so-called ‘Special Expeditions’ to entice poor people into coming in to do their dirty work for them, with promise for a better life.”

  Gahn leans back in a visible recoil to this wild idea.

  “Alright I think that’s kind of crazy, man. These guys have the most advanced and developed galaxies in all the Myriad Worlds, I find it easier to believe that maybe they’re just incompetent at handling this crisis. We should at least be thankful that they’re even there and willing to help to begin with!”

  “That’s what they want you to think, Gahn! That whatever they’re doing is out of any sense of goodwill. They’re really just in it for themselves.”

  “Oh and now what’s next, you’re going to suggest that there isn’t even a threat to begin with?” scoffs Mohya.

  “I’m not saying that, I just think they’re setting up a whole scheme around these demons,” says Tilko.

  “And I’m saying I think it’s dumb that they would do that,” adds Gahn.

  “That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to say, too!” exclaims Mohya.

  “You guys just don’t get it, do you?” an exasperated Tilko responds. “It’s such a small corner of the universe! How big and bad is it that they’re still ‘retrieving artifacts’ and fighting demons even up until now—”

  “Here’s your cocktail, sir,” says the waitress to Gahn as she delivers the drink he ordered earlier.

  “Oh, thank you very much, ma’am,” replies Gahn, a little caught off guard.

  “Enjoying your night so far?” she said with a hint of nervousness in her voice.

  “Why yes, I am.”

  “If you’re not so busy, I’d love to get to know you more after—”

  “I have a wife.”

  “Oh don’t mind bothering him, why don’t I take you downtown after you’re done with work?” Tilko intervenes, his leaves rustling and blooming.

  “Oh, um, no thank you,” the waitress replies, shuffling awkwardly away. The three could barely make out the waitress talking with her coworkers with an embarrassed expression in the back.

  Gahn and Mohya burst out laughing at Tilko’s expense, who can only cover his face in one of his branches.

  “Pack your roots up Tilko!” Mohya roars.

  “Alright, alright, no need to rub it in,” says Tilko dejectedly.

  “In all the two hundred years this guy’s been around and he still couldn’t—,” Gahn couldn’t even finish the thought before continuing to wheeze hysterically.

  “I get it, I get it!” moans Tilko.

  “This guy expects us to believe his conspiracies when he couldn’t even convince a girl to spend a night with him!” cackles Mohya.

  “Alright I’m leaving, I can’t stand being here anymore,” groans Tilko.

  “Tabs’ on me, boys,” declares Gahn, leaving behind enough to cover everyone’s drinks. “Hey, come back here! I haven’t even started on my drink yet!”

  *****

  The three old friends enjoy a walk out in the cool night, the weather now a bit milder than it was earlier that day. The forecast predicted the next day to be warmer and for the ice to have melted by then, much to the locals’ lament of having to go back to work. The light thunder of a skyship far overhead rumbles the air around them as it passes.

  Gahn took a moment to ponder while Mohya and Tilko continued conversating. They must be arguing once again about politics, or whatever. Ironically enough despite being a part of it, Gahn preferred to keep it out of his personal life, enjoying the peace with his family. He couldn’t be bothered with the dramas of other people, as he would put it.

  It was dark out, though not at all late yet. The streets were still alive and bustling with people, and the businesses that still opened that day continue to have their signs light their small downtown. Hovpeds bustle down the roads, the sound of their beating engines filling the air with the faint smell of fuel. New regulations have been able to reduce the amount of air and noise pollution in recent years.

  In the sky a bit far off from the three crescent moons, their world’s interstellar gateway is visible, a shining ring against the blackness. The otherwise gigantic asterships could be visible only as pale blips, moving to or from the gateway, depending on their arrival or departure.

  His mind flew back to his wife and children. Surely, they should be asleep by now. He was the stricter parent, and he figured that the children may have enjoyed spending the night with their mother. Maybe they got to eat some treats and stay up a little longer. He smiled at the thought. Being a man of the military made him strict and uptight, and though it was good to pass such values down to the next generation, he was glad that they could have at least some ease with his more easy-going wife. Next, he thought about treating his wife out to lunch on his next day off, whilst the kids would be at school.

  Waiting at a crosswalk, Gahn spots a familiar figure out of the corner of his eye. He turns, and realizes he in fact mistook the person to be somebody else. But upon closer inspection…

  “Hey, doesn’t that guy look like Vertan?”

  Tilko and Mohya pause their arguing for a second.

  “Huh, yeah, that’s funny, he kinda does look like him,” comments Tilko.

  “Yeah, if he were old and balding,” jokes Mohya.

  The three cross the street, chuckling along the way, the traffic signal ticking its timer down for them and the other pedestrians. Much to their growing confusion, the man had now turned to look directly at them, with a shocked and pained expression on his face.

  “Why’s he looking at us like that?” says Tilko, lowering his voice. “I think we should avoid eye contact and go around him.”

  “Yeah that’s kind of weird,” adds Mohya. “Maybe he’s intoxicated? Drugged up? Those are heavily regulated though—”

  “Wait, Vertan?!” exclaims Gahn, now in shock and awe.

  It was too true to deny. There stood in front of him his old childhood friend, barely recognizable only to Gahn from a unique scar on the left side of his head. Gahn had saved Vertan from trouble from a group of bullies that day in grade school who were assaulting him with rocks. To Gahn, those eyes and those scars could only belong to one person.

  And yet, those eyes and scars were the only things he could make out and recognize. Gahn rushed up to him, the both of them bewildered. His left arm and right leg have been replaced with prosthetics. He appeared thinned and aged, with many more wounds now calling his body home. The hair on his head, if he had any left, was falling off and grayed, while the rest of his scraggly beard appeared unclean and unshaven. But most notably on this tattered body, were his sunken eyes staring off millions of light years away.

  “Vertan, is that really you?” Gahn asks again in disbelief. Mohya and Tilko stood still, remain speechless.

  “...”

  “Vertan, it’s really you, isn’t it? By the cosmos what’s happened to you?”

  “...Gahn… it’s you?”

  “Yes, it’s me! What happened?”

  “I can’t believe you’re still here.”

  “Of course we’re still here! Where would we have gone?”

  “But it’s been so long.”

  “What do you mean? You left two weeks ago. By the cosmos, what’s happened to you in those two weeks?”

  Vertan’s dulled, sunken eyes noticeably widened. It was almost as if his skull could barely hold them back from falling straight out.

  “Two weeks?”

  “What do you mean, ‘two weeks?’? You just left!”

  “No.”

  “You and Hilgo haven’t sent us a single word back since then! Where’s Hilgo?”

  “Hilgo…”

  “Vertan?”

  “...Hilgo…”

  “What?”

  “It’s been so long…”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I thought you all wouldn’t be here anymore.”

  “I told you already, where would we have gone in two weeks?”

  “But it hasn’t been.”

  “What?”

  “It’s been sixty-three months.”

  “...What?”

  “I’ve been away for sixty-three months.”

  “...No you haven’t?”

  “I have been!”

  Gahn, Tilko, and Mohya could only look on in confusion at the ghostly husk that is their friend. He had left a healthy, even athletic man of sharp wit, strong drive, and sound mind.

  But what could he have possibly done to think he went through sixty-three months in two weeks?

  “Okay, um look, let’s get you home,” says Tilko. “Whatever’s in your head is just all in your head right now, we’re going to take some time to fix you up—”

  “Don’t talk to me like that!” Vertan shouts back. “Don’t tell me it wasn’t real! You weren’t there!”

  “Vertan, what wasn’t real?,” Gahn asks. “What happened? What are you talking about?”

  “I-I, I can’t say—I’m not allowed to—”

  “Hey come on let’s keep it moving, we probably don’t want to attract any trouble on the streets,” says Mohya. “There’s people looking at us.”

  “Vertan, what happened—okay you know what, that can wait,” continues Gahn. “Look, we need to get you home, alright? Have you talked with your mother—”

  Right about that moment, the blaring engine of a modified hovercar driven by some youths startles the group, the exhaust making a loud popping sound as it rolls down the street.

  “GET AWAY FROM ME! FUCK! FUCK! GET AWAY!”

  Gahn’s heart skips a beat as he whirls back around to find Vertan profusely shaking, sweating, and screaming hysterically at the car through tears. The youths immediately notice and look over with a disgusted expression on their faces. Mohya and Tilko exchange nervous glances.

  “Vertan! Get ahold of yourself, calm down, what the hell are you—”

  “GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME! HOW DO I KNOW YOU’RE REAL? YOU’RE GOING TO KILL ME—”

  Vertan lands a clean punch into Gahn’s nose, breaking cartilage, his blood dripping to the pavement and staining his pants and shoes below. The youths that were watching are now jumping from their car to Gahn’s aid, but are intercepted and stopped by Tilko and Mohya in an attempt to control the situation. Crowds are gathering now as Gahn struggles to get ahold of the increasingly distressed Vertan.

  “GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME! GET AWAY FROM ME!”

  “FUCK!”

  “FUCK!”