Batman… didn't make contact again. In the week that passed since his visit, no superhero made another attempt to talk to me. No Superman, no wizard, nothing. Then again, I did make it pretty obvious that I did not appreciate it. What exactly did they expect from me? That I'd just make myself a costume and join in the good fight, win the good war?
How? I kept wondering. If I ever thought I could, how would I win a war against crime? Completely transform the economy? Crime wasn't some sort of Dark Side, where one could resist the temptation or fall into a gaping pit. Lots of it was circumstances too. People down on their luck, people that never had luck, desperate need, fear, anger. I would know.
The first three days in Gotham were a slow descent towards a dark path.
No papers, no money, no records of my existence. I was doomed from the start.
The first day, I spent in a panic. The second, I met an angel. The third, I narrowly avoided death by mugging.
Maybe if my range was bigger. One hundred meters, up, down, backward forward, both sides. The radius of my influence, one hundred meters in a straight line away from me (I certainly wasn't going to tell Batman the fine print during our first meeting). Inside that bubble…
"If I don't pay up by tonight, they'll kill me," pleaded the teenager in front of me.
His hands were digging into my arms. I could feel him shaking despite his tight grip on me.
"Hey, calm down, kid," I said, as gently as possible. "It's gonna be okay."
"Please. I'm the only one my little sister's got. They say you make miracles. Well, I really, really need a miracle, or I'm gonna be fed to the penguins!"
If it weren't for the genuine fear on his face, I would have laughed at such a phrase. "Hey, it's fine. I'm gonna help you."
I reached into my pockets and pulled a fat roll of bills. The boy's eyes went wide.
"Here's exactly how much you need to turn your life around, okay? Use it to get those people off your back. And if they ask questions, send them my way."
Quickly, he unhooked the elastic and let the hundreds spill on my dinner table. "They're all real? Where did you even…? I, shit, that's way more than my debt."
"Like I said, it's what you need." And a little extra. Protection from enemies. Enhanced charisma. Temporary enhanced luck.
He cycled through gratitude, disbelief and relief, appearing exactly how young he was. His future had suddenly taken a right turn into a much better lit path, and he saw it.
Without warnings, he crushed me into a bone-breaking hug. "I- I won't forget it, man! If you ever need anything, I swear-"
"There's no need to repay me. Just go and try to avoid those crowds in the future."
That was fairly typical, as far as audiences went. Not a big shocker when one considered this was Crime Alley. Park Row, if you preferred, but the true name wasn't nearly as accurate. The alley itself stank of open sewers on a hot day, rank stench clinging to people's skins and people's soul. You wouldn't find a single person here that had not committed a criminal offense, besides the babies. It wasn't much, as far as ways of life went, but it was the only one they could find in here.
My apartment was… used to be… a vacant, rotting restaurant before.
The day my powers manifested, it got the revamped treatment. Five stories high, exactly as every other complex around. In fact, I'd taken great care to replicate the outward appearance of the general constructions here. Didn't fool anyone that lived in the place for a second, but outsiders would never be able to tell.
Or wouldn't have. By the sixth day, the first attempt was made.
Maybe in some respectable neighborhood, a nice suburb bordered by the countryside, a shiny quarters in the center of a metropolis, somewhere that didn't reek of misery, maybe there wouldn't have been anyone to lower themselves to beg for my help.
Maybe I wouldn't have given it a shot.
But the missing limb had reformed itself out of thin air, and I had stared, both in awe and horror, as flesh covered itself in skin and an invalid thanked me frenetically. It could have ended there. But the man had had friends, and a new leg out of the blue usually warranted a few questions. Word had spread, rumors had been thrown to the wind, and now, the lobby in my apartment complex always creaked under the pressure of so many people waiting.
Honestly, one could have written 'free drugs' on the sign outside and it would have attracted fewer claimants. For every request granted, three more popped up, and by now I didn't know how to slow it down.
Other than barricading the whole place and shutting myself in my room. Covered in bookshelves, equipped with every consoles and an infinite library of games and a computer so powerful it could bench press the moon. I'd never have to take a request again. The whole building was my personal bunker, able to withstand the apocalypse, but my room was my sanctuary.
Inside, the only requests I had to deal with came from the recesses of my mind. Pleas that rose in the darkness of the gutters or the sterile lights of the emergency rooms.
"I can keep going."
I had heard a whole lot of requests by now. Some truly out there – a mecha T-Rex to allow them to fly to the moon? … Sure? – and some appallingly predicable – a fifty-something man that would like to stop compensating. Why me? 'cause surgery was beyond his means.
At this point, I made it a game. What would it be next? Would it be depraved or depressing? I had an automated, three meters tall bingo card ready and waiting to be completed.
The door vanished, and a couple blinked in shock.
I shut down my first thought that this would be simple marital problems. The woman clung to her boyfriend with pale thin arms, and he with a hand protectively around her hip. Their ragged clothing hung loose over their frames, and though they might not have spent nights outdoors, they had the street stamped on their souls.
No outsiders then. The first person from Bludhaven had come this morning.
"One at a time." The man bristled. "It's not up to you. I make the rules, dude. One at a time, no exception. Or leave."
She was his mirror then, pale of face and hair whilst he was turning red down to the tip of his messy haircut. Her hand ran on his chest soothingly.
Alarms bell went off in my mind. "Her, first."
Both turned to me hard enough to get whiplash.
Neither had time to protest though. In an instant, the man was back outside whilst the woman found herself sitting on my sinfully soft sofa. I took the seat next to my library.
"What did you want to ask?"
"Wishmaker. Sir. I-" And right there, the words stopped coming. She looked lost, gasping for air.
"Go on," I said. An encouraging nod to give her strength. Not to rush her, but I knew the line outside was still growing, and I really wanted to get it done.
Her voice barely reached me, for all my powers. "Can… can you make Jim love me?"
Two realizations made themselves known to my general consciousness.
One: I am a spectacular asshole.
And two: I'm method acting God so hard right now. Shit, what do I do? I mean, what will it change if he falls in love with her for real? Probably nothing. He's just a piece of shit that won't get his act together, right? Probably a controlling bastard who thinks that's how you love. Would it be my definition of love or his or hers?
But she had a look on her face, like it meant the world to her, like it might just be the last sliver of hope in her miserable existence. She didn't need money. Not health and blessing outside my power. She wanted love, and my heart gave a painful squeeze.
"Why would I do that?"
Too quietly. "You could, right?"
Mind control. I had little doubts that I could do it. I'd yet to find any kind of limit when inside my range. But anything beyond the one hundred meters mark and it would never even happen. It probably lasted.
He's outside the room, a shitty part of my mind reminded me.
"Would you be happy knowing I made it happen?"
Her long white nails dug into her arms. She looked down, wisps of hair falling on her face. "Happier."
"What makes you think he doesn't love you?" I tensed in preparation of the answer. "Does he… does he hit you?"
"It was my fault," she replied instantly. "I should have known better and I learned. It only happened once. It's not his fault."
My blood boiled. For a split second, my sight blurred with white-hot anger. Under my fingers, the chair's arms whined, then splintered. "I'm gonna-!"
She was trembling.
Congrats, moron! You're scaring her instead of him! "Wait in the kitchen." I forced my breathing to slow down. To pace every inhale and exhale. "Have a cup of hot chocolate. Or, or whatever you want to eat, drink. It'll be there. I promise. I won't be mad whatever you take."
She very obviously looked at the door, far more than she must have meant to. "He's good to me," she whispered. "Can't I stay?"
"One at a time." It's a gentle reminder, but she wrung her hands all the same. "I'm going to make things better, alright?"
It was the promise that did it. The promise of love finally earned. The promise of things becoming so much better. Like she'd dreamed of, when it all started.
No, don't pulverize him. Murder is not a solution. I do not want to find out if I can get away with it. Again. Mutilation, maybe.
"Door on your left. Lock it behind you."
***
Presumption of innocence. An amazing concept. I had subscribed to it my entire life. Which was why I found it ironic how hard I struggled with it at this very moment. Oh, I'd make a terrible judge. Definitely.
But she asked me.
I didn't bother with offering him a seat. I warped him on a hard wooden chair, and a flicker of unease appeared in his eyes.
"Whoa, huh," he tried to laugh, to appear at ease, "impressive. Guess I can see why you're called Miracle Man."
I'm not. Your girlfriend called me Wishmaker. Someone else called me Jesus. Another, the Saint. The Healer. Blessing Man. His Incarnation. The Tempter. The Serpent. Satan, two hours ago.
"Listen, man, Nat and I, we are falling on hard times right now," he started with a friendly smile that made me think of oozing slime. "She's not feeling great. Obviously. Has some history in her family, genetic kinks and all, and it's sucking all our money. Can't afford a lot these days, y'know? We were hoping you could make it better for us. We were thinking of having a child, but we don't got the money."
The contrast shocked me. I couldn't help blink and see her, sitting like she was a beaten dog, and him, slouching like we were old friends. He was actually confident.
For a second, I struggled for words. "Okay." His smile brightened up. "You mind if we do a little something first though?"
Static rip through the air. With a start, the man wiped his head to stare at the television. "Huuuh, man, what's with your TV? It's like we're on the set to the Exorcist or some shit."
The Ring, actually. But what a great suggestion. To keep in mind for later.
I made a show of creating a remote control and aiming at the TV. White and grey snow shifted and turned itself into a shot of both him and his girlfriend standing next to my apartment building.
"Just let me talk, Nat." His voice was too smooth, too silky. A snake's tongue, promising violence. "You don't want to screw up, right? Remember my sister's birthday last year. Everyone thought you were a fool. This is our big chance to leave this life behind. You don't want to make him think you're an idiot, do you? Just let me do the talking, it'll be fine."
Dead silence swallowed up every other sound. Little beads of sweat dripped down the man's rugged jaw. His smile was confused, guarded.
I used the time to gather my wits. The words repeated themselves a second time.
"You don't want to screw up, right? Everyone thought you were a fool."
My glare had him flinch. "Do you think I'm an idiot? That's abusive."
He sputtered, indignant. "Abusive? Hey, you weren't there. You don't know what the incident was!"
Unimpressed, I pushed another button on the remote. On the screen, the scene morphed from nasty back alley to slightly less nasty crummy little apartment. The space itself seemed all the more tighter by the seven adults all squeezed into the tiny kitchen. The conversation was light hearted, teasing stuff, about the Justice League's best costumes of all things.
Natasha sat down at Jim's left, her eyes glazed over, her fork poking at her meal without moving anything to her mouth.
A minute in, the video lingered on an older woman with a passing resemblance to Jim, as she noticed Natasha's quietness. "Dear, are you alright? You haven't eaten much. Is it not to your liking?"
Startled, Natasha looked up and blushed down her collar as conversations died down to stare at her in concern. "O-o-oh, no, no no, it's nothing Mathilda. I don't have much appetite, but your fudge is delicious."
"Natasha, it's not just fudge." Jim scoffed, exasperated beyond belief by that simple remark. "It's a molten volcano cake. They're culinary gold and so hard to make right!"
"Jim, there's no need to jump at her throat like that," Mathilda scolded.
I waited for the image to freeze before turning back to the Jim in the chair, who was looking incredulous.
"What? Are you going to say that me correcting her is abusive?" He threw his arms in the air. "Seriously? My mom's a baker, she should have known that."
The television flared to life once more, focusing on Jim and Natasha inside a car, him with a cigarette in hand, wheel in the other.
"Seriously, Nat? Fudge? My mom's a baker. How can you know the difference between fudge and a molten volcano cake? Do you have any idea how insulting that was? It's like you never listen to what we tell you."
Natasha didn't look up from her hands in her lap. "She said it was fine…"
"She was just saying that. Didn't you see how my sister looked at you? My mom's way too polite to make a guest feel uncomfortable, but believe me, she was pissed. We'll be lucky if we're invited for Christmas with the way you mess things up."
"Sorry."
"Sometimes I don't know why I bother with you, Nat. Half my friends are telling me to leave you for of their exes instead. At least they don't embarrass them in front of their family."
I turned my head away from the screen, clenching and unclenching my fist. "How many of these little conversations will I find if I keep pressing the button?"
"We've been together for years! If what I was doing was so bad, she'd have dumped my ass a long time ago."
"Let me guess. You apologized for losing your temper, begged her not to leave, treated her kindly for a few weeks, then back to the same old same old, huh?"
He jumped to his feet faster than I expected and raised a fist high above his head.
On the second step, he tripped, hitting his nose on the floor, and the face that looked up from the floor couldn't be older than seven.
"Why's everything so big?" he squeaked, struggling in his tent-like shirt. "What's going on?"
I stood. I marched up to the brat. I loomed. "Seriously?! You came to me because you believe I can make miracles happen. What parts of this made you think attacking me was a good idea?"
"You can't do this! You don't have the right!" he screeched.
And then, he was back in his chair, an adult, jolting.
One might think he hadn't even moved in the first place.
Now, the terror was settling in deep. Its claws, tearing in his mind.
"Okay, so here's the thing." I pointed a finger at his chest, and the way he jumped, you'd think it had been a flamethrower. "You are never going to hurt her again. Her, or any lover you might have. Any child. Any relation of yours that you could twist with this bullshit, it's not going to happen ever again."
His mouth opened and closed like a gaping fish's.
"And if you try, you'll feel it before they do. Maybe now you'll learn how to keep your anger in check."
"Wishmaker?!"
That hadn't been him.
I froze. The door to the kitchen was creaked open. One of her green eyes was staring in shock at the two of us; at me, like a monster overhead her lover.
"Don't be scared," I said gently, raising my hands. "He won't be able to hurt you. I gave him what he deserved."
Her pale face turned pasty white. "No, no, no, noooo." She burst out of the kitchen, incomprehension written in her features. "This isn't what I asked for!"
The strength of her cry was not expected. Completely disregarding me, she made a beeline for her boyfriend and knelt next to his chair. "Jim, Jim, babe, that's not what I wanted to happen. I swear. Jim. I'm so sorry. Talk to me."
I did not miss how Jim's face twisted with rage, and he clenched his fists and made to stand. Natasha didn't either. She was raising her hands in front of her, already starting to beg. But Jim's anger evaporated. His eyes widened and his lips parted, and his skin turned pale. Tears spilled from his eyes.
"I'm sorry! I shouldn't have blamed you, Nat! I shouldn't have said it was your fault! I shouldn't have said so many things! Please…" he whispered, leaning into her touch, "please, Nat, forgive me."
"Oh, oh Jim, I'm sorry." She cradled her head against his shoulder, tenderly running her fingers through his hair. "We shouldn't have come here, Jim. It's my fault."
"Wait, I-"
"We're leaving!" she snapped at me, and I couldn't have reacted if I had wanted to.
The door trembled on its hinge behind them. He won't be able to harm her. Maybe it'll work. It's not what she wanted,
That wasn't how I wanted that to go.
It's not like she's the first one to leave unsatisfied.
But she was the first one of those I had done something for.
"Next."
Needless to say, the other case of domestic abuse ended when I said "You no longer feel love, fear and dependency towards your partner, and you have been so stricken by remorse that you will hand yourself over to the police." Less drama. Less… less screwing up.
***
I chuckled, chin resting on my palm as I listened to Maria ramble about her crazy day at work. There was apparently that one old lady who never took the hint that no, the cosmetic section in the drugstore did not sell hair dryers. No one cared that the drugstore two streets down did, but apparently, that was a cardinal sin for any God-fearing drugstore owner.
"Maria, bring me to the store with you tomorrow. I'll make her a hairdryer. I'll make her a godly hairdryer. Then I'll have her confess all her petty shitty sins and beg for your mercy."
"No! Don't you dare, young man." She barely turned from her cauldron to glare at me through her jet black fringe. "It is a battle of wills now."
She raised her wooden spatula to taste. A handful more spices were hastily thrown in the… stew? I couldn't tell. It didn't smell of much except tomatoes right now.
Alvaro was smacking his knife and fork on the table, chanting the universal song of 'I want food, I want food!"
"Shut up, mi ángel," she threw over her shoulder. "Food will be ready when it is ready. "
"You know I could whip you up something instantly, Miss Martinez," I said, teasing. "Didn't you want to know what lobster quiches tasted like?"
Her wooden spoon smacked me straight on the nose. "And waste the food I've been slaving on for an hour?"
"It could be held in a stasis field and remain perfectly fresh," I protested with only a little whining.
"Don't you try your godly mumbo jumbo on me, Maxime." She waved her spoon at me threateningly. "Holy Spirit or not, I know what a growing young man needs. Go wash your hands."
How was it that I could not win an argument with her? What kind of mom magic did she have? Mumbling something inintelligible under my breath, I created spheres of light to englobe my hands. Alvaro clapped his hands in delight, clamoring for more and, okay, I grinned, and a couple of trumpets and harps might have joined in.
"There. Cleaned."
"Cleaned?" She put a fist on her hip. "I didn't see no soap in there. Just fancy lights and music. Do you use light in the shower? No, you don't. Now go be a good boy and wash your hands."
"You don't know that. I could be using fresh auroras to scrub my skin!" How was it that she treated me like the Christ AND her adopted son? Surely there was a contradiction here. Or some megalomania.
"Come on, Jesús," the little boy grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the bathroom, "I'll show you how! It's easy."
"Not Jesus, Alf," I told him for the… seventh time? Bemused. "Also, I know how to wash my hands. I wasn't raised in a barn."
"Mama said she never saw a dirtier person before we met you," he replied wisely. Smartass little shit.
"I had had to track through the sewers to escape a gang! After I woke up in a gutter in my underwear. Forgive me for not knowing I could miracle me up some soap." Or food. Or shelter.
"Nu-uh, you're supposed to appear like the beggars. Mama said so. You have to treat them like you would treat Dios. Or else you need to go confess to the priest."
Unable to argue Mom logic with an elementary schooler, I held back my laugh as Alf showed me how to use the sink to wash my hands. As if I hadn't magicked the apartment into existence myself.
Once I passed Alf's inspection, he deemed us ready to receive food. Which had already been served and waited for us in large green plates. I sat down in front of Alf and patiently held my hands together.
Maria closed her hands and began the prayer, imitated by Alf. "Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen."
"Amen!" Alf completed cheerfully, grinning at me. "Thanks for the meal."
"Thank your mother," I deadpanned, lifting up my fork.
I kept the sighing entirely internal. Maria's cooking sucked. Not her fault I hated most of the stuff she used in her recipes. In fact, I should simply be able to wish them to be tasty, but it hadn't worked so far. I couldn't make myself believe onions and pepper bells should taste good.
It was lucky she bought the excuse it was so spicy I needed lots of water to push it down.
Gonna wash the aftertaste with so much ice cream.
Miss Martinez allowed me two scoops. I'd take it. Strawberry was always nice.
"Rough day?" she asked, sitting down next to me whilst Alvaro started on his homework in the living room.
"Stupid shit." She whacked me. "Stupid stuff! Debts, cleared. Made someone qualified for their dream job. Repaired a teddybear." I snorted. "Seriously, she waited an hour to bring Kenai back to life."
"Sounds like a good day," she prompted, rolling her eyes.
Can't get out of it, huh? "There was an abusive man at my door today," I said with a tiny voice. "He beat her at least once. I'm sure it was more. And he made her think she was stupid. Like she was worthless and he was the only one that would give her the time of the day. I tried to make it better, I figured if he couldn't hurt her anymore… Except she saw me do it. She sent me one of those glares, Miss Martinez... She was pissed when she left. I don't think she'll leave him."
Her homemade bracelet brushed against the top of my hand. "People must want to be saved. If they don't accept Dios in their heart, then they are the ones responsible for their own misery. You cannot force love on people."
Maybe I could. Then, I quickly forced that thought down and blushed, wondering if Maria's mom magic would let her detect my train of thoughts.
"I don't know why you do it this way. One by one." Her grip on my wrist tightened. "You're not going to see the end of it this way. This is Gotham. It breeds darkness. It has its own gravity that pulls everyone down till we're all just pigs rolling in the mud."
The glint of a knife flashed before my eyes. I shuddered, remembering the feeling of cold water drenching my limbs. The hateful twist on the mugger's face. The moment my body went numb with shock. The flare of pain in my abdomen.
"Doesn't everyone deserve that?" I said, my voice detached, barely an echo to my ears. "To get a hand offered to them when they're at their lowest? If you hadn't…"
Paranoia and fatigue had worn me down. I'd never even realized Alvaro had seen me, frozen like a deer in headlight, before he bolted back inside with cries of 'Mama! Mama! There's a man lying on the sidewalk.'
"Forget me. You don't like pain. Yours or theirs. Why do you keep shoving it in your face? Are you trying to at-"
The red had spread so fast. The red had arched through the air, washed away by rain.
No. Gushing through my fingers. It hurts. Stop. -- dripping dripping dripping -- Stop. I don't want to die. Stop. I don't even have money. Why are you doing this? Stop. STOP!
"-are you listening-"
It had stopped. The blood. The pain. His heart.
And the rain.
Every droplet suspended in midair. A curtain of rain building up overhead. Gothamites looking out of their windows. People taking out their cellphones, the glare of flashes. Spotlights.
"-Maxime, look-"
Am I going to live?
My hands, fumbling to lift up my borrowed shirt -- ruined by the gash around the stomach. Not even a scar.
It wasn't cold anymore. Warm. Human warmth, arms around my neck, fingers in my hair.
"Maxime." Focus on the voice. "Maxime!"
I jolted out of my thoughts and realized I was sitting against a wall, Maria looking at me like I was going to die any second now.
"Sorry, Miss Martinez. I didn't mean to-"
The slap stung. "Don't. Apologize."
"God, I love you."
Her laugh was a rasp, warm thing. "Shouldn't I be saying that to you?"
"I swear, you people will get me damned to Hell for taking the name of God for myself."
"You're still doing it." Her smile turned a little sad. "Still doing things for other people. Don't deny it. You're not subtle." -- my mouth shut itself closed -- "How about…" she trailed off, her voice sly, "you do something you enjoy for once?"
***
I sat under the veil of twilight, staring as the red sun dipped into the bay. I held back a faint smile, as the night life of Gotham moved under my nose. Dark, dreary things, but it beat the silence. Sirens in the distance followed the noise of gunshots. If I squinted, I might just distinguish the shape of a giant bat across the town.
He works by night. Evenings are my time for relaxation.
Groaning, I stretched my arms over my head and left my perch. I should probably clean up behind me before leaving. Who knew what people would do with the stuff I'd mess with earlier? They littered the rooftop, and bat furry notwithstanding, I knew for a fact people might stumble upon it. With how many people flooded my place…
Farslayer. Mjölnir. The One Ring. The Cloak of no particular color. A bucket of octarine paint. The Horn of Winter.
They worked when around me. No shocker. Now, them working past my field of influence? Not quite sure yet. If I found someone trustworthy to try them…
Maybe wait just a little more so that Batman's not tempted to slap an inhibition collar on me.
With a snap of my fingers, I let the artefacts fade. It hurt to disintegrate them all, but I could always just think them up the next time I wanted to mess around. There was just so much I could do that I never knew where to start. Thus, okay, it was excusable that I had recreated an evil artifact or two. Not like there was a Sauron to bring the ring back to. And volcanoes were aplenty. Should I create my own soul ja- wow, not going there tonight!
Flight. Immunity from harm. Ease of breathing. Clear sight. Piercing sight. Clairvoyance. The words were coming like mantras, echoing in my mind. There was no grandiose light show, no fireworks going off to punctuate the change in the reality around me. It simply happened. My feet left the ground, and deigned not fall back just yet.
Haste.
I zipped through the air, from my rooftop to the layers of smog to the frontier between the clouds and the stars. Closing my eyes, I let myself lean backward, reclining as if I were in a long chair. Little stings pierced my skin where my hair was whipping under the high winds.
Stable haircut.
Much better.
Above, dusk painted the sky like a mad artist's canvas. It was breathtaking. Grand. And beyond that, I knew, would be a universe so wide it scared me. Silly, wasn't it? Even with all that power at my fingertip, I couldn't help the fear of insignificance running through me. There was someone out there stronger than me. That could surpass everything I did. That would show me exactly how it felt to witness a higher power judge your inner desires.
To make them vanish.
I almost dropped.
A split second. A moment during which my sight zoomed in on the ever shrinking ground, and invisible claws hooked themselves to my flesh. It was so easy to imagine myself plummeting. To fear the weightlessness of free fall.
Courage against heights.
I blinked. The houses were small brown squares on a grey blob. Red on green gardens. Nothing more. Nothing threatening.
Dragon shape.
And I was a dragon. Simple as that. Mindbogglingly simple as that.
Griffon. Wyvern. Eagle. Superman.
"Well," I said, glancing at the vast openness of the sky, "that was fun for five minutes, but this is starting to feel like driving a car near a scenic view."
Myself on a paraglider.
"Never wanted to try this," I chuckled. "But since I'm already up here…"
I adjusted red goggles over my eyes, grinning.
"Let's see if I can land directly on top of the complex."
***
The doorknob vibrated with a satisfying buzz as I entered in the code. I could have walked straight through it, but there was something about being allowed access somewhere that I liked. No one saw me slid past the reception desk. A few people snored on the benches or on the floor, making a pillow of their coats.
I ignored the twitch of guilt in my chest. This was 'me' time. I deserved it.
Alf has probably gone to bed by now.
I had at least a good twenty stories that I could exploit to my leisure. Yeah, bigger on the inside. Sue me.
My feet took me up the stairs to the eight level. Eight sounded like a good number. The hallway itself resembled any other: carpet on the floor and molds on the walls. It was part of the charm. Sorta. With a wave of my hand, I washed out the smell of wet carpet for that of pine trees. Much better.
There were five doors, waiting to be numbered. I stopped at the third, then looked at the ground.
In-between two blinks, a small humanoid with rosy cheeks and a round beard stared back up at me.
"Who are you?" the gnome asked.
"Your creator."
"Oh," he replied. Then waited. Squirmed. He was still looking me in the eyes, but he seemingly had absolutely no idea what more to say. "Why?"
"Why not?"
I gestured to the rectangle of light at his back. A breeze had picked up, stroking our hair and carrying with it the smell of freshly cut grass. And faintly, if one strained their ears, they might catch the hints of laughter and barking.
"There's a whole world over there. Go nuts."
The gnome wrung his hands. "What will I tell the others? Shall I carry a message back to them?"
Oh boy. "How about… don't be assholes. You can't go wrong with that. Yeah, that's a plan. Just tell them that their creator's will is that they think their words and actions through, and if it comes off as a dick move, don't. And never ask me anything again. Don't pray. Don't beg. Make all you need yourselves."
The little bearded guy nodded solemnly, professionally holding out his blue hat, then made an about turn and entered his new world. From the blinding light was cut his silhouette, the shadow of a gnome on a mission.
Then, just as abruptly as this had started, the door slammed shut, restoring proper lighting in the hallway. Chuckling, I rubbed my eyes and replaced my glasses on my nose. "Alright. Note to self: come back in the equivalent of a hundred years to see if they managed to not screw it up completely."
An inscription materialized on the door. 'Fantasy cliché universe', it read in elaborate green faux celtic runes.
"Mmhmm, I should celebrate Fantasia's birthday. I always did wonder what mead tasted like."
All in all, perhaps today had not been a bad day.