Dream Log Gamma: D&D

I found myself in a tavern, or more accurately a bar. A couple guys sat at the table with me, and we had character sheets, dice, and miniatures out and already in use. Normally, when a dream starts off like this, my dream self has literally appeared out of nowhere and has no clue what's going on or it's as though I'm just turning on a show in the middle, but my dream self has all the background knowledge that my real self does not. This time was different. I had clearly been playing D&D with the group. However, I could not remember the slightest bit of what was going on.

"What do you do?" the DM asked me.

"Uh, remind me where I am on the board?" he pointed it out. Another player and I had the enemy flanked.

"Oh man, if only I was playing a rogue," I lamented, assuming that I had gone with paladin.

"You are," one of the other players reminded me.

"Really? Which one?"

"What do you mean which one?"

"Well I need to know what sort of person I'm playing, and I've rolled up a couple of different rogues in the past," I explained, scrambling for my character sheet. The others exchanged looks. "Aha! Mistress Nadia! I was hoping it was the ex-dominatrix. I sneak attack the dog with my rapier."

Playing resumed, but the perspective shifted to show the imagined fight rather than the real life game play. The party had to run for it from a buff hairless fighter and a manic little halfling. A trap wall cut me off from the others. Fortunately, it also trapped the halfling, leaving me with just the big guy. He had not yet come around the corner, so I hid in a shallow alcove. When he reached me, I sneak attacked in the surprise round, then pounced on top of him, knocking him to the ground.

"I'm going to watch you bleed!" I screamed, plunging my dagger into his shoulder.

"Good luck with that," he replied through gritted teeth. My blade sank into him time after time, but the slashes in his flesh remained dry.

"What - what are you?" I gasped. He pushed me off of him, and I scrambled to regain my footing before he did.

"I'm undead. Surprise!" At that point, the party broke through the trap wall and surrounded the still prone undead.

"Cleric," I called, "Cut the lich's heart out." He obliged, using his holy weapon to end the still smiling creature's existence.

"He's not a lich!" one of my coplayer's objected.

"Yeah, but my character doesn't know the difference, and she doesn't care."

The dream devolved into a classic D&D technicalities debate.

Dream Log Beta: Trials

Rumpelstiltskin was my new teacher. More specifically, Mister Gold from Once Upon A Time was the new teacher. Of course no one knew who he really was, not even me. However, something about him rubbed me the wrong way. Every opportunity I got, I tried to catch him in some evil act. He soon noticed my suspicions. Instead of attempting to dissuade me, he seemed to egg me on. He called me to his desk and told me to leave my backpack with him. When I returned to retrieve it, he had filled it with other student's assignments. I called the principle in and told her what had happened and that I thought he was trying to frame me, but she and "Mister Gold" just laughed it off.

"I'm trusting you to help me make corrections," Rumpelstiltskin explained, "you are a star student after all, aren't you?"

I could have punched him for that. Later, he found my multi-tool and modified it somehow so that it spun around itself on some sort of geared system. I had to admit, it was mechanically beautiful. It also made the tool completely useless except as a weapon thanks to a rather large knife he had attached to it. I found that just a tiny bit strange...

It made more sense when people started killing each other. Students living in dorms divided themselves along class lines, freshmen against freshmen, sophomores against sophomores. The last ones living got some special honor, though no one bothered to explain it to me. All I knew was that that knife came in handy when some boy hyped up on testosterone attacked me with a sharpened pull-up bar. (Side Note: Why do so many of my dreams seem to turn into The Hunger Games? I've never even seen it or read the books!)

I got away and spent most of my time hiding in my room rather than face death or turn into a murderer. Things went a bit fuzzy at that point. I believe several decades past. The world had gone through another ice age or something because snow was everywhere. The boy that the dream now followed wore a parka reminiscent of the southern water tribe from Avatar: The Last Airbender. The boy also hesitated to kill others his age. He and a more vicious girl ended up being the last two alive of their age group. They had done well enough that a council of elders met to try the pair one more time. The winner would become next in line as chief.

When the boy and girl entered the council room, they saw at least six people kneeling around a low table. One particularly ancient woman with pure white hair that she left down caught the boy's attention. He suspected that she had the real power in the room. The other elders were just for show really. His guess proved correct.

"How is your German?" the woman crooned to the girl.

"Wunderbar," replied the young lady. The two proceeded to converse in German, yet with strange accents and vocabulary that the boy had never heard before.

"Junge, findest du nicht, dass ihre Augen wirklich wunderschsoen in diesem Licht scheinen?" the elder asked him. Mercifully, he understood that she had asked him if he also found the girl's eyes lovely in this light. The question caught him a bit off guard. He glanced towards the girl, whose eyes really did stun him. Why was this relevant?

"Ja, Sie haben recht, aber was, wenn sie im anderen Licht wäre?" he answered as properly as he could. Yes, you're right, but what about when she's in different light? 

The old woman nodded approval. She then indicated to another elder to open a door. When he did so, an older youth stumbled through the doorway and collapsed. Frostbite and injuries marked his body. Without a word of explanation, the old woman rose and stepped through the doorway, followed by the other elders, leaving the two youths with the injured man.

"It's got to be some sort of test," the girl reasoned.

"Whatever it is, we have to help him," the boy asserted. 

He rushed over to try and see to the young man's wounds, but he panicked and struggled. Then, the girl clasped his hand in hers and smiled at him. He fixed his eyes on hers and relaxed.

"You must be very brave to have taken such wounds," she crooned as the boy pealed away blood soaked furs and started to wrap the wounds with strips from his own clothes, "What level are you?"

"I'm...I'm a senior, Marion level. That's not so bad, is it?" It seemed that Marion level was like being a brown stripe in karate.

"Wow, that's fantastic," the girl praised, giving his hand a squeeze.

I wanted to find out what happened. I wanted to know whether the girl or the boy would win. Heck, I wanted to know if I had died thirty years ago or not. Unfortunately, the jerk of a fusion reactor called the sun woke me up.

Dream Log e: Just Yes

Basically the entirety of this dream consisted of Nathan Fillian, Felicia Day, and a handful of other awesome people that probably included Neil Patrick Harris, David Tennant and Will Wheaton hanging out with me. I cannot recall much more than that we had a jolly good time chatting about the latest nerd topics and playing practical jokes on each other.

For instance, while giving them all a bit of a tour of my Campus, which for some reason included a Batman memorial, I arranged for my friends to make a weeping angel statue follow the group around. The joke broke down a bit when Fillian noticed it and started taking silly pictures with the angel.

When the fun was over, I began the arduous journey of waking up on a Sunday morning. My brain decided that I should hallucinate a "coffee gauge". I had a horizontal bar just on the edge of my peripheral vision with a little coffee mug next to it. As I fought harder to wake myself up, the gauge went higher, flashing the percentage of caffeine deficiency I had reached.

I finally snapped out of it, not because cybernetic readout displays like that do not exist, but because I had remembered that I don't drink coffee, so I never would have gotten such an implant.

Dream Log Rho: Joker

I was in line waiting to see the Dark Knight Rises when I saw some girl break off and head down an alley. I thought nothing of it, but the dream decided it was important and shifted perspective to follow her. After several twists and turns, she came upon an old house that a man had rushed into just moments before. It seemed she had been tracking him, for she sneaked inside as well. Dust and cobwebs lined the walls.

"Please, come in!" crooned a male voice, "Take your hat off. Grab a seat!" two hands appeared on her shoulders and shoved her into a chair.

"No hat? Should I take your head off instead," the person came around in front of the stunned girl, smiling from ear to ear. Literally. It was the freakin' Joker from Batman the animated series.

"Joker, I'm here for the ring," asserted the girl, recovering slightly.

"Oh, of course. What else? Sadly, I'm afraid I've lost it somewhere in closet," he swept to the side to reveal an irregularly shaped wardrobe looming in the back corner of the room, "You'll have to retrieve it," as the girl reached towards the door, he slapped her hand away, "Ah-ah-ah! There are a few things you need to know about this closet. You see, it isn't particularly friendly. If you want to open it, you'll need this," he pulled a sledge hammer from who knows where and dropped it in her arms, "now, you'll need to hit it in the exact center when the clock strikes twelve. If you do that properly, then you get to reach in and grab the envelope holding your precious ring. But be warned! Touch anything else, and I'll have to penalize you. Do we have a deal?"


He reached out a chalk-white hand, face disturbingly serious. The girl slipped her hand into his, "Deal," his customary smile stretched over the Joker's face as they shook hands. He then whisked away and left her to the wardrobe.


When the clock finally struck twelve, the sledgehammer swung into the middle of the closet, splintering the sides. Before the girl could search for her ring, a blue mist swirled around her hand and spreading up her arm and over her entire body. Then, the mist was gone and the girl with it.


"Oh! Did we make a mistake? Too bad!" the Joker cackled to himself.


Hours later, a brother and sister showed up at his house, also looking for a lost ring. The Joker explained the rules again and giggled just as hard as they disappeared in a cloud of green mist.


Then I appeared. Somehow, the wardrobe had been replaced with an undamaged one. When the Joker stuck out his hand and asked "Do we have a deal?" I turned him down.


"No deal until you tell me where the center of gravity of the cabinet is," I insisted. The tenor of his smile shifted from smug to pleasantly surprised.


"Well, since you ask," he bent down to tap one of the legs, "It's all centered on this point. Good luck!"


I waited until twelve, then swung my hammer into the leg he'd indicated. It buckled, and the wardrobe collapsed to its side. As it fell, a panel came loose and fell out. No mist appeared. Inside, I saw nothing but colorful envelopes. I deliberated as long as I dared, then picked out a raspberry colored one and tore it open. It did not contain a ring but a glass ball matching the envelope. Red mist seeped from it and made its way over my hand. Desperate, I grabbed for another envelope, but it burned to the touch. Before I could try to pick it up again, the mist had completely surrounded me. The next thing I knew, I was standing in a marble ballroom. I was not alone.


At least 50 men and women dressed all in green, blue, orange, black, or reddish pink swarmed around me. Some danced; some did flips; some attacked each other. The Joker appeared by my side.

"Aren't they wonderful? My children!"

"These are not possibly all your kids."

"No, no, naturally. I have more hiding somewhere else," he muttered, peering under a nearby table, "Eric!" A handsome young man dressed in dark green trotted over. The Joker leaned in close and whispered to me, "Careful with the green ones. They're all pathological liars," then to Eric, "Come my boy, I want you to give this young lady a tour around the place."

"Of course, Mister J," he replied. He then turned to me with a smile sweeter than honey, "Follow me. You've probably noticed we all wear different colors. The orange people are all somewhat high energy," he said as one of them cartwheeled past, "The black ones have a sadistic streak a mile wide. The blue ones are quite intelligent, but they're incapable of talking to attractive females, so don't expect any good conversations."

Smirking at the compliment, I asked, "And what does green mean?"

"We're all skilled speakers and a bit more socially savvy than the others."

"Really? That's not what the Joker said. He subtly implied that you might be less than trustworthy."

"Well, my tongue might be a bit on the silver side. Does that make you uncomfortable?" he eyed me curiously.

"Everything going on is hard to believe. It seems only right that the people should be too."

The tour and the flirting continued for half an hour or so. Suddenly, everyone rushed to one side of the ballroom behind scrim curtains. Eric went off in one direction, and the girls in pink ushered me over to join their group. It was then that I realized that no one had told me who they were. A hush fell, and the girls around me insisted that I put my head down and close my eyes. I pretended to comply, but looked up once more once they had all closed their eyes as well. Nothing happened. The only reason for putting their heads down seemed to be forcing them to do something senseless. My brainwashing meter started ticking. Then, the music started.

Everyone's heads snapped up, and they ran out back onto the floor, which was now covered in colored dots matching their clothes. I had to run out as well or risk a trampling. The others all went into individually choreographed dances. No two were alike, though the styles fell along the color lines. The pink girls, for example, had significantly more shaking and gyrating. I became aware of the Joker and Harley Quinn watching the performance from a platform. He fixed me with a gaze that said, "Dance, puppet, dance!" So I did. However, instead of going for a sexy style, I went into full gymnast mode. Flip flops, back flips, cartwheels, leaps. I even threw in some of those stylized poses that have become so popular. By the time the song finished, everyone else had stopped their dances to watch me. I bowed to thunderous applause.

"Fantastic! Outstanding! I knew you'd make an excellent addition to our little family," praised the Joker as he hopped down from his little stage."

"Addition? I don't want to-"

"Pinkies! Get her some appropriate clothing and teach her your ways," he commanded. The pink girls mobbed me.

"Pink?! If I have to join one, couldn't it be blue or orange?"

"Nonsense. You have such potential as a tease."

With that, I was whisked away by giggling bimbos and sneering she-devils. They gave me pink clothes and set me up with a trainer who tried to get me to act provocatively. It did not go so well.

"Look," he said, "All you have to do is make everything an innuendo, move your hips, and beckon with your eyebrows for all you're worth."

I had no trouble with the first one, but the body language eluded me. It just felt awkward, not to mention I had no intention of actually joining the pink ranks. When the trainer had to take a break, I slipped away and explored elsewhere. That was how I found the junkyard.

Piles upon piles of garbage filled an enormous basement room. Workers went to and fro, barking orders in walkie-talkies. Some of them did not appear interested in the garbage, but rather in finding someone who had hidden away in it. At one point, a female voice took over their communicators, shouting "You're getting colder!" I ran for the trash and got away without them noticing me. After a while, I came across a pinky in a nest made of trash. She leveled gun comprising plumbing parts and a pop can.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"I'm like you. I don't want anything to do with the Joker and his dumb family."

"Oh, well in that case," she tossed her gun to me, "shoot any of the seekers that come snooping around. I'm going to look for some extra parts."

I spent the rest of my time evading the so called seekers and building weaponry and shelters in the garbage with the girl. It was a strange life, but a good one.

Dream Log Delta: Romance Turned Novel

At first I thought it was a wilderness cooking retreat. A woman was guiding a group of adults from 18-30 years old through the woods and pointing out edible plants. Romance was stirring between a few of the participants. When the guide told everyone to stop and smell a patch of rare flowers, two participants took the opportunity to kiss. The guide, aghast, stomped towards them.

"Are you two kissing!?" she asked rhetorically. They broke off their kiss and turned their faces back to the plant.

"Nope," they replied.

"Oh, well it looked like...never mind." The tour continued while the pair giggled to themselves.

A day or so later, while the group lounged in some commons area, a small Asian woman toddled into the center of the room defiantly carrying a guitar. The sound she got out of it was more reminiscent of breaking an instrument than playing one. Everyone came out to see where the din was coming from, including the couple from a few days before. The blonde woman from the couple marched up to the Asian and demanded an explanation.

"It's for him," she blurted, pointing at an Asian hipster who blushed behind his thick rimmed glasses, "He kissed me and he didn't say anything to me again, so I wanted to force him to like me."

She moved to resume mutilating music, but the other woman stopped her. Before either one could protest, both collapsed in a fit of coughing. Somehow I knew that it was Mono.

"I - I don't understand," the blonde woman sputtered, "I've only ki-issed..." she pointed helplessly at her man while the wheezing Asian girl pointed at hers. The men glanced awkwardly at each other.

"Wait, you two...to - together?" The men made no attempt to deny it. Somehow the hipster had made the other man a Mono carrier, and it wasn't from sharing pop. If they could breath or stand, the two women would have killed them. As it was, they could only glare.

Several more days passed and it started to look like the purpose of the camp was not nature cooking at all, but rather a writing workshop. The Asian hipster and the recovered blonde and Asian women gathered to compare their grades on the most recent assignments.

"B+!" exclaimed the hipster eagerly.

"A-!" the Asian grinned.

The blonde hesitated, puzzlement playing across her face.

"I got full marks plus 7 extra credit."

"Wow, that's incredible" the two others gasped.

"It would be if I thought I deserved it. I didn't even think you could get a grade this high," ire replaced her confusion, "That bastard!" She stormed out of the room and into a small office. Her former boyfriend and the handful of other people in the room looked up at her in shock as she burst in, forgetting the papers they had been grading.

"You creep!" she screamed, "did you think giving me a stellar grade would make me interested in you again? What sort of person do you think I am?"

"What are you talking about?!"

The woman flung her paper back at him. After glancing it over for a moment, he returned his gaze to her, eyebrow cocked.

"You think it's more likely that I'm trying to win you back with a bogus grade than it is that you wrote an outstanding paper? I can't decide if that's egotistical or self-deprecating," The woman's cheeks burned red, "Actually, I was going to tell you later, but since you're here...you've been chosen for the writing games."


As quickly as it came, the blood flew out of her face. 24 writers went into those games. Only one came out.

Yet more time passed, and the blonde woman found herself standing in a small arena with the other writers, armed with nothing but her pen and her words. The opening ceremonies sped by and before she knew it, the competition had begun. She started writing furiously on the paper-lined ground around her. Before she knew it, someone had shoved a poem in her face. She read it and let out a sigh of relief. Her brief essay could take it. She shoved her piece into the other person's face and watched as he broke down. He begged for death, and she gave it to him. By the end of the day, she wrote more with blood than with ink. Only she and the champion from the previous year remained. They were allowed to retire and prepare their final work. Each could only write one sentence with which to crush the other.

"That won't be enough," the champion grunted over the blonde woman's shoulder. The blonde jumped and belatedly covered her scribbled sentences.

"You aren't allowed here!"

"Hasn't stopped me before. Besides, seeing what you write can't give me an edge. I'm done."

The blonde's stomach sank. How could she stand a chance against this woman? She had survived the writing games more times than any other contestant. She had spent years honing her craft against more qualified authors than her.

"Were you this scared your first time?" the blonde whispered.

"I could hardly hold my pen the first couple times. Then I started feeling confident, even cocky. Eventually, I reached the point where I could only feel disappointment. The writing games have become a ritualized reminder of my damnable superiority. I have no one to admire, for all admire me," it was not arrogance, but bitter resignation that laced her voice.

"I'm...sorry."

"Don't expect me to go easy on you. I still take pride in my work. However, if you could manage to beat me, I'd appreciate it," she wandered out again, leaving the blonde to her sentence.

When the two women met once more in the arena, they exchanged sentence's silently. The blonde's hands fumbled as she unfolded the slip of paper.

The river's meaning is washed away by the rain.


She sucked in a breath. Her heart pounded and her head spun, but somehow she managed to remain standing. The champion, on the other hand, had crumpled to the ground. Sobs and laughter poured from her, interrupted only by the occasional choking "Thank you." The blonde did not even have to kill her. She took her own life, cutting a second smile into her throat. As the crowd roared, comprehension slowly dawned on the blonde. She would live. She had outwritten the best author in the world. She could publish any work she wanted now. She had nothing to fear but success.

Dream Log Alpha: Animals in the Snow

John did not have time for this. He had something to do, didn't he? What was it? The cold was getting to him. Every second, he sank deeper into the depths, and the temperature sank with him. The pain had dulled to discomfort. Soon he would feel nothing at all. He knew that, but he could not remember how to swim. He could barely bring himself to keep his eyes open against the stinging salt water.

A shape in the darkness roused him. He let it approach, curiosity turning to fear as it swelled to a monstrous size. Whale. That's the word for it. It was going up. It was going for air. Air. The thought galvanized him into action. He swam for the watery behemoth and latched onto it. Nothing had tasted so good as his first gasp of air. Luckily, the whale had surfaced near his Nautilus. The crew shouted incomprehensibly and hauled him back on board. He recalled being torn out of his soaked jacket before everything went black.

"What happened?" He asked as the world came back into focus. A man handed him a cup of coffee.

"It was Qatin Murdock. He's an agent, we don't know who for. He's completely unremarkable, until he's throwing you through a window and making a whole submarine practically inoperable."

John grimaced, unpleasant aches and memories starting to come back to him. "I've got to get going. If he came after me, he must have the same goal."

"Woah, you shouldn't be standing up, sir." John ignored him.

"If the ship is broken, I'll take the life boat."

"We'll dock soon. You can go by road then, but for Pete's sake lie down 'til then." The two men locked eyes for a moment before John relented and collapsed back onto his cot.

At the first opportunity, John set off once more. Recent snows made a car impossible, so he went by bobsled. His only comfort was the knowledge that Qatin had rented a front-wheel drive from the town's dealership. With the latest blizzard, John might have half a chance of catching up.

He had to rest the dogs a city away from his ultimate goal. A circus, also trapped by the snow, made the streets a chaos of clowns and lions. That did not keep him from finding Qatin. The agent broke into a sprint with John hot on his heals. Every so often, gunfire spattered towards him, but Murdock never hit home. As the two left the city, diving into barely broken snow paths, an elephant and its infant joined the chase out of confusion. The animals followed the men a whole mile until Murdock's fire hit payload. The mother elephant went down, bones and snow crunching. John hesitated for a second before his heart gave in and he turned back. He might have left the mother, but not the baby.

Qatin glanced back frantically every few minutes, but his idiotic foe remained with the dying beast. After hours of running through the snow, the agent arrived stumbling at secret village. He half pounded, half fell against the gates. At long last, a woman cloaked in shawls and filth cracked open the gate. Qatin pushed his way through against her protests.

"Close the door," he gasped.

"What? Why're you so desperate?" she grumbled, "Besides, I think someone else's comin'."

"Close it now!" Qatin threw himself against the gates, but something wreathed in flame leaped through. He managed to swing the bar back into place to lock the doors, then spun to face the fiery creature. It appeared to be a wolf made entirely of fire. Before Qatin could take it on, a gust of wind blew over the walls. The wind, in the shape of a winged greyhound, lighted next to the fire dog. John dismounted.

"I don't care who you're working for, Qatin Murdock. I don't care you beat me here. You'll leave today, one way or another."

Qatin searched around him desperately for a way out. When his sight landed on the woman, she scurried back into her gatehouse, hands over head.

"What do you say? Will you go will --"

"Mom," I whined, "Would you stop reading aloud?" My mother snapped her novel shut and huffed off. I returned to admiring a soft boiled egg that had somehow been removed whole from its shell. I was contemplating putting it on a salad when I woke up.

Dream Log Pi: Monsters and the Almost Musical

Monsters

Video games with vampires, werewolves, and zombies are fairly common. Real life vampires, werewolves, and zombies behaving as though they were in a video game is slightly less common. A group of fellow supernatural apocalypse survivors and I were on the run from these creatures, and we were all possessed weaponry and inventory systems reminiscent of several first person shooters I've seen people play. Every time we shot one of the enemies, a disembodied voice exclaimed "Hit!" or "Head Shot!", and the inflicted damage appeared above the wounded foe. However, as much as this resembled a video game, the consequences were undoubtedly real. Several of our group were taken out and joined the vampiric, lupine, or rotting ranks. One member, scratched by a werewolf, only transforming half way, and gained the so called "Red Moon Rage" where she went berserk and did extra damage and was seemingly immune to the transformative effects of the enemies. She used this mode to buy us enough time to get to a house where we could better defend ourselves.

As we made our final stand, a strange thought dawned on me. Every single one of the people taken down by the monsters came up as one of them. No one was sucked completely dry or entirely consumed. Furthermore, the monsters all seemed perfectly intelligent and free willed, even the zombies. I called out to my comrades and told them to surrender. They were more than a little reluctant, but I finally convinced them that surrender would not mean death, merely different lives.

A vampire got to me. He was pretty nice about it, assuring me that it wouldn't hurt too much since he was always careful to sharpen his fangs. When I recovered, I was the same old me except super strong, super fast, immortal, and hungry. I had a slice of chocolate cake in the house that I had been saving, but the bite I took was not as good as I'd hoped. Then I noticed the vat of blood the other vampires had collected. I drizzled some on top as though it were a raspberry sauce. I cannot describe how delicious it was. I ended up sharing chocolate blood cake with all the other vampires and having a grand old time.

The Almost Musical

 I went into the theater hoping to watch the Almost Musical, a movie that supposedly had nothing to do with musicals and yet seemed reminiscent of one anyway. After taking my seat, the ushers passed out tablets decked out with the old fashioned tan plastic cases that 90s desktop monitors sported. Then, the film began...

A girl in her late teens flew across the sky, landing at last on a giant floating keyboard. She seemed as perplexed as the audience, but she decided to try hopping on the control and windows keys to see what would happen. Seemingly in response to her actions, the tablets we had in the theater displayed what looked like text printed in command prompt.

"A civilian has detected us.
This should be remedied.
She is no ordinary civilian. She has fought the red before.
Send the confederate."

The girl had not seen any of this. Without knowing what else to do, she flew off and landed behind a teenaged boy crouching in an open field. Casually, the boy straightened up and turned to face the girl.

"Anything?"

"Well, apart from a weird floating computer..."

"That's always been there, and that's not what I meant."

"I know, and no. I can't remember anything else. Between fighting it the first time and waking up with you hovering over me..." her voice trailed off and the boy released a sigh. He balled his left had into a fist that immediately iced over, while his open right palm cradled an orange flame.

"I can make fire and ice without a problem, but I can't do anything to help you."

"Don't worry about it," the girl reassured, clapping the boy on the shoulder, "If it hadn't been for you, the red beast would have taken way more than my memories. I've got to get going for baseball practice, and you should go home instead of standing in fields all day."

She flew off, leaving the boy to trek through the grass in the opposite direction. The tablets beeped and displayed a single line of text.

"Confederate sent."

As soon as I finished reading the line of text, a crash boomed through the theater. On screen, a man in a confederate uniform had flung himself into the girl, pummeling her with blows while she tried to shake him off without flying into a tree or the ground. Eventually, with him strangling her from behind, she let herself fall from the sky back first. For the first two bounces, the confederate kept his grip, but he slipped just enough on the last for her to disentangle herself and escape.

Meanwhile, the worst coach in all of history tried to give her team some tips. I did not hear much of what she said, however, as her three foot long hot dog hat required all of my attention. When I recovered from the shock, I realized she was just getting reading to put her "Westside Wieners" through some drills when the girl from before stumbled onto the diamond and nearly collapsed. A boy that looked somewhere between body builder and male model caught her before she could hit the ground. Distraught, he cradled her while the rest of the team huddled around.

"I must wake her with a kiss!" he declared with heartbreaking sincerity. He leaned in and gave a kiss that would have given prince charming a run for his money. Her eyelids fluttered open, she saw the handsome man locking lips with her, and she punched his lights out.

"Gah! Gerald, what the heck?!" she exclaimed, recovering her balance.

"Well it worked!" he whined, his voice muffled by the hand staunching his bloody nose.

A scrawny looking boy wearing thick rimmed glasses scuffled over the the girl, holding out a cup of water and a damp towel. She accepted gratefully, ignoring the coach yelling at her for tardiness.

A large chunk of the movie after that point elaborated on the relationship between the girl and the geek. It seemed before her memory loss that they had been something a little more than friends. The boy even showered her pictures of them playing star crusaders, wearing welder masks and sitting in a cardboard rocket. The pictures were only a few weeks old, which embarrassed the girl to no end.

For a brief moment, the movie switched to an old man sitting in his chair while his wife came in and out of the room and issued commands. Then it switched once more to the girl, who was meeting the icyhot boy.

"It's waking up again," the boy informed her matter-of-factly.

"Already? Where did we contain it?"

"That's the problem, it was in a cave, but the cave seems to have more life in it than we thought. He's gaining strength. We need a better cage."

Inspiration flashed through the girl, "I know someone who could help." She flew both of them off to a suburban house, rang the bell and waited. Moments later, the geeky boy answered.

"Oh hey! What, what do you -"

"We need a dungeon," the girl cut him off.

"What sort?"

"Big and strong. You told me you've gone through lots of dungeons, so I figured you'd know a good one."

"Oh! Sure, you and your friend can come in." He let the two inside and led them to his room where he booted his computer up.

"I like going to this one. It's got lots of creative monsters and interesting loot," he said, showing them a dungeon in an online RPG. The girl's face fell.

"It's a game? I thought you were talking about real ones!" she sighed, flopping down on his bed. Her companion simply raised an eyebrow.

"What would you need a real dungeon for?" the geek asked, but before the girl could reply, a roar brought them all to their feet.

"Oh crap," the girl whispered, then screamed to her companion, "Start hitting the beast. I'm going to help evacuate." With that, she flew through the open window and was gone. The two boys exchanged looks.

"Aren't you going to do whatever it is she told you to?" the geek asked Icyhot. He just smirked and took a seat.

"Oh, I stopped helping her out a while ago." The geek stared in confusion and disbelief, then ran from the house to look for his love.

The view switched once more to the spineless man, whose wife was firing off even more orders.

"Oh, and I need you to pick up the boy again. I know I said I would, but I just don't have time."

The husband looked up as though waking from a trance. He muttered, "What do you mean, again? I've never picked him up?"

"Did you say something dear?" The wife chirped irritatedly.

"No, nothing dear," the husband replied. He turned to look at his bedside table, where a family picture including their son, the icyhot boy, stood. Beside that photo stood a portrait of the confederate in a frame labeled "Grandpa".

The scene shifted once more to the girl, who was directing children playing in the streets to hide in their basements. On the horizon, she could see the colossal, glowing red form of the beast. Once the children were out of the way, she flew to confront the beast. Up close, it looked like vaguely humanoid sack of fire. From its arms, it shot red beams that disintegrated every animal it touched. The girl could not come near it, but the trees she ripped out of the ground and flung at it could. The giant projectiles only served to stall the beast. She needed her friend, but he was no where to be seen.

Then, she spotted a group of picnickers, three young children and a 13 year old girl, running across the field from the beast. At this range, if she flew in, the beast would notice and pick them off before she could reach them. Her only hope was to distract it as long as she could.

While she battled, the youngest of the group on the ground tripped and fell behind. The 13 year old, pulling her two smaller companions, did not notice the missing member until a sizable distance divided them. She ordered the two with her to keep going and was about to run back to rescue the little girl.

"You can't come back, you'll die too!" she screamed through tears and snot.

"I'm not letting you die!" the older girl screamed back.

"That isn't up to you," the five year old pouted, then broke into a sprint, but towards the monster instead of away. In seconds she reached the beast and disappeared on contact, freeing the other girl to run away with the other two.

I was on the verge of tears in the theater when the movie cut to a view of the girl, standing in the same field, but without any trace of the beast, and staring in front of her, jaw hanging open. Thousands of people, sat on the open lawn, some just as dazed as the little girl, others clearly at home in the grass. A man stepped up behind the child. It was the confederate. He tilted his head and fixed the girl with a stare. She stared back, wide eyed but steady. The confederate nodded to her, she nodded back, and he wandered off once more.

I suspect, though I didn't actually see, that the beast brought the entire population of earth into himself, leaving the buildings and technology of our world behind and giving us a fresh start by force.