[Who cares]

I'm so fucking mad.

The nerve the absolute fucking nerve.

Bullshit!

Trash.

Arrin was in a dark dungeon. Within the complex. On an island that nobody would think about. This was his reward.

This was his reward.

This was his reward.

His eyes were clear.

End.

Maiele was a writer. He liked writing… sometimes. It was ok. He thought he was an okay writer.

It was just a hobby to him. He'd actually completed something! He was quite proud of himself.

He was currently in a grocery store. Midworld was a midworld and did indeed have a lot of the same things as earth. Except midderer. Yes, earth is mid.

Still for Maiele this was no problem, as this was the only life he knew. Midworlders are quite sensitive though. If they did experience any of the finer things in life they would never again be capable of enjoying life again.

Like, if you try heroin once you stop feeling dopamine. That, but genetic. They need to be mid or they die.

Too much excitement is bad for you.

He was buying himself some noodles, and soda. He'd run out of food, and he can't cook. cooking lessons, and actual food are a hassle.

He thinks he hears whispers behind him in the store, but when he checks there's no one there.

The store is empty except for the wage-slave. Her eyes are dead, and she silently checks out his items.

Not even a greeting. Good.

Maiele starts to walk to his apartment. The day is cloudy, there's this dark depressing aura to everything. There are surveillance cameras everywhere. A nice day.

His footsteps were the only real noise. There were some cars, and other people, but they all moved slowly, deliberately, and carefully. Everyone minded their own business.

Maiele had a feeling crawling up his spine, but he didn't know what it was.

Tap tap tap. His light steps brought him closer to home. He walked up the steps to the front door. He took a breath. The oxygen outside was different than inside. The inside one was more comfortable. The outside exotic.

He listened, but he only heard the light bustle of the small city. He narrowed his eyes and looked around. He unlocked the door. Click.

The hallways were empty. The walls were painted white, but there were various stains everywhere. He made his way to the apartment.

He turned his head quickly. He thought he heard a step, and creepy laughter. He carried a knife with him. He pulled it out.

"I don't like surprises, or stupid jokes!" He squealed. No response.

He rushed inside.

A sigh left him feeling comfortable. His bedroom was dark, and the computer screen provided him all he needed.

He dropped his bags onto the floor. Too lazy. He laid down on his nice comfy bed, and closed his eyes. The AC had stopped working a while ago. The little fan he had bought caressed his face just right.

He woke up sometime later that night. He made some noodles, and opened up the cola. He started smoking. It was a bad habit, sure, but his only source of self-fulfilment. He often felt that the only value this mid life had was in waiting for it to reset.

He started watching a sci-fi show. Which was actually a magic modern fantasy show with tiny amounts of magic fantasy, and no sci-fi. He turned his brain off.

He felt a weird breeze hitting his cheek. He ignored it, as his body acted weird when he got high.

"So, what happens next?" He turns to see a creepy, hairy face.

He falls out of his chair. "AAAAAA!" He flails about looking for his knife.

Gary is flying back to Timor. After some stress relief, he feels much better. He'd found Timor already after looking at star charts, but only now did he find the motivation to head back.

"Hey bro. I don't really like telling people how to live their lives, but like you know there's such a thing as separating art from the artist, right?" Orange daemon dude was following, as usual.

"Huh?" Gary huh'd

"Like, yea that was a shit ending. He just gets locked up forever. Sucks man, but like it's the story he wanted to tell you know?"

Gary paused his flight. He landed on an asteroid. The asteroid crabs were annoyed with his presence. He glared at goo dude. He then sighed. "Ha, I have no idea what you are referring to. Dude." He leaned in on the dude.

Goo man absorbed one of the crabs. "Yummy Shellfish."

"Didn't you tell me you were allergic to seafood?" Gary queried.

The goo wriggled "Water bad for goo. Lowers consistency. Also seafood spicy."

"No it's not." Gary shook his head.

"Righto, you can't really hunt down every writer, or artist that pisses you off." Goo bro got back to the topic.

Gary gave him a half-smile. "Well, he isn't dead or anything. This was a one time thing."

The blob of goo finished digesting. He burped. "Sure, sure. Scarred for life though. Say, nice plan with the pina coladas."

"What plan?" Gary, confused, started flying once more. He found that he was accused of planning often. Not that that was offensive, it was just odd.

He sighed. “I take life moment, by moment. If there’s planning, idk.”

Daemon dude laughed.

Gary had finally arrived.

He crashed through the atmosphere and fell closer, and closer to the ground. He slowed his descent, but he still had the bad habit of napping mid flight.

He was aiming to land in the ocean, but he failed, instead crashing into a structure on an island.

An island surrounded by wraiths.

Gary stood himself up. He pulled out a sword, and his hand cannon. Goo floated nearby. He prepared himself to fight off hungry ghosts.

He found himself surrounded by armored gnomes, instead.