“What should I call my Civ?”

Piotr’s child, Nat, was sitting on the wooden floor of Ivanov’s new cabin just outside the city limits. They were drawing crudely in purple crayon, sketching three purple humanoids with their meaty hand on a piece of white paper. Two were much larger than the other, which made sense, as Nat was only five years old. Even they, with their juvenile understanding of perspective and shadow, knew that five-year-old children weren’t as large as adults.

“How about . . . huh. I don’t know. What does it do?” Piotr answered, sitting in a large leather chair positioned behind his child, viewing the collections of simple shapes arranged into people behind their shoulders.

“I like grilled cheese. Maybe it makes grilled cheese.”

“Are you telling me you want me to make you a grilled cheese? It’s like 9 in the morning.”

“I’ll make you a grilled cheese, sweetheart!” Natasha called from the kitchen as she pulled out a large pan and placed it on the oven.

“I don’t need anyone to make me a grilled cheese. Thanks to my Civ, Grilled Cheese in Paradise!”

User: Nat Ivanov

Civ: Grilled Cheese in Paradise

The user is able to make a grilled cheese.

“I think that one might be too strong.” Piotr chuckled to himself as he heard Nat’s explanation of their unbeatable ability.

“Well if it’s strong, I can beat the bad guys! Like you and mommy!” Nat shouted, turning to look their father in the eyes.

Said father became slightly uncomfortable about his child’s . . . misunderstanding . . . of exactly what they did for a living.

But as usual, Natasha was there to save the day. Placing a freshly made grilled cheese sandwich on a plate in front of the naive child, distracting them from the moral questions that might arise in their developing mind. “WHOA! Where did that grilled cheese come from? It must’ve been your Civ!” Natasha laughed, before turning to smile at Piotr Ivanov.

* * *

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Piotr screamed in horror as he arose from his Chorus trip and looked around to find that he was on the cold stone outside the cabin, crouched behind a rock. “Oh, God, I thought I just had a horrible nightmare about my wife going insane, but luckily, I was just taking a nap on this random patch of rock, hidden behind a boulder. Whew, that’s what I get for eating grilled cheese before bed, am I right, bloodied figure of Cyrille Kroko—oh.” Piotr cut himself off as his eyes adjusted to the sight of Cyrille Krokodil’s hunched-over form soaked in blood and missing his right eye. “What . . . happened?”

“Your wife gouged out my eye and tried to beat me to death with a chair,” Cyrille whispered, not because he had any desire to remain quiet but because his throat was somehow damaged to the point where shouting would exacerbate the issue that made him want to shout in the first place. “Also what the fuck kind of dental insurance do you have?” Cyrille hissed as he pulled down the collar of his shirt, revealing a set of bleeding bite marks on his throat. “Her teeth are like fucking crab claws. Must make getting he—”

“I meant what happened to her, you fucking moron.”

“—a bit painful. I don’t know, Piotr. I came by to ask her some questions about Lana and that was it. And she just lost it on me.”

“I talked to her on her Unit right as you were arriving.”

“What are you trying to say? Do you think I’m lying? Instead of the insane woman covered in your child’s blood?”

“Well, I . . . wait child? Did she . . . no no no . . .” Piotr buried his face in his hands, crimson blood still leaking out of his ears.

“I know it’s certainly not all mine. Look, Piotr, get your head in the game, man. The only reason I pulled you out is that I think there’s a chance we can still save Nat.”

“. . . how long has Natasha been like this?” Piotr asked.

“Not even an hour.”

Piotr slowly rose to his feet, his joints aching and cracking as he rose above the cover of the large stone and looked on at his cabin, which had now been taken over by a horror he was incapable of mentally registering. “Move the Headstones,” Piotr said as he grabbed handfuls of pebbles from the ground and walked up to the side of his house, filling them with high amounts of kinetic energy and firing them at the siding of the cabin, causing a ladder to loudly appear from the planks in the wall. This ladder was quickly ascended by Piotr himself, followed in suit by Cyrille, and the two climbed up into one of the open windows. They could feel a breeze coming from it.

Piotr wasn’t sure what room he had climbed up into—only that it was pitch black. He could feel the air around his feet swirl as he made a thud after climbing inside. Or at least he would have made a thud. Talk to the Wind seems to be active across the entire house . . . I didn’t know she could do that. Piotr thought to himself. As he turned on the flashlight on his unit and light streamed from his eyes, Cyrille climbed inside and stood next to him. Piotr turned to see that his mouth was flapping as though he was speaking, but no sound was coming out. Cyrille himself seemed to realize this as well and turned to look in horror at Piotr.

Suddenly, a holographic notification silently appeared in his line of sight. This is going to be hard, isn’t it? Sent from Cyrille Krokodil.

Yeah. Nat’s probably on the upstairs floor, but I’m not sure where. I’ll go check her bedroom first. You just check wherever. Make sure Natasha doesn’t find us.

Oh! I’m glad you said that because I was going to be as loud and attention-grabbing as I could. Cyrille responded. Piotr just shot him an exasperated look and stepped out into the long dark hallway. Piotr was at the end of the hallway, with the stairway to the main floor being at the other end, radiating a calm warm light. Piotr took a few steps forward and went towards the second door on his left, one of eight doors total on this floor alone. As he slowly turned the handle, a light breeze began to swirl around its metallic hinges and travelled into the room, from which Piotr felt something pushing from the other side. The more Piotr attempted to open the door, the more air from the creaking pushed against it from the inside, making it unopenable. Come on! When you’re a dad, you know fixing loud hinges is important, but it’s never something you think will kill your child if you don’t!

Cyrille opened the door just to the left of the door to Nat’s bedroom, which was unaffected by the squeaky hinge problem, and he peered inside. It was a storage closet, filled to the brim with various tools and household cleaning products. Cyrille slowly closed the door and continued on, checking rooms and finding them empty. Then, he got a message from Piotr. I need you to find the WD-40 for me—or something to lube up these door hinges.

Cyrille was inside a dark bathroom that was only barely being lit up by the flashlight from his unit. Why don’t you just use Move the Headstones on the hinges?

Well, I spent all this money on WD-40, and I don’t want it to go to waste.

How are you so nonchalant about this whole thing?

What? You said you didn’t actually see Natasha hurt Nat, and I don’t think that she would actually attack her own child, Piotr messaged back.

Were you not paying attention to that whole thing? She’s lost her mind! Why do you think you can still save her?

Don’t say that! She had a mental breakdown and attacked us, but that’s nothing psychiatry can’t fix.

So, when it’s your wife, it’s “Nothing psychiatry can’t fix,” but when it’s Lana, it’s “There’s nothing we could have done”?

You weren’t there, Cyrille. You don’t know how far gone she was.

And I’m starting to wish I wasn’t here either, Cyrille messaged before starting to exit the bathroom. And seeing the door silently slam shut behind him. His heart sank slightly as he jiggled the handle and found that even though the door would unlatch, something was holding him in from the hallway. Natasha trapped me in here, Piotr. Look out for her, but I need you to get me out.

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