Apocalypse: Generic System, Macronomicon [e book reader android txt] 📗

took a deep breath, and siphoned Myst with everything he had, aiming at the near-weightless, tiny grains of sugar. His Myst was dull and unresponsive, leaking only the tiniest amounts of Myst from his core, and his draw was weak, the massive steel pipe he’d grown accustomed to using had been replaced with a flimsy plastic straw.

“You probably shoul-“

Jeb took that tiny hint of Myst around his core and siphoned it out into the real world, solidifying a piece of telekinetic force small enough to nearly be imperceptible.

Jeb broke into a cackle as he mentally pushed a thin line through the grains of sugar, his Myst weak as an insect.

“You’re gonna-“

No natural talent my ass, Jeb thought shortly before his eyes rolled back in his head, slamming his face into the sugar as he passed out.

***Smartass***

“Hurt yourself, Jeb…Humans.”

Smartass rolled her eyes and went back to eating her delicious offering, feeling the puissant ecstasy of the human’s fulfilled bargain flowing into her as she did. The chocolate made it go down easier.

There was just something about Jeb that made deals with him carry more juice than other people. While making deals with the humans in the group was far more rewarding than Keegan or Melas, there was something in particular about Jeb specifically that made Smartass want to deal with him…

I wonder…

Smartass finally shrugged, dismissing the thought in favor of the huge candy bar.

***Casey Thompson the Third***

It has been sixty dark/light cycles since the blurry blob that says ‘mommy’ a lot stopped moving quite so much during the day. It is slowly coming into focus as my vision receptors seem to be gradually improving.

The silent ones that take care of me during the day don’t talk, and they aren’t as warm, although I think one of them has taken to warming themselves beside the hot orange blur before holding me.

While it is warm and comfortable, the heat gradually diminishes, leading me to believe that the ‘mommy’ creature who speaks is capable of producing her own warmth, while the silent blurs do not. Interesting.

Additionally, the ‘mommy’ creature’s food is always…better somehow, more fresh. Her body is softer as well.

Therefore my preference is for the mommy creature’s presence, but I am not particularly bothered by the silent ones, as they cause no particular discomfort.

Speaking of discomfort…

Casey’s face scrunched up uncontrollably as a poopie oozed out of her bottom unbidden.

I must summon the cleaners. She thought, vocalizing. That always seemed to get their attention.

It feels gross on my butt. The mommy creature doesn’t seem to have any poopies on her bottom. There must be some secret to controlling or outright eliminating poopies permanently.

“Aw, did you make poopies?” The mommy creature said, picking her up. “You got poopies Casey? Mommy will fix you up.”

The mommy creature wasn’t quite fast enough, and the discomfort grew, bringing tears to her eyes as her vocalizations turned into crying.

This is awful, she thought as she suffered through the practiced ministrations of the ‘mommy’ creature.

I swear. I will find some way to control the poopies.

***Casey Jr***

Casey the Third’s chubby little fist tightened as she scowled, looking like she was shaking her fist at the world, and it just about broke Casey’s heart with cuteness.

“Gawd, I wanna stay and pinch those cheeks so bad!” Casey said, before sighing, throwing the barcloth over her shoulder.

But there was work to do.

While the tavern could run itself, it wasn’t exactly popular without the personal touch.

Casey tromped back downstairs, going from quiet contemplation of her daughter to the rowdy main floor of her tavern. Like diving face first into raging surf, it was a totally different world.

In a corner of the main room, a band of six instruments were playing themselves, doing bardcore renditions of popular songs from human culture. Sometimes songs Casey didn’t particularly remember.

The tables were crammed with men and women of fantastic races, eating and drinking in a lively atmosphere that reminded her of a star wars cantina.

Maybe a little cleaner.

A couple of her mannequins wandered around serving and bussing tables, while three more cooked in the back room.

They made simple fare, stuff that didn’t require a fine palate or tasting to make sure they got it right.

Bacon and eggs, ham and cheese sandwiches, grilled cheese. That sort of thing.

God, if I told myself I’d be the proud owner of a Denny’s for aliens, I’d have asked for some of whatever they were smoking.

Mike was the Maitre d. The muscly angel greeted every customer with a brilliant smile, seeing them to their seats and managing the mannequins

Casey scanned the area. It was all hers. And such low overhead: She didn’t have to pay any of her employees.

After they got out of the tutorial, they’d divvied up the loot, and what do you know, their gear was worth a fortune. Enough to buy the business outright, even split five ways.

Should have been six, she thought idly, walking back to the bar. Why had Jeb, of all people, been the only one not there when they got teleported out of the tutorial?

Casey was serving drinks when an unfamiliar trio of men walked in. A lipless Keegan flanked by two big Melas. The orange skin and oily black hair were dead giveaways.

Strange.

“What can I get for you?” She asked as the man made it to the bar.

“Are you Casey Thompson?” The man asked with a neutral, indistinct voice. “One of the Impossible tutorial winners?”

“That’s me,” Casey said, tensing internally.

“Doryl Lancaster would like to purchase your time this evening.” He said, sliding a package across the bar. “There are many things about the impossible tutorial that we would like to-“

“For the last time,” Casey said, her temper getting the better of her. “I didn’t save any of