I think I am here.

Shashara?

“And guys,” Ian said. “The sound of our guns is only going to attract more zombies!”

“I could go with you,” Rob said.

“I did!” Ian said, still on his crate. A man brought out a gun and began shooting the zombies, and Ian approved. He also approved of them hacking the body up. “I have a shovel!” Itiah said, holding his shovel high above his head. “We can dig a place to bury their remains so they don’t come back from the dead, figuratively of course. Last I checked they’re already dead.”

Ian looked as the zombies approached. Quickly he stood on a crate. “Alright!” He shouted. “Game plan!” He looked around, trying to scout out the location. “Does anyone have any weapons or anything?” He saw a shovel on the ground and picked it up. “We’re thirteen people, we should be able to take down two zombies, as long as we keep our distance.”

Monopoly Man Itiah stopped the pegalot in it’s tracks. “You should be biologically impossible to exist. In fact, the only reason you exist is probably because your writer deemed it so.” The pegalot thought for a moment, and then began crying at the existential crisis. Itiah felt bad.

The hand passed straight through without resistance. The Haunt sensed something and sharply he turned on the woman, the fog masking his facial expressions, making his head appear as a featureless globe. But as the Haunt floated upwards, his attention focused on the woman and the child. Quickly he sped up and dashed towards the child. When he was a hair’s breadth away he stopped and let the fog create his face, into a deep sneer, a scary face. “Boo!” —- —- Wes was submerged in a whiteness, his vision dissipating from the explosion, and his side burning. He felt someone near to him, and begun feeling a familiar sensation of healing wash over him. “Seom!” He croaked. Thank the Heralds she was here. Wes doubted anyone else would care enough about him to heal him. A waste of resources. What use was Bendalloy Feruchemy anyway? The blood and exposed flesh on Wes’ face begun retreating, and the pain seeped away like water evaporating. His sight recovered, but Wes knew, he would never make the mistake again. Whenever he tried to help, it just resulted in problems. Against Syndicate, he’d almost gotten himself killed, messed up the mission. It was the same here. In a few minutes, Wes was fully healed, except for a small burn scar creeping up the side of his neck which wasn’t being healed. He looked up and nodded to Seom. “Thanks,” he said. “I would’ve died.” —- —- —- —- The intern was new here. He’s gotten his Ghostblood tattoo only a week ago, flat across his chest. Bold, but he wanted to show he was loyal. Tonight, he wore simple work shoes coupled with leather black attire suitable for a Ghostblood. Indicative of his rank, he wore a long dark cloak that stretched to his legs. The only item on him that wasn’t textbook underling was the tan scarf around his neck. His fellow underlings had warned him not to wear it, but currently everyone was so busy with the evacuations no one had cared. He walked through the Space Marine ship, just another Ghostblood who had a job to do. To new to know to keep his head down, especially in the presence, he found himself face to face with a man who obviously ranked higher than him, evident by the badge on his chest. “Hey, you!” the superior said, and the intern was afraid he was going to get shouted at, but the superior just walked ahead and shoved a pile of documents into the intern’s chest. “Give these to Councilman Uwik,” he said, already walking away. “Why?” The intern asked. “One, because I say so,” the superior said, not looking back. “Two, because I have to assist with the evacuations.” The superior stopped. “And three, because there’s no way I’m facing down Uwik right now. Nope.” With that the superior left and intern looked back down the winding hall of twisting metal. Burdened with his new mission, it wasn’t long before another superior came to give him another job, to prepare the Ghostblood vehicles for mass evacuations or something, but when the intern showed him his job of giving documents to Councilman Uwik, the superior just laughed and raised his hands. “Never mind, then. You’re visiting Uwik? What do you want carved on your tombstone?” The intern ignored him and continued forward. As he progressed through the interior of the ship he begun seeing more and more of the high ranking Ghostbloods. Sometimes someone would ask why was he here and when the intern showed then they usually made some snide comment like “ever thought of writing a will?” or “I’ll tell your mother you loved her.” More and more, the intern began understanding why nobody wanted to deliver the documents to Uwik himself, so, of course, it had been given to him. An intern. A sacrifice. Finally, the intern approached the double doors and made his way in. Inside, was a giant red screen that covered the wall, extending to the roof. A single man, tiny by comparison, stood coated in the red light, his back to the intern. Uwik. The intern gulped. “U-uh, Mr. Uwik?” Sharp as a hawk, Lusk turned, his eyes examining the underling they’d send to relay information. “Took long enough,” he muttered, signalling the intern to come forward. “Get over here, I can’t read those documents from across the room.” The intern snapped out of fear and jogged forward. Up close, he could see Lusk’s scars, his grumpy face, a face aged by years of war and conflict. He moved the documents forward and Lusk snatched them out of his hands. The intern gulped again. His boss’ boss’ boss’ boss would still be a few ranks under Lusk. “Thank you,” Lusk said and the intern scampered off, but just before he reached the exit, Lusk said something. “Hey, answer a question for me,” he said in a gruff voice. The intern paused, turning to meet Lusk’s eyes. Was this what everyone else had talked about? It wasn’t like the intern had a choice. “Y-Yes?” “Do you think we’re evacuating enough?” Lusk asked, and the question caught the intern from left field. What was a high ranker in a Great Guild asking the intern for? “Of course,” The intern said. “Don’t you ‘of course’ me,” Lusk growled. “Don’t you dare be polite. Where are you from?” The intern coughed, and the sound echoed. “Uh, the southern alleys, sir.” Was ‘sir’ enough? “Then you know the city. You have the point of view of an average person. When you advance in ranks, you begin to get caught up in this guild nonsense, you begin to get... disconnected.” A hint of sorrow escaped his voice but the intern didn’t dare mention it. “It’s easy to think we know what’s best for the world, but sometimes it takes someone who’s actually a part of it. Hence yeh question.” His eyes pierced the intern again and he could see why everyone had commented what they did. He felt attacked just by the stare, he felt the seeping anger and hostility coming through just the stare, but he also saw tiredness, old age. An angry man who just wanted a solid answer. He must have known the intern was too new to be afraid of honesty. “I...” the intern thought. “Maybe the bakery district?” “What does that mean?” Lusk said, testing the intern, testing to see how far he would go. “You - we - you could send more evacuation vehicles to the bakery district? J-just a suggestion, of course.” Lusk thought about it, and the pause seemed to last more than an eternity. “The bakery district is mainly TUBA supporters,” Lusk said finally, with cold clarity. “So?” “So, the more people who die there, the more power the Ghostbloods get once this is over.” The intern gasped. “But, but they’re our allies!” He said, temporarily forgetting how low of a risk he was compared to Lusk. “For now. But when the dust clears? It’s back to politics, and the more people who support the Ghostbloods who are alive by the end of it the better it is for us. And the more alive who support other guilds? Bad news.” “But p-proportionally,” The intern said, trying not to stumble over his words. “Proportionally you’re spending more evacuation than necessary on Ghostblood areas! And, and the bakery district is one of the most populated districts! Is this really, are you really refusing to help hundreds of innocent people because their guild supports don’t match yours?” “It’s simple tactics, kid. Every guild does it.” The intern backed away, hand on his mouth. “You need to help them! You have to, that’s innocent people!” “Remember your place, kid.” “But, but you asked for my opinion! And I don’t care if every other guild does it, this guild is better than that, right? The Ghostbloods are better than that, right? I thought this guild was different, I thought you valued human life over tactical advantages!” “Get out of my sight!” Lusk suddenly shouted, and the intern shied back, fear suddenly implanting itself back in this soul. “Disrespectful underling, you should be glad I don’t rip you apart right now!” He roared. “If you really storming thought that we were different, if you really storming thought that humanity was better than that, then newsflash, the world is not perfect! The world crushes the generous, kid! The world crushes the good and rewards the conniving. And that’s how you get a guild of assassins as a global superpower, that’s how you get the most powerful people in the world rusting evil scientists!” The intern paled, and he shook slightly. “Dismissed,” Lusk said but the intern stayed. “I said dismissed.” “You can still be good, while being powerful,” the intern said quietly. “We can still be good, while being powerful. That’s the biggest strength. Not being able to kill the most people, or destroy the most mountains. It’s the strength to not get corrupted while having that power. It’s about not abusing it.” “Get out of my sight,” Lusk said, seething. The intern, realising how disrespectful he’d been, took off, running out of the double doors and running as far away as he could, as far away as he could run from the truth. Lusk sighed, pressing a button and the doors shut and locked themselves. His temper boiled, but he calmed himself, and it turned to sorrow. The intern’s words made sense, even if they were naive. Lusk sighed again. But the world simply didn’t work that way, you didn’t abandon tactics for morals and you definitely didn’t disrespect a Triarchy member. His hand moved to a button, to message the superiors to punish the intern severely, maybe send him to the alleys, have a part of him bitten off by an abomination, something suitable to teach him a lesson. But his hand hovered there for a long moment, and Lusk expression turned sad. Was this really what he was going to do? Punishing a kid for telling him how he could be better? It’s easy to get... disconnected. His own voice echoed in Lusk’s head. Slowly, and deliberately, Lusk moved his hand, first quickly, and then with more confidence as he grabbed a device that would connect to all evacuation officers around the city, as well as on the intercom throughout the ship, where communications were taking place. He pressed the button, and took a deep breath. “All evacuation units on the field and off, I want more units down in the bakery district, as many as we can muster without sacrificing our own strongpoint. Right now, the bakery district is the most under-evacuated place on the city, and I don’t storming care who they support, they’re innocent people. Get on it, now.” Affirmative responses sounded from each individual evacuation squad leader, and Lusk looked at the dark green dots on his screen as more vehicles began driving to the places that weren’t being helped, the places they weren’t helping because of ‘politics’. And now, storm tactics, they were going to help them, help those that couldn’t help themselves, because that’s what the right thing to do was. The right thing. It had been so long before Lusk had considered the concept. And far away, the intern looked up, hearing the announcement over the intercom. He was taken completely by surprise. He’d listened. Mr. Uwik had listened to the advice of him, a simple intern. And he smiled.

“I made them,” Alask replied, practically falling into a stool. He reached over and grabbed the documents and tapped them against the industrial-grade worktable, straightening them. The documents weren’t very thick, but each page was head to toe in text, excluding a few blurry pictures Alask had bartered off of the street markets. “I made it when...” when I was trying to figure out what was wrong with me, he almost said. When I was trying to figure out how abominations and monsters made from jagged pieces of metal worked, so I could cure myself of the one inside of me. The Phoenix had seemed the logical place to start, and he’d only gotten as far as that before life got in the way. “When I began getting curious,” Alask half-answered and flipped a page idly. “Every sighting of the Phoenix, even those glimpses mountaineers saw in the Boundless Worlds, it’s all here. As far as I know, it’s the only compilation of knowledge on the thing that isn’t made and kept in a guild safe house.” In addition to sending money to his family from across the world, making the documents had been the major thing Alask had sunk his money in. He laid the papers down, and turned it to face Eve, in case she wanted to read it. @Silva

Maybe with a guest appearance from a Stan the Weatherman.

I’ll go as the walking Wikipedia himself, one of Stephen Leeds’ aspects, Tobias!

Rob followed him.

Rob shook his head. “Whenever I eat out, I always have a sandwich or something.” They sold hotdogs in carts, right? Rob couldn’t think of many in the neighbourhood.

“I’ve never had a hot dog, so okay,” Rob said.

Rob nodded, his face still impassive. He still didn’t know, whether the conversation had slipped to judging him or not. “Lunch would be good,” Rob said. “Do you guys want to eat out? We could go to Subway or something.”

Rob paused. “Are you talking to me or him?”

Join the Cosmere Roast Battles. They’re fun, I think you’d be good at it, and you get ~10 upvotes per roast.

“Maybe it’s his coping mechanism,” Rob said, coming back from the lawn after turning off the porch lights. “To deal with everything he saw, he wants to be prepared. I can understand that.”

And then Csilen appeared!

Hi Antoine! It seems you’ve read a lot of Sanderson books for two months! Who’s your favourite character?

Alask shrugged and looked away. “It wouldn’t be the first time the Forge helped someone who left them right after.” He mulled over Eve’s words. Bleak. No way to say that normal people were equal to Invested, and he could see how much she hated that. But that talk of the guilds, he could understand. The guilds wouldn’t think about the long term. The Forge could. If they got the Forge running again, even if it took years, in the long term one would be helpful. Alask clenched his fists. No. No. No. He would remake the Forge. Even if it took years, even if monsters tried to stop him, even if he had to do it rusting alone, he would do it, no matter what. “I like that,” Shez said. “I like your Ambition. I feel... different.” What had happened? The closest analogue Alask could make was a Radiant saying an oath. With determination he looked to Eve and Warden. “You say there’s nothing we can do. Well, there’s one thing,” Alask walked to an old shelf he’d hidden away, taking out a messy collection of documents and papers, throwing them onto the desk. The cover page was titled: Phoenix.

The Haunt shrunk, he was still large, but not as titanic as before. He looked around, saw the shield flicker and he frowned in irritation. People, entering PlasmaCore. Quickly he floated over, his fog body leaving a translucent trail lit by the emergency lights all around. He hovered near the building, but didn’t enter just yet. That, however, put him on the same street as Lena, and without even knowing she was there —as why would such a great being as himself care about mortals? — Was blocking her exit path. @Sorana

BOOM! The battle might have been over but the effects were still there. An explosive detonation, at close distance? The monster had said he’d survive but it didn’t seem like it. Wes thrashed around in the floor, clutching at his face. One side of his face burned, it’s where the explosion must have hit the most. Was anyone here a healer? Did anyone here care? The pain was too great for Wes to say anything but he hoped someone could notice, help him out. Oh, he was going to die here, wasn’t he?

Brillin heard screaming and he opened his eyes sharply. He had to get up, help Attayl, help the parlour. But he would die! But before he could think about it further Brillin forced himself up and out, the trapdoor swinging open and Brillin jumping out, right next to a goon. The man was taken by surprise and before he could hit Brillin with a his cudgel Brillin flinched and aimed a punch right at the man’s face. It was a punch with all the strength he could muster, and normally it would have worked just fine. But simply because of his Koloss-blood, the lunch was way stronger than intended and the man collapsed on the ground. Unsure what to do with his hands Brillin looked around frantically and awkwardly, seeing a man covered in blood, and others dead. “Rust and Ruin!” He cursed.