You can always tell me if something’s bothering you. I’m here for you. No matter what.

Timeline/World: Until Tomorrow – New York City
Current Date: February 16, 2023

Character: Magnus Cattari
Race: Human
Age: 51
Current residence: New York City Ruins, New York
 

---

I feel as though one of the doctors on rotation has been causing issues with a few of our regular patients. At least, this is what I’ve been led to believe. There is only so much I can do about this other than bring it to light a little higher up and hope that something gets done about the issue. I don’t like that these patients—some of whom I’ve seen fairly frequently, so to speak, over the last handful of years—now seem wary of opening up to me about what might be bothering them.

One perfect example of this is a young woman who seems to be unable to feel pain. It was such a rare thing even before the world turned as it did that I never even had witnessed a case myself before; for it to have happened now is baffling. The young woman in question can be no older than twenty at this point but I’m certain she’s closer to simply eighteen. She was very young when the snow happened and I’m surprised that I never saw her in the bunker. Not that I was very focused on anything other than my own familial circle at that point. Still.

I’ve met her mother; the woman passed away a year or so ago and it was quite a tragic event. She had been living with her daughter still at that point, for safety reasons far more than anything else and we’d been seeing the young woman for years at this point as a just-in-case. She’d drop by once a month, we’d just give her a good look over, make sure she was fine and that was that.

Now that her mother has passed; she’s in our offices every other week usually and up until a month or so ago, she would mention things she’d notice in her mirrors. A rash, a blemish, a small cut that she’d sadly not known the source of. Small as it might have been, we made sure that we looked everything over for the sake of keeping her safe.

As of the last month, give or take, things have changed. They’ve changed enough that I can’t help but think that there is a culprit among us that has led to that change. I’m well aware that it could also be someone that has stepped into her life but I just don’t know about that one. I feel as though it might be easier to find a culprit closer to home. Especially when she requests my presence for her visits when, before, she would be content to settle for seeing whoever was on rotation at the time.

Now, I have to ensure that the door is closed, that the blinds that have somehow survived everything are closed—though they need to remain partially open for light even though there is a light in the room—and it still takes her a while before she even feels safe in sitting down on the table and telling me about what new or different things she’s noticed over the last few weeks.

Just yesterday, as she fidgeted next to the table, she told me that everything was fine. There was a bruise on her arm and a small scratch on the back of her neck. Those wouldn’t have killed her in any way, shape or form, but I still do need to make sure that there is no infection and nothing broken in those areas just for her to be safe. When I motioned to the bruise that was rather in-her-face, she shrugged and told me that it wasn’t important. That it didn’t really matter and that she felt bad for constantly bothering us.

It didn’t take me long to very gently remind her that she could always tell me if there was something bothering her; I’d always do my best to be there for her. At this point, I almost feel as though she might be a granddaughter. I might be a smidge too young to truly be of the age I’d have to be, to be her grandfather but it’s one of those things. Age is a number and I don’t feel half as old as I really am—which, I’m aware, I’m not all that old just yet.

She didn’t look convinced though and I made sure to schedule her next visit while I was going to be in. If it’s what makes her feel safe, I’ll do it, I don’t mind. At this point, though, I still think that I’m going to have to bring this up to someone. You don’t change this drastically overnight. She used to be so open about these things; she almost tended to make a game out of finding everything that we needed to check. Now; now it’s as though it doesn’t matter in any way, shape or form, and I don’t like that.

Final Word Count: 818

You make it so easy to get lost in the sound of your voice.

Timeline/World: Through the Looking Glass – Atheria 1st Generation
Current Date: December 19, 2057

Character: Magnus Cattari
Race: Demon – God of Patience
Age: 91, physically about 28
Current residence: Atheria City, Eresiel
 

---

It would be a lie to claim that I am vocal about my emotions. If given a chance between the two halves of show and tell, I am much more likely to end up on the showing side of things. I have always been this way, however. Even before I was granted godhood, I was the quiet one. Unnecessary words are, well, unnecessary.

You may not find me whispering sweet nothings in someone’s ear; I hardly know the sense this makes. I can somewhat understand that some people like the sound of another’s voice low and soft in their ears but it is not really something that appeals to me and, truly, being as I am, possibly due to my nature, but my ears are peculiar about the way they pick up sound and I do not need someone right next to me, speaking at me. Even if those words are spoken in whispers; they are much louder than that to me.

Now, listening to Megan speak is something else entirely. There is something about her voice that is simply soothing to me—and that is saying a lot considering that very little is stressful to me—I would be more than willing to listen to her speak of anything and nothing and I could get lost in the sound of her voice.

We could be talking about plans we are making for further down the week. She could be talking about a new recipe that was recently found. We could be talking about how we need to change or replace the sheets on the bed because they have become worn down and yet, I still would find myself swept into the sound of her voice.

I may not speak much but I will always answer any and all questions she directs my way. If I can answer her in any sort of physical way, I will. Otherwise, words are easy enough, even if they are not my preferred method of doing things.

I have lost count of the number of times when I have found a need to let her know of how deeply my love for her runs and the simplest of methods is to draw her to me, hold her close to myself and listen to the beat of her heart next to mine. It may not seem like much to some but, to others, these actions are certainly more than enough to hold a clear answer to things.

I can imagine that despite having crossed me at least once, if not a handful of times in their lives, most here will think of me as a strange one. I am the quiet one whose sole presence lulls even the angriest of souls into a sense of peace though it has nothing to do with my calling; it is part of my gift without truly being so. I am one with patience and she seems to have a soothing aura.

In a way, perhaps, this is why I feel that words are hardly a necessity in life. When my presence alone is enough to get necessary points across, all that remains are the finer details of those and those hardly need a whole novel to get across.

As it stands, with the way things are now, there hardly is a need for any of us to work every day of the week anymore. We rotate in and out, at most I think that two days in a single week are spent working and, even then, the days are usually quiet. When there are no yearly visits, time drags on by but, in a way, this is for the best.

It does mean that I do get to spend plenty more time with Megan and that, in all honesty, is the best of what this world has to offer. Others might see me as aloof but asking Megan her opinion on the matter would likely yield a different answer, something I cherish every single morning that I wake up at her side, and every night that we settle together in bed after another day well spent.

All in all, truly so, I am as I am. Nothing will change this person that, in some way, I have always been. I may have been different in years past, but it has always most likely led here to where I am at this very particular moment. I am accepted as I am and that means everything that are flaws and not-flaws is part of the package deal.

Final Word Count: 757

This is absolutely one of those times where, when you say nothing could get any worse, it does.

 
Timeline/World: Through the Looking Glass – Atheria 1st Generation
Characters: Magnus Cattari
Race: Demon – God of Patience
Age: 90, physically about 28
Current residence: Atheria City, Eresiel
Final Word Count: 770 words
 

---

I don’t know that anyone has clear, defined memories of what happened during the Dark Years. Some might remember snippets, others might recall somewhat longer moments, but, all in all, I cannot imagine that anyone truly remembers it all from start to end.

I know that what I remember is little more than flashes of things. I remember a need to escape—something I couldn’t even understand but that was so overwhelming that it took hold. I remember that I didn’t feel as though I could ever come back and yet, so many years later, here we are now. There just are so many things that cannot be explained still, on how the puppeteer acted, that certain things will forever remain shrouded. I don’t know that this can be helped.

To no one’s surprise, I landed in a medical field, helping people out in the hospital that still was within the city. I was far away from the source of the evil that I no longer felt its pull but still close enough that I could sense that I hadn’t abandoned home altogether. It was a strange sort of balance to have found but it worked for me, so why would I complain?

I still only remember bits and pieces of everything that happened out there. I remember helping patients day in and out. I remember working longer hours than I probably should have but that was one of those things, in the end. I think I would still have done that within the big building itself if there had been a need to, and, when people started to come back, it was a necessity. Not that it lasted overly long. Still.

The snippets of what I remember often feel as though they are all lost in a big bag and, the rare times they crop up, do so as mixed bits. One part of a memory about a man complaining to no one about how nothing could get any worse, and another memory of a woman, clearly during another day, at another time, during different hours, stating that whenever someone would tell her that things couldn’t get any worse, they always did.

There was—is, I suppose—some cohesion between the memories and yet, at the same time, I know very well that when they come to the surface to me like they do, they aren’t from the same moment.

I have no idea why my brain decided that this was a good way to go about things and I suppose that it hardly matters, in the end. They don’t bother me, these memories. They are remnants of something I have long since left behind. It is simply startling, the rare times they do crop up, that somehow, they come out all jumbled and leave me to wonder at least for a few moments as I try to untangle them. Not that it gives me much to work with, in the long run. Only brief things that are barely more than a few seconds long each. When I’m lucky—unlucky?—enough, they are perhaps a minute or two long but those are even more uncommon than any of the rest.

As they happen, I do try to leave them be. There’s little point in dwelling on something that has happened well over decades ago. Something that the kids learned about, somewhat, in the history books of this place but, otherwise, it isn’t something that is discussed. This would-be plague tried to destroy all of us as it could and yet, we came back.

Most of us, at the very least, came back. There are some who left and never came back but I want to believe that it was because they didn’t need to. They didn’t come back because they found safety elsewhere. I’m well aware that this isn’t the case for everyone who ever was here, with us, but I prefer to look on the brighter side of things when I can. We’ve been lucky with the lives we’ve lived here so far and that is how I look at things. A positive outlook for all that is and that is the end of that.

If anyone would like to challenge my way of looking at things, they can turn to the nearest wall and argue away at their heart’s content, I have no desire to hear but even just the hint of a single word of any of it. Plus, I don’t know that anyone can truly find the pull or desire to argue against me, anyway. So that is a plus as well, in my book.

If you’re going to feed me your lies at least add flavour to them.

 
Timeline/World: Until Tomorrow – New York City
Characters: Magnus Cattari
Race: Human
Age: 49
Current residence: New York City Ruins, New York
Final Word Count: 717 words
 

---

If there is one thing that I have issues with, it’s liars. As a health professional—or well, I used to be though I still help out here as much as I can—I needed and still need people to be honest with me when I try to help them. Someone faking an illness or a cough to get help is a shitty way to go about things and I suppose I should be thankful, of the years I spent working before the snow took over, the number of liars that I’ve had to deal with was minimal.

Patient as I am—ask anyone who knows me about my patience—I had little patience for liars and, something I picked up from a colleague, whenever I spotted a liar talking to me, I would tell them that if they had the audacity to lie to me, the least they could do was add flavour to them. Most of them looked chastised by the reminder, the others acted as though they had no idea what I was talking about.

Most of the liars, you could tell at a glance. They were the ones that were there just because they felt like it. They were there because they needed something to do or they were there because they believed themselves in need of medical help but the kind of help they needed was usually more emotional than physical and these, well these I referred to someone else because I can’t help these people myself. I’m not qualified.

My first goal, when the snow had first started, was to keep Megan and the kids safe. Not that the kids were really young enough to warrant being called kids but they’re her children and, in a way, they’ll always be the kids to me. I’ve had to help Sasha so much over the years that I did see her as more than just a patient by the end.

Even once we’d made it into the bunker, my focus was inward. They were my important ones, the ones I had to keep my mind on, and it took a long time before I felt like I could finally relax and take in the rest of what had happened to humanity. It took longer still before I was even approached by someone about offering some medical help as might be needed.

In a way, I think I had hoped that with so few left alive, people would no longer feel the need to lie to their medical caretakers, I was wrong. I think there were more liars now than there had been before. People coming in claiming headaches but seen singing at the top of their lungs just seconds after they walk out the door, people claiming sprained ankles or wrists but walking just fine and clearly without pain while stepping into your office. I know how some people handle pain and how they don’t show any signs of that pain but there still are some limits, as I see it.

You don’t have to act like you’re tough once you step into my little office. I’m not going to judge you if you cry your heart out because you hurt somewhere. The point of the matter is that I’m here to help and if you hide that pain from me, there’s nothing I can do. I don’t understand those who come to us, shrugging as they explain their potential condition, saying that their mother, father, brother, sister, or significant other told them that they needed to come to us.

At the end of the day, I admit that I’m glad to just go back home. It isn’t as though there is a rush anymore, at most, on a busy day, I might see five or six people but that’s so rare. Two or three is closer to the norm and, most of the time, it really is for minimal things. Not that I complain, the high stress of figuring out why your patient’s heart just isn’t keeping up with their bodies anymore is an exhausting thing I don’t really miss. It did give me a sense of doing something important when I could help these longer-term patients but now, well now I’m just happy to still be useful in some way.

I’m explaining my side of the story. I’m not asking for you to understand.

 
Timeline/World: Newfound Worlds – Erisia – Tiered Lives
Characters: Magnus Cattari
Race: Human
Age: 36
Current residence: Upper Level – Thanie
Final Word Count: 728 words
 

---

For a short while, the number of disappearances had dropped and then slowed altogether. I stopped keeping track of them for a little while until two of my usual visitors simply seemed to cease to be.

I do not use these words lightly. I went to their residence and I was told that no one by the name I was requesting had ever lived there. I had a copy of their files in a safe cabinet at home, it made sense as I worked from home more often than not. I’ve always been the one doing the visiting to my patients instead of them being the ones coming to me.

I checked their files, double-checked the address, and recalled more than fairly well that this was where they had lived for years and yet, somehow, their house is empty, and I’m told that no one has ever lived there—by that name.

My next stop was the hospital where I looked up their files and, not so much to my surprise, I found nothing. Whatever happened to them, it is something that very thoroughly removed them from the system. I refuse to believe in the lies that I am being fed about these people never even existing. I still have their ID numbers and yet, when I run these numbers through the system, I have access to, it comes up blank.

I’ve spoken to my superiors at the hospital about this and I was given such blank looks. It’s as though they have no idea as to what is happening around them and it frustrates me in ways that I can barely even put into words. How does this even happen? They told me that perhaps I was better off taking some time off, I was clearly having trouble handling whatever it was that was going on in my life at this point. It was as though they had slapped me in the face, telling me that they didn’t care about what I thought of things, they were telling me things how they saw them, and it didn’t matter if I understood it or not.

So, I did what they told me to. To a point.

I took time off.

I have so much time on my hand that I hardly know what to do with it and I’ve reached out to my one contact that had gone silent for some months before. It took time before they had come back to me with an answer and that answer was no better than what I had hoped for. It wasn’t much worse, but it hardly sets my mind at ease.

They looked through their own system—something I have no access to whatsoever—and told me that the two IDs have been completely wiped. There is nothing attached to these ID numbers anymore and the only proof that these two have ever existed is in the paperwork that I keep in the cabinet.

Paperwork that I’ve moved to a fireproof safe because I refuse for anyone to come look at these things and then somehow manage to take them away from me and remove all proof that I have of these people. I am not crazy. People are still disappearing though the rate has dropped to the point where it is nearly impossible to notice. It isn’t as unseen as they might think.

If nothing else, I have stopped digging for information, but I will not relinquish what I do have on hand. They will have to take it away from me over my dead body and I’m not about to die. I won’t go down that easily and I just, I’ll figure something out while keeping as low a profile as I can but, as I’m realizing, things aren’t as easy as it seems and I’m just hoping that everything turns out all right.

In the long run, there’s only so much I can do—or cannot do. I can’t protect people I don’t know, and I can’t save everyone, no matter that I might want to. I mean, in a way, maybe these people don’t need saving. Maybe these people are in a better place, but I have a hard time believing that, I just can’t help it. I’ll figure something out though; I know I will. I just need a fair bit more time.

Oh no, I’m going to have to actually thank them, aren’t I?

 
Timeline/World: Through the Looking Glass – Atheria 1st Generation
Characters: Magnus Cattari
Race: Demon – God of Patience
Age: 89, physically about 28
Final Word Count: 770 words
 

---

It feels like more than just a lifetime ago that I was a young boy; little more than a child still hiding behind my mother’s skirts when strangers would drop by and I did hide behind my mother’s skirts. When it wasn’t my mother, it was behind Viktor that I used to hide. As he was six years my elder, give or take, I grew up thinking that he would always be there for me and, in a way, he has been.

I’m quite certain that any who knew that we were demons were confused by our behaviours. We behaved in no way anything like demons were portrayed in most books. I’m aware that ‘most books’ is a vague way to look at it but, back then, and most importantly in the area that we grew up in, most books you could find that had anything to do with demons were books that were attached to religion and demons were portrayed as beings of chaos and disorder.

Nothing in the way we looked or behaved could have told anyone of our bloodlines unless we allowed our feline-like features to be visible. I think that’s the thing about demons. There are no two that are completely identical. We have, somehow, feline blood in our veins; there are no wings or horns for us, tails and ears, sure, but little else.

Of the kids who lived around the area we did, none were my age. Most were closer to Viktor’s age, not that he was very outgoing, his love for music was akin to something most would consider he was nearly born with. It was much the same with my innate patience but I suppose that one’s love of music makes more sense than just… innate patience. Not that I minded, it was one of those things.

It was rare that we were outside together, for as little as I remember of my truly youngest years, Viktor always had an instrument in hand when he wasn’t doing school things and I loved just sitting there and listening to him play. Once in a blue moon, however, he would join me outside and we would play a little. When we weren’t playing, we were walking around the neighbourhood and just minding our own business.

I do remember, though, I must have been six at that point, not much older, we were wandering the neighbourhood, it was a warm day and I had been a little restless. We came across a group of rowdy boys who just, little by little, with every step closer that I took, would calm down. At the centre of their little circle was a slightly bloodied but defiant looking boy. He couldn’t have been much younger than I was and the sight of him hurt this way stirred something in me. The boys that had been roughing him up seemed confused by their sudden calmness and just dispersed without much of a word. The boy’s sister—she certainly looked like him and was probably Viktor’s age—came forward then, fussing over the boy who was huffing softly as she touched his wounds without really touching them.

What I recall most, from that scene, was the tired look in his eyes and the quiet mumble that was half-question, half-statement, about how he was going to have to thank us. I wasn’t sure why, not back then. Not really. Still, his sister gave him a nod, he limped over to us, mumbled a slightly gruff thank you—I’m pretty sure two of his teeth were broken but they might still have been baby teeth as even we have those and he was clearly a demon like us which was possibly why they’d been picking on him—and he went on his way. His sister’s gaze lingered on Viktor for a moment longer before they were gone.

We went home after that, Viktor just quiet as he’d always been. His fingers had been twitching slightly all through our walk and I knew he just longed to play the piano again at that point so I was grateful that he’d gone on that walk with me. It took me years to understand why that boy had thanked us but I guess that, to some, that sense of soothing calmness that comes from me is something they could possibly sense and knew that my presence had made the others leave him be.

I don’t know that I ever saw him again after that day, as was. I suppose that’s all right. I just hope he and his sister had a good life.

I know you want to help, but this isn’t a weight I want you to carry.

 
Timeline/World: Newfound Worlds – Erisia – Tiered Lives
Characters: Magnus Cattari
Race: Human
Age: 35
Final Word Count: 672 words
 

---

People are still disappearing. The numbers do not lie. The number of people disappearing has not really changed since I’ve started keeping track, however. It is about five percent of the lower-tier population, to two and a half percent for the middle tier and about a percent of our population here on the top. I know that at least two people are trying to look into what is happening but the primary contact I had who was looking into it has been silent for months.

When I told them that I was hoping to help them with the situation, they simply gave me this look as though this was the most idiotic thing I might have ever said before, and considering that I am a doctor, I am usually not very prone to saying stupid things.

I don’t know how long they spent just staring at me but they eventually told me that they knew I wanted to help but that it wasn’t a weight they wanted me to carry. I’m a little too well known here; I suppose this is the problem. This contact of mine, I’ve seen them come and go as they please, though, for a while back then, things weren’t quite that easy.

They’ve told me that they actually spent time outside of the dome and I have a hard time believing that one but they’ve never lied to me, so I don’t know that they would about this. This could mean so much, however. This could lead to so many discoveries and we could perhaps even move to live beyond the dome but somehow, I don’t think that would be possible.

They’ve allowed me to take a small sample of their blood and there is something simply extraordinary about it. I would like to think that they might not even be from this world but I’ve heard their stories before; it took place down in the lower levels and it is quite possible that they were one of too many who was experimented upon and it changed their make in some way. I haven’t asked any more questions and they haven’t offered any information in return, that’s all right.

After all, they are not a specimen for me to experiment upon and, even then, I wouldn’t really do that kind of thing, not really. People are not things that should be experimented upon. I wish our government wouldn’t turn a blind eye to what goes on down there. I’ve seen too much while I’ve travelled. I’ve had to help and keep one particular person in my books because of the experiments they’d done on him and it took a lot of convincing to even let the pair let me help him. I don’t judge, it’s not my place to judge. They were experimented upon and it changed them. How they made it up from the bottom tier is none of my business but the paperwork is legitimate and that makes him my patient when I see him.

I might not be able to help with the deaths going all around, but if I can help with the few ‘oddities’ that have somehow made their way up to the middle and top-tier. I already took care of particular people on the bottom tier; this is, in no way, really different. I no longer quite do the work I used to do before but I still am a doctor; I still see to the wellbeing of others, my clientele merely has shifted somewhat and it makes me feel better to truly help those in need.

The high-class haughty people of this top level—not all are this way but too many are—can go and check in with some other doctors; my doors are closed to these particular people and there is nothing anyone can and will tell me that will change my mind. I can’t help with those who are dying, so I will help in my own way. That’s all there is to it.

I never said you had to repay me. In fact, I didn’t want you to, because you deserve nice things without having to give anyone else something nice in return.

 
Timeline/World: Until Tomorrow – New York City
Characters: Magnus Cattari
Race: Human
Age: 48
Final Word Count: 651 words
 

---

It took a year; a whole year. I thought I would never again come across the woman who had shambled our way in December of the year before but I did. It is purely accidental that I found her at all, I admit. I had somewhat given up on finding her again, though the image of her remained printed on my mind. It was only as I saw her shambling much the way she had before that I knew I had found her. Or more aptly, in a way, she had found me. She still looked the same. For the most part. Her hair was longer; she looked a little thinner; but she offered me the same garbled words she had before and, this time, I took her to see my friend.

They spoke for a short time, in that language I don’t understand, and he managed to get out of her that she woke up one morning, in a place that seemed to have no one else but had things that fit her, with no memories whatsoever of her prior life. She stayed there for a while, trying to make sense of what was going on but nothing was coming to her, so she started roaming, asking people in the only words that made sense to her if they had met her before.

The baffling part is that the apartment in which she’d been staying and still was staying, is a little on the outskirts of our settlement so that it took me a year before we ever crossed paths with her is just frustrating but confusing. This place isn’t all that big, how is it possible at all that it took this long? The only possibility I can imagine is that she roamed at times when I wasn’t outside, myself.

With my translator at my side, we went back to her place, we looked around but found few signs of whom she might have been; word of mouth got out, however, and people did start talking and, within a few weeks, someone had come forward as the person who had slept in a room across from hers at the bunker and who had actually been living in the same building.

It took several months and while most memories have not resurfaced, some have. She now has vague recollections of her name and a few memories of the past few years but anything from before the snow seems to be completely gone. It still seems to have given her a new chance at life and I’ve seen her wander more, now. She’s picked up English rather well—a language she’d already known but had seemed to have forgotten with her memories—and she’s been a helpful member of our society for the past few months.

Last week, she came up to me, telling me that she wanted to repay me for helping her but I had to shake my head at the statement. I reminded her that I didn’t need her to repay me; she deserved to have someone be nice to her; she deserved to be helped without anyone expecting anything else in return because that was the way of our society now. You couldn’t just demand that everyone pay you back for every small favour, it made no sense.

She didn’t really argue with my point though I think she’s still trying to plan on ways to thank me, if nothing else, but I’d say that she’s thanked me more than enough by letting me know how she’d been doing.

I don’t really need much in life; not really. I have Megan with me, the kids are around, I surprisingly feel a little younger than I know I am but that might just be this new kind of life. Who knows? All in all, though, I have what I need in my life and I’m fine with that.

I think you’re underestimating just how important this really is.

 
Timeline/World: Erisia – Tiered Lives
Characters: Magnus Cattari
Race: Human
Age: 34
Final Word Count: 644 words
 

---

People are disappearing.

I didn’t want to believe it at first, I thought it was just another rumour going around but after paying closer attention, the truth is staggering. It’s not great numbers, not really. At least not up top, the numbers grow a little as you go down the levels but there is clearly something wrong going on and the fact that it took my brother getting in my face and telling me to pay better attention speaks volume about this.

Let’s be honest, you can’t track someone’s whereabouts, not in a constant and clear way. They might head down a level or head up one for a brief moment of time though that is rare enough. Most people don’t move between the levels unless they have the clearance and very few of us have the clearance to do it. Though I suppose that’s a partial lie. If you’re higher up, you have all the clearance you need to go down, the same cannot be said if you think about the people living on the lower tier.

You can, however, if you have access to it and I do, track the number of people living on each level or, as a whole—and that’s a glitch in the system as I know it, I learned it from a particular young man whose name I will not mention—track the number of people on each level at any given time. That one baffled me when he first showed me how to and I don’t like turning to that information, it makes me uncomfortable.

The truth of the matter is there, however. Over the last five years, almost five percent of the people living on the lower tier have mysteriously vanished. Usually, the number varies due to death and birth rate but it has steadily gone down instead. It may not seem like a lot of people but it is. On the middle tier, the number is lower, closer to half of that but still alarmingly high, mostly when you take into consideration how fewer people there are there. Up here, on the very top tier, we’re at a one-percent drop over the last five years. Again, it shouldn’t be much if people could roam and head to other domes but there are no other domes and in an overall way for the dome as a whole, our population has dropped eight-point-five percent in five years.

People are disappearing, or as they’d try to make us believe, people are dropping off like flies.

I don’t know that there’s anything that can be done about it. I’m sure there’s already someone who’s digging around to try and find more information but that someone can’t be me. I can’t do that without attracting a lot of attention. I suppose that’s what I get for being a multi-level doctor.

What can be done about it in the long run, however? There’s probably a reason, twisted or otherwise, to our drop in numbers. For now, I suppose it’s only worrisome but not something to freak out about, the workers for the underground food plants are mostly from the second level and the scientists mainly from the top, food will not stop growing, so long as we’re careful and just… there’s really nothing I can do about it. I wish I could but I have to leave it to the hands of those who can remain hidden in the shadow.

Do I regret my choice of profession, since it’s keeping me from this mystery? Not really. I understand that this is important, but just the same, so is keeping people healthy. It’s not an easy choice, it isn’t. If it also hadn’t been for my profession, I never would have learned about this issue, so this is something of a vicious circle to be caught in.

Your arrogance is getting in the way of your logic. How can you not see that?

 
Timeline/World: Atheria – 1st Generation
Characters: Magnus Cattari
Race: Demon – God of Patience
Age: 88, physically about 28
Final Word Count: 576 words
 

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Godhood came to him when he least expected it. That’s what he normally would say but that would be a lie. Magnus still is unable to pinpoint when the gift was granted to him. Considering his bloodline, his life had already been meant to be much longer than that of quite a few others but there had always been just something there, something a little different, something he couldn’t pinpoint. Something his parents couldn’t pinpoint either.

Patience has always been with him, there is no denying that. Even long before he was gifted with godhood, he was patient to a fault and he had the ‘vibe’ of someone who could calm even the antsiest of souls. It was innate.

It was innate with everyone but one young man whose life Magnus had never been able to influence. A young man overflowing with so much arrogance that it made him lose track of logic and logic… well logic was and still is important.

No amount of talking, let alone arguing would get through to Sherwood. Magnus can barely even remember how they met; they had nothing in common, nothing that could have meant spending time in the same social circles. As it were, he had no social circles; he didn’t like to socialize unless he truly had to, unlike Sherwood who loved to surround himself with everyone.

Well, most everyone. So long as they were pretty.

Brain not included with the toy. That was how Magnus saw most of the people Sherwood surrounded himself with. The man’s arrogance truly blinded him to everything else that surrounded him and that might just be why that arrogance cost the other his life. Magnus had been the one to watch the light dim and go out from those eyes. He had done all he had been able to and to the very end, there was something in Sherwood that had clashed with him and his innate ability to soothe the stress out of everyone else had failed on the dying man.

It had been the first ‘proper’ death Magnus had witnessed but certainly not the last, not with the type of life he had opted for. Not with the studies he was doing and certainly not with the job he was hoping to get. Then again, that was the point of the job, saving others. He was aware, however, that he could not save them all and the memory of Sherwood is likely why he still remembers that not all can be saved.

That was, at least until this city, this life, the people and everything. They’ve only ever lost four. One long before they could claim to never have lost anyone, one years later along with the other two. Three separate passings though one happened well beyond the limit of their safety net. As did the final two, when one took a technical look at things but it hardly mattered. Their lives had been mourned and while people had moved on, the memories of the lost ones remained.

There have been no others whose arrogance was anything like Sherwood’s own and for that, Magnus is more than relieved. Having to wake up to the dying light fading from those eyes as they faded from his memory was enough with just the one loss, he didn’t need any others; he didn’t want any others and he would do all he could to make sure they never did lose another again.