Light. Sound. Stickiness.

I looked around – all around – all at once.

I was lying on an enormous baking tray, surrounded on all sides by rows and rows of steaming, powdered sticky buns... and God help me, I was one of them.

Aaaaah, I tried to scream, but I had no mouth, only fluffy flesh, and hot, sweet filling.

Standing above me was an (enormous) little girl, with pigtails and a missing tooth, staring down at me with a greedy gleam in her eye. Her intent was clear. We were food, and she meant to eat.

Her eyes roved over us, considering one, and then the next. Her hesitation was a torture in itself. What demonic criteria was she judging us by? Or was she merely toying with us, as a cat plays with a mouse, offering only the illusion of escape before snatching it back.

Not me, I prayed. Choose another.

There was no prevarication over whether I was willing to sell out my fellow buns, no hesitation or regret, just a silent, desperate Not Me.

I didn't know if they too were alive, didn't know if anyone was listening to my treacherous prayer, but in that moment I knew the price of my soul, and it was the entire world, if that's what it took to keep this bun unbitten.

The enormous little girl's hand descended, targeting the bun to my left. She snatched it up and stuffed it into her deadly, gnashing mouth. My bun peer disappeared without sound, without chance of justice. The powdered sugar left on her cheeks was the only testament to my brother's passing.

Oh god, if there even is a god, if there even can be a god in the face of this bakery nightmare. Save me from being consumed.

Why was this happening to me? Had I sinned? Had I been a glutton in life? Perhaps. And oh, but this was a poetic punishment.

The girl finished her snack, not even bothering to wipe the raspberry gore from her cheeks before she was seeking another victim, and this time, her gaze fell on me.

Her hand stretched down towards me with the finality of a falling guillotine blade. Her fingers found my mortal form, and lifted me up. The remaining span of my life could be counted in seconds, in microseconds, in heartbeats – not that I still had a heart, and not that I believed she did either.

Red-stained teeth loomed large in my vision. This was it. The end of the road, the sunset of my short existence. I watched doom approaching, and tried to make my peace.

> Crisis Evolution!

> Choose a facet:

> o Energy

> o Motion

> o Mystery

Motion! Motion! An arm, a leg, a wing. Give me levitation, or just the ability to roll.

I needed to move, to flee, to fly, to get away from this pigtailed monster.

Heat flashed through me, and a pair of wooden pastry skewers erupted from one edge of my body. Legs! A pair of slender, pointy legs. One of my sharp legs jabbed the girl in her gum, and she yelped and threw me away.

> New Attribute Acquired!

> Sticky Legs

> Run, jump, and kick.

> Improved balance.

As I hurtled through the air, I contemplated my situation. There I was, a bun of no great power or influence, a snack in a world of predators, no clear memory of my past – if I had a past –and no way of predicting my immediate future, beyond that it would be dark and terrifying.

I didn't even know if I would survive this fall.

Enter into this scenario the mysterious messages, coming to me like the voice of an angel. It had saved me from death once, my angel of evolution, might it again? It was unclear. What was its source? What were its goals? Was I just a pawn in a vast game of bakery chess? Could it be trusted?

I spun gracefully as I fell through the air, then landed on my back with a splat and a cloud of powdered sugar.

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"Daaad," the girl called. "The animus got in a bun."

I was still alive! I looked around to check I was still in one piece, that none of my filling has spurted out. I was, and it hadn't. My back felt like an enormous bruise, damage I didn't know if I would heal from, but I could still think, and see, and move.

I twisted on the ground, climbing up onto my new legs, aided by some force that worked counter to the normal rules of balance and leverage.

I teetered for a moment, swaying precariously on the points of my two wooden skewers, and took a tentative step forward.

I didn't fall, and with every step I felt more stable, more steady on my feet. I found the belief that I should be falling more a threat to my stability than my high center of gravity, and my confidence grew as that belief was proven false.

I'd barely taken three steps towards the exit when a new figure appeared in the kitchen doorway. He was silhouetted against the bright light beyond, but I could see he was more than twice the height of the little girl, broad at the shoulders and wide around the middle, and carrying a cylindrical club – a rolling pin, I realized with trepidation.

"Another one?" the man said. "Why my baking, of all things?"

I turned, looking for another escape route. The kitchen was cluttered. Pans and utensils hung from pegs on the walls, a row of unplucked fowl hung from wires in the eaves, baskets of vegetables sat in the corners, overflowing with potatos, leeks, onions.

If I were intent on hiding there'd be plenty of places, but I was in full sight, there was no way I'd be able to break their line of sight for long enough to hide.

There were two other possible exit routes that I could see. There was a window high above me on one wall, wedged open to allow a pie to cool on the windowsill. It was the clearest way out, but getting to it would be tricky.

The second option was vent on the same wall, a brick-sized gap that I could see daylight through, but this one was blocked by a black iron grate. It wasn't clear I'd be able to get through it.

"I'll take care of it," the man said, stepping into the kitchen. "Go and fetch the mop."

I felt my jelly filling run cold, imagining what grisly way he intended to dispose of me. The rolling pin, perhaps?

"No, dad, I want to eat it," the girl said.

I shivered where I stood, the dark cruelty of that little girl chilling me to the core. She was no little girl. What innocent mortal would want to eat a living bun. She was a demon out of nightmares.

"But it's been on the floor," her father protested.

I steeled myself, found my resolve, and made my choice. I began sprinting towards the window with all the speed I could muster, my pointy wooden feet clacking on the tiles as I tried to outrace their reactions.

"Oh blimey, it's doing a runner," the man said.

I reached a set of shelves that sat next to the window and leaped for the lowest shelf, hoping my legs were up to the trial.

Pushing off the ground with one pin, I felt myself flying upwards, a leap higher than I was tall.

I was coming in too low, my body was going to bounce off the edge of the shelf. At the last moment I stretched out and jabbed my other leg onto the wooden surface of the shelf. That same strange balance-force took effect, and I was pulled up the rest of the way onto the shelf, self-righting into a standing position.

It was a hollow achievement. I was only on the first of several shelves I'd need to make it to the window, and I could see that the man was already halfway across the kitchen, coming at me with a bemused expression on his blunt features, but with murderous intent all the same.

What was I to do? Was all my struggle for naught? There was now no chance of flight, or at least not through the window, nor through the grate – those bars were too narrow for even my squishy form.

Perhaps my angel of evolution was still watching over me? Could there be some last minute salvation from the direction?

Oh angel of evolution, grant me a chance to survive. One last gift, I beg of you.

> Evolution Advancement

> You have no evolution points.

> Gain evolution points to purchase evolutions.

Oh, angel. I see how it must be. Nothing in this world is free, and I have counted on your charity once already. No, I understand. To gain your favor I must purchase my right to live.

There was one last option, then. The giant was almost upon me, his dread club bared. His demonic child waited in the wings, her leering mouth a promise of pain and death.

Only one escape route was open to me – the kitchen door. To reach it I would have to confront my fear. I would have to face that monstrous man. I would have to fight him to win my freedom.

I pivoted on my shelf and leaped, throwing myself at the baker with both legs.

To battle. To doom. For freedom, and for life!