Joe’s day had started off nice and boring, just the way he liked it. He woke up at six in the morning, a habit forced into him from childhood. Before he ate breakfast he went through his routine, pushups and situps and jumping jacks and squats until he was panting with exertion. He sent a note off to his therapist - no dreams last night. He sent a note off to his boss - the regular security was still disobeying orders. Finally, all important tasks taken care of, he devoured a quick bowl of oatmeal and went off to work.

He parked at the back of the mall, checked the dumpsters to see if anyone had come and taken food from them (no one had, which meant someone was bothering the dumpster divers against his orders), and visited the night shift lead. There had been no news, and he had seen nothing of concern on his rounds. And so he simply went about his day, alert for trouble but not noticing any. He’d not even had any of those sudden fits of paranoia that had haunted him for the past week, a new and newly troubling symptom he had discussed with his therapist. And today it had vanished.

The biggest problem was Benson again, the nephew of some store owner who had lost a job working for the police, gotten a new one as security guard, and clearly thought he should be in charge. There was the usual campaign of petty complaints, threats to speak to his uncle, and demands for counterproductively cruel actions that Joe dealt with by simply refusing to pay attention.

The closest he had expected to come to excitement had been helping that vaguely-familiar Bullseye worker with his panic attack. As he helped the man up, he thought he would spend the rest of his shift feeling good about this minor little deed and then the night thinking about how he could have done it better, but then something impossible had happened.

There was a hideous sound like nails on the world’s largest chalkboard mingled with smoke-strangled screams and something happened between one moment and the next, so fast he hadn’t quite been able to see it.

Joe, in the brief seconds he’d had to think between bouts of universal insanity, decided that was fine. He had enough nightmares for his collection already.

Then a monster -tall, long arms, teeth and claws and no weapons - had been spat onto the floor in front of him and issued a threat. His training took over, and he put it down clean. Memories flooded back as he felt the familiar weight of a pistol, and he ignored them.

He barked orders, his normal cool politeness vanishing completely. The mall needed to be evacuated, the police needed to be alerted, and Mr. Sheffield needed to be warned. And above all else, he needed to keep more monsters from getting out and attacking or terrifying the people he had been trying to protect.

And that duty left him rooted in place, grimly counting down bullets, his only backup a cashier with a knife while the other guards lost their shit in the face of a messy situation or muddled through doing what was needed. Reports came through the radio - monsters in the parking lot! Fights in the upper levels! Improvised weapons being seized by scared shoppers! Fucking bigwigs trying to demand this or that!

In between snippets of gunfire and frantic fighting, he responded to the countless crises as best he could. Above all else, they had to keep people safe from the fucking monsters! He told his men to do what they needed, and left them to their fate once more.

He regained that vague awareness that had accompanied him for years, of his impending death, a fate that would come from circumstances outside of his control. And worse, that the same would be true for those who trusted him. They were all going to die at the whim of unknowable forces.

His throat tightened and his lungs shrank as that knowledge returned, bursting back into his body like shrapnel from a grenade.

And it only got worse when another monster burst through, seemingly immune to bullets. He might as well have been throwing the damn gun at it for all the good he did as he sent shot after shot through center mass, emptying his last clip and then closing his eyes.

There was still an audience of shocked shoppers, but if they hadn’t run by now he wasn’t going to bother wasting his last breath.

“Our Father who art in Heaven,” he began, reciting the prayer that had carried him through cold nights until it had broken under the weight of his deeds.

But at last, he had his clean fight, and so he let the Lord’s Prayer fall from his lips. Joe doubted it would be enough to earn him forgiveness.

He felt a rush of scorching heat and accepted it. It was where someone like him belonged.

And then he opened his eyes to see the bullet-proof monster on the ground, melted into slag. And where the perfectly normal cashier had stood, now there was a flamboyant figure in black. His long coat sparkled with rainbow-patterned jewels. On his face, he had a mask made of flame that gave off no heat as it danced and flickered.

Fearless, he stepped forward and thrust his hands into the portal, shouting something.

And then he stood there, trembling, screaming phrases that didn’t sound like they were meant to come from a human mouth. His body shook. His eyes burned. His skin tore open and stitched itself back together.

Blood and worse poured from everywhere his skin broke. It all vanished before the fluids could stain his outfit or drop down to the floor.

And Joe took a step back. Relief flooded him for a moment, but he banished it. Instead, he raised his radio. Fresh reports and orders came in and out. The news had been bad, and now it was worse. The people he had sent out of the mall had flooded back in, chased by monsters in the parking lot that were apparently real and apparently there were more portals, and only a desperate activation of lockdown measures had kept the mall as a whole safe, at a cost that had already led to bloodshed. The internet had gone down, and phone calls weren’t going through. What was happening beyond the parking lot was anyone’s guess.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

He kept his gun on the portal and thought about things. The situation was out of control. There were giant blind spots of information. Impossible things were happening, including the disappearance of a cashier and his replacement with some sort of...superhero.

“Keep doing your best. I think I might have a lead. Talk to people, find who can help and who will fight. Take anything you need from the stores, on my authorization. Our only concern is that the fuckers we are protecting stay alive,” Joe ordered.

He ignored the predictable dissent from the corporate ratfuckers and their buddies. He had bigger things to worry about.

Like what the person who was interacting with the no-shit monster-spewing portal knew.

Calmly, his hands steady, he holstered the pistol and took out his taser.

The mysterious figure spasmed and collapsed, his costume smoking. Joe swung the taser up to the portal, only to see it fold in on itself and vanish.

He lowered the taser, pointing it at the next potential threat, the semi-conscious figure with impossible powers and the ability to control the monster’s spawning point.

“I have questions. First, what the hell is going on?”

Before he could receive an answer, an alien voice spoke in his head.

Immediately, Joe distrusted it. It was cool and clinical and distant. What kindness it had was coated under calculation. The sort of calculation that brought back memories of his men, his friends,and the people they were supposedly protecting all reduced to numbers on a kill-death ratio. A mercenary’s calculation.

[“With the local Reality Tear defeated, I can communicate again. It might save time if I communicate with both of you. And perhaps it might make you more comfortable if I manifest, so you have a visible conversation partner. With your permission, Guardian?”]

The figure lying on the ground vaguely grunted assent.

And then something appeared, with no more disturbance than a puff of air and someone’s shocked yelp. It looked like a large greyhound at first glance, with silky black fur, a white dot on its forehead, and pale pink eyes. But then Joe saw the seven toes on each paw were too long. Each digit wiggled like someone’s fingers as the creature scampered over to the...Guardian, it had called him.

Also, it had five long, fluffy tails that wagged enthusiastically.

Despite the puppyish way it moved and pressed its snout against the Guardian, its mental voice was still perfectly calm.

[“I apologize for your difficulties with the Reality Tear. They are weapons, designed to cripple those who approach them and entrap those who assault them. I was rendered unable to properly communicate with you, or I would have provided better warning.”]

The Guardian sat up, looking somewhat less singed, the blood and slime gone from his face. “No worries. I survived.”

Joe interrupted with a cough and a waggle of his taser, and the Guardian glanced up.

“Right, sorry. Long story short, evil aliens are invading, good aliens are giving people they think won’t misuse power the ability to fight back, I need to enter those portals to close them, and this may be some sort of scam or total crap, but we don’t really have better options.”

He said it all with a dazed tone. Again, it reminded Joe of before he was discharged, of the way people sounded the first time they realized what they were in for.

Apparently, the Guardian was just another kid in over his head. Joe slipped the taser back into its holster as the dog-thing - suddenly, it broke in.

[“Familiar. I am a familiar, and in need of a name. In any case, my Guardian gave a technically accurate summation of the situation. I might also add that there is another Reality Tear in the vicinity, one that has been around longer and produced more miasma, meaning more dangerous monsters. There are also currently no Guardians nearby, although there is a candidate, and numerous civilians. If you are able, Guardian, I would request you destroy it. Possibly with Joe’s help, you have enough points to equip him and yourself.”]

The familiar scampered away from the Guardian and licked at its paws. The Guardian sat up, struggling, and Joe grabbed his arm, helping lift him up and then guiding him over to a table so he had something to lean against.

“You know what, your name is Karl. Karl, I just basically set the whole world on fire, myself included, and I was apparently in a mind-warping portal for way too long. I’m a bit loopy now, and I think you skipped half the recruiting pitch. Slow down, use small words, ok?”

[“I said before, power given cannot easily be revoked. As such, the Alliance created the Contract with certain incentives and restrictions built into it. Killing the spawn of Reality Tears, closing the Tears, and saving lives all earn you points. Points can be spent to buy you access to Vaults or Grimiores, and the items or spells within, any of which are potent weapons or tools against your various foes. Accumulating points can also earn you tokens, which are needed for higher tier equipment.”]

The Guardian grunted. “So you only give us stuff if we play your game. And your game has premium currency. You know, I nearly got addicted to a video game like this.”

Karl lashed his tails and ducked his head.

[“The similarity in incentive structures was noted, but I assure you we have no interest in your money. The Alliance is not technically post-scarcity, but there is little difference for one of our citizens.”]

The Guardian rose to his feet. “My fire things seem to do plenty of damage, but I don’t think Joe has anything that can hurt the nastier ones.”

Joe looked at the pistol at his hip, then at the melted remains of the giant bug horror. He took the Guardian’s point. “Sure, spend your points to give me and some of the other guards guns that can hurt whatever comes out of the Reality Tears. I don’t see why you need to be the one to attack them. Whatever happened in there, it couldn’t have been pleasant.”

He could immediately tell it wouldn’t be enough to convince the Guardian. “Besides, I think you could do more good acting on overwatch and using your...fire things.”

The young soldier glanced at his shaking hands. “It wasn’t. And maybe you are right. But I don’t think anyone else could’ve survived, or even gotten in. Leave the Tears to me. Please. Anything else, Karl?”

Joe found he had nothing more to say.

[“Your ability to use magic, including your personal, Contract-based abilities such as your 'fire things', is limited by the amount of exposure your soul has to magic. Overuse can have serious consequences. You should see the relevant data if you inquire about it, it’s part of the function of your Soul Gem.”]

The kid nodded distantly, a far away look in his eyes for an instant before it vanished.

He swallowed. “Let’s get to your buddies, Joe. They’ll be down by the entrance, I can get there fast, and take you with me.”

Joe nodded. The magic soldier could fly or teleport. It made as much sense as every other part of this batshit insanity. Then he felt a firm grip on his wrist.

“Hold on tight!”

And then Joe was yanked off his feet as the Guardian leapt into the air, somehow running across it, carrying the security guard like he barely weighed a thing.

They moved like an action hero, Joe held in a fireman’s carry as the Guardian landed on a kiosk and kicked off, heading towards a wall. From there he rebounded into a pillar, only barely missing it, using it to slingshot the two of them around to an abandoned jewelry stall that he leapt off again.

Joe risked a glance back and saw a small crowd of gaping people and a trail of destruction. Then he felt a surge of nausea and closed his eyes. And he tried very hard to convince himself that the sound he was hearing was someone else screaming.