I woke up encompassed in a cocoon made of a black material. It only allowed the faintest light to penetrate its walls. In the cocoon it felt warm and almost comfortable. I noticed myself slipping into a deep sleep. My eyes heavy, my body begging for rest.

“All you need to do is sleep,” a soothing female voice said. “You're tired from work. Don’t push yourself. You deserve–”

“No!” a second voice screeched sweeping my attention away from the females words. “Don’t let them take your brothers. Get up!” the second voice said, getting louder.

My head began to swell with pain. I groggily moved my hand to where I thought the source of injury was and felt something watery. I brought my hand back and, with the faint light, I saw blood.

“GET UP!” the voice screamed. I began to struggle, pushing at the edges of the cocoon.

“Oh well. This one is making a ruckus. Put it down,” the female commanded sounding like a medieval queen.

I saw a faint purple light activate a few feet away from the cocoon, moving closer. It emitted a loud buzzing noise that got more intense as it made its way to me.

My panic skyrocketed. I began screaming, punching and kicking at the walls of the cocoon. I could feel the walls stretching and the whole cocoon swaying as I thrashed about.

An idea hit me. I began to move back and forth as if I was on one of those fancy porch chairs that hung by a single chain. I held hope that whatever was holding the cocoon was long enough to gain some solid height.

“Hold still, little bug. This is only going to get worse for you the longer you make me wait,” a third voice said, sounding like an old man with a parched throat.

“Screw you,” I failed to remark, instead only wheezing, my throat as dry as the man's voice. I continued swinging to and fro.

My initial plan was to crash into the guy holding the purple light, then, somehow, use that crash as a distraction. I know, it was a terrible idea. It must have come from the part of my brain that kept Tom and Jerry cartoons. The worst part is that I knew it wasn’t going to work. The stupid thing holding the cocoon suspended was only a foot long, or less, and the cocoon didn’t allow for as much motion as I had hoped.

Time was up. The man with the purple light was upon me. The only thing I could do was continue to swing and hope some miracle would present itself.

“Humans are so funny, aren’t they, Shuna?” the old parched man voiced. My miracle presented itself–he was monologuing. “This one thought it could use our own trap against us, the other one thought it could out-will the mind bender, and another just killed itself before it could be broken,” he chuckled.

My mind raced. Those could be my brothers he’s describing.

“Do not call me Shuna. I have a human mouth now,” the woman said with a sigh. “But you are right. Humans are unpredictable, odd things. It's a wonder they haven’t been conquered,” she expressed, sounding genuinely confused.

The purple light was so close I could feel the heat. Like an oven set to broil right in front of me. “When this is done, I want this one’s mouth and–”

Just as the old man was going to finish his sentence, the line snapped.

Well, it’s more correct to say that the thing the line was attached to snapped.

Now would be a good time for me to explain a bit about myself. My name is Sitiveni L. Lotu. Since no one can pronounce my name, I usually go by the English translation: Steven. I am a 250 pound Pacific Islander man. I stand at six foot four, have a decent set of muscles blessed to me by the construction gods, and a gut I need to get rid of one of these days. I am the bane of home trampolines, wooden bed frames, and, in this beautiful moment, roof drywall.

I hit the ground with a thud. Upon impact, the cocoon opened from the top, like a flower blooming. As soon as I was free, I jumped back.

Finally able to see what was around me, I took in the environment. I was in the living room of a random two-story suburban house. It was lit up by strange purple and white lights that were coming from equally strange black roots that encompassed the outside of the house. The room was well-furnished. There was a large entertainment system behind me housing a sixty-five inch screen TV. Around the TV, in the shelves of the entertainment system, were knickknacks, pictures, and several traditional pieces of art appearing to originate from Kenya. I had a vague idea of the difference between each ancient and modern African nation from my high school history course. I wouldn’t be able to write an essay on the topic, but I knew some things. Nestled among the art, a familiar item caught my eye.

I switched my gaze to what was in front of me. There I saw a few overturned couches, a bookcase whose contents were strewn across the ground, and a being made of space. A Mangle, I thought to myself. It was as if I was looking into the Milky Way. It would have been beautiful if it wasn’t trying to kill me.

Standing at likely eight feet, its head almost reached the handrail of the second floor. Textbooks and memory logs didn’t do the Mangle justice. From a book, you get the idea that it's a stretched out shadow; and from memory logs, you would think it's like a human. In reality, though, it’s more like a 3D silhouette cut into space, with the vague appearance of a bipedal creature. This one, in particular, had an outline that made it look like Juggernaut from the X-Men comics. In its left hand was a medieval longsword, the same you’d find in any fantasy game. It gave off a purple glow and emitted a strong heat.

To the left of the Mangle was its companion. This one had a more feminine, human outline. Besides that, the main distinction between the two was that the female had a human mouth on her starry face. It looked odd, like Leatherface had personally stitched it to the creature.

Around them, drywall, insulation, and glass were strewn all over the floor. To the right of me was a red Ford F-150. A little banged up, the front windshield shattered, but, surprisingly, in good condition. Behind the Ford was a giant hole that led to the street.

I began to string my memories together at the sight. We were going down the road to eat at The Hat. Kyle looked worried. A black needle-like spike as big as the truck fell from the sky, landing on the road in front of us. Kyle swerved and ran into this house. I wasn’t wearing my seatbelt. I flew out. Everything went black.

“So the bug comes free,” the Juggernaut Mangle said, dragging me back to the present. It swung its sword in a clean arc, right to left, looking to cut me in half.

I leaped back, towards the entertainment system, barely dodging, my green shirt the only thing sliced.

“It doesn’t matter. I prefer it this way. One warrior’s will against another. Both struggling to out-do and survive.” It swung again, this time with an overhead strike.

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I jumped to the left.

The sword came down too quickly, leaving a deep gash in my left leg and shocking my whole body. “AhhHhHhh god,” I retched. The pain seared as I used my arms to force myself back, away from the monster.

“That is not what is going on here, you Starry-Night-looking, Juggernaut rip-off,” I spouted, rage and fear seeping from my mouth. “What is happening here is a bully attacking an injured, defenseless man.” I hoped my words would give me at least a second. I was almost to my target.

“You are right, human. This isn’t the ideal. If not for the ten thousand years of…..” Blah, blah, blah. He spoke some nonsense I wasn’t listening to as he began to monologue. His steps towards me slowed down, keeping pace with his soliloquy.

My back finally hit the entertainment system. Bingo.

“But you humans wouldn’t keep to yourselves! Now I’m here, and, even if you don't think so, every human, to ME, is a combatant. NOW DIE WITH HONOR!” He lunged forward, going for another overhead.

I staggered to the right, this time dodging the swing. The sword passed through the TV and collapsed the whole system. When he finally recovered from the swing, it was too late. I was already coming at him, seme in hand.

A seme is a traditional Maasai and Kikuyu dagger from Kenya. It sports a relatively rounded tip and is used for pretty much everything. You can use it to cut bushes out of the way, peel fruit, and take the arm of an uppity piece of dog testicle.

“AhHhhhhHH!” the Juggernaut Mangled howled. His arm fell to the floor along with his weapon. I dove for it.

I am not a super smart guy. I can figure most things out, and in a fight, I would say I have a decent IQ. But man, am I not the brightest bulb in the pack. I grabbed the sword by the blade. The shock was intense. It was like lightning struck me while at the same time getting tased. The pain forced me to drop it.

“Grallnath!” the female Mangle howled.

I looked over. Her form sprinted towards me. I grabbed the sword, this time by the handle, and raised it up to defend myself.

The female stopped about 5 feet in front of me. She took a deep breath and screamed.

The noise pierced my ears worse than anything I’ve ever heard. My vision began to split and I felt myself begin to heave. The scream only lasted maybe five seconds, but by the time it ended, I was already swaying back and forth, discombobulated, throwing up all around me. Despite this, I made sure to hold tight on the sword.

After hucking the last of what was in my stomach, I turned to look for the monsters. Surprisingly, the female Mangle had not attacked while I was mid-vomit. Even more surprising is that when I finally laid eyes on them, they were heading towards the hole the truck had made in the front of the house, the female supporting the Juggernaut.

Are they retreating? I thought to myself. From what I could tell, they had the upper hand. A special scream that could essentially stun me, a two-to-one advantage, and whatever other tricks they may be holding.

“Don’t do this, Shuna, let me kill him, or die trying,” the Juggernaut said as they limped away.

“No, Grallnath, we cannot afford to lose a potential Formed One,” the female hissed, who, it just now hit me, was named Shuna. The star-like dots on Grallnath’s face swirled at the comment, giving off an air of malice so thick I could feel it across the room.

He turned his head to look at me. The stars on his face stopped abruptly as he did so. “Defeated, truthfully, by a little bug.” His voice suddenly felt sad and longing. “Personal glory denied me in pursuit of victory for my people. I am not ashamed.” The stars on his face swirled up again. “But a reward must be given to the victor.”

He stopped Shuna and turned his whole body to me. “Remember my new name, boy, and be honored, for it is after you. When I am fully formed, I will be known as Little Bug, in remembrance of my first defeat. By that name you will find me. And when you do, I will give to you what you are owed.”

He then turned, squared his shoulders, and walked out the hole without Shuna’s help. As soon as they stepped out onto the front yard of the house, their bodies were taken up, as if they had ropes attached to their backs.

I stood there, adrenaline still pumping, waiting for another attack. I let a few tense minutes pass. Nothing happened. If anything, it was oddly quiet. A slight breeze blew in from the hole. “Did they actually leave?” I said out loud.

I slowly walked towards the opening. When I got to the edge, I peaked my head out.

Outside was a mess. It still vaguely looked like a neighborhood, but as if it had been hit by a bomb. Some houses were overtaken by weird black tendrils, and others burnt to the ground. The weirdest thing about the sight was the lack of people. It had to have been around eight or nine in the evening. I would expect most people to be home by now.

Among the rubble, protruding from the middle of the street, was the black spike. It was bigger than how I remembered it. Instead of truck-length, it was more like two-story-house-length. As I stared at it I was hit by an ominous feeling. Like it was staring back at me. I quickly turned away.

Despite the way it looked, the area didn’t seem to hold any other immediate threat. I pulled my head away from the hole, finally took a breath, and ran up to the truck.

I felt something in my chest as I made my way to my brothers. A growing feeling. The experience of fighting a Mangle was terrifying, but there was another emotion there. Whatever it was, I felt it gave me power, absolute control. As if nothing could touch me. It felt good.

Through the shattered window, I saw that Kyle was still in the driver’s seat, with Lahi in the passenger's seat. From the way the airbags were moving, I could tell they were breathing, though banged up. There was a gash on Kyle’s head, as if something had slashed him there. Most likely the sword I was holding. Lahi, on the other hand, appeared to have no injuries. I decided to check on Kyle first.

I opened the driver's side door, checking to see if there was damage to him that I didn't notice. Besides the gash, nothing. Upon closer inspection, his cut seemed to be relatively shallow. It looked like Grallnath mainly intended to knock him out with the electricity. Although not an injury, his shirt was ripped up a little, in a weird way, as if the Mangle were looking for something. All in all, he seemed fine.

“Kyle. Kyle,” I whispered. “Wake up man.” I knew it wasn’t a good idea, noting the potential of neck damage, but my desperation to see if he was truly alive beat out my caution. I put two fingers on his shoulder and started to push him a bit. “Wake up, bro, please,” I said, this time a little louder and with a hint more distress.

When I got no response, worry crept in. I needed Kyle. As much as I could do, there was one thing I couldn’t: lead. I couldn’t lead when Joshua was neglected, I couldn’t lead when Lahi was abused, and I couldn’t lead when Kyle needed my strength. The thought of having to move forward on my own whims overwhelmed me.

I put both hands on Kyle’s knee. “Tell me what to do, brother,” my voice wavered a bit as the words left my mouth. The stress threatening to keep me inactive was dispersed as I felt a slight movement.

“Stop crying,” Kyle said, almost forcing the words to leave his throat. He didn’t lift his head, instead, he leaned further into the air bag. “Check on the other two. The Mangle searched them the same as they searched me. If they were knocked out from the crash, it's not likely they got the same treatment as me.”

He tilted his head so one eye could see. He examined his hand. Then lifted it to open the glove box. “Good. They're there,” he said, looking at the contents within. Inside, amidst some legal papers and a tire pressure gauge, were three practice MAS units. After confirming their presence, his one eye turned to me.

“Hurry, Steven. I’ll get up in a second. I just need to catch my breath. I'll set up the practice units while you're checking the others. Lord knows we'll need them.” I nodded, confident in his self-assessment, and made my way to Lahi.

I hoped he didn’t see me while I was stressing out. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get away from a moment like that without getting made fun of.

When I opened the passenger’s seat door, I noticed something odd. Lahi’s shirt seemed a bit more stretched. Like the monsters had left something instead of searching him. I carefully moved his head back to lean on the headrest.

After a quick inspection, I noticed that Lahi had almost no injuries. Not even a tiny cut. It was like how he always managed to stay spotless at work, but to the extreme. It was pretty obvious he wasn’t in any immediate danger, but something was still off. Why was he knocked out? I mean, it's possible that hitting his head left no trace of the injury and just left him unconscious, but that explanation didn’t sit well with me. I wondered if it had something to do with the thing on his chest. I lifted his shirt.

“Holy crap!” I screamed, as I saw what was underneath.

“What happened?” Kyle asked, now standing outside the driver’s door.

“What the hell. Take a look at this, man,” I stammered, backing away from Lahi’s body. “I don’t remember those being there,” I continued, astonishment evident in my voice.