In the Creator’s hand was a gift—a custom made necklace in the shape of a dandelion. It was a gift he had wanted to give to Mother before she had passed, before he’d even understood what dandelions had meant to her.

“Mrs. Morgan,” he called. The accessory sparkled under her ceiling light, golden like the afternoon sun. She was sitting at her usual spot next to the radio, knitting what seemed like some sort of coaster. “I heard it was your birthday today.”

“Oh, it’s not that big of a deal, Gunther. It’s just another day.”

“That’s not true.” He handed over the necklace. “Happy Birthday, Mrs. Morgan.”

“What? Oh, you shouldn’t have!” She curiously felt around the pendant. “What is it? It’s very spiky!”

“A dandelion. I had this made for Mother…”

“Gunther, then I can’t—”

“I want you to have it.”

“But Gunther!” she cried. “This is something far too important for you to give to someone like me.”

“Someone like you?” He smirked. “Mother is dead. What good would holding onto the dead do for me? You understand, don’t you?” It was momentary, but he truly believed they were one and the same, grieving a loss that needed no further remembrance. It was only detrimental; they had to move on sooner or later. “Take it. I insist. A necklace for a bracelet. It’s only fair.”

“Well…” She paused, reluctantly nodding her head a few times before pursing her lips. “Alright. If you’re really insisting on it so much, I don’t really have much of a choice!” She caressed the necklace in her shaking hands. “This is so sweet. I’ll treasure this, Gunther. Thank you.”

“Of cour—”

An emergency alert. His internal UI flashed in his peripherals.

“Is everything alright, dear?”

“I…” Bread? He was in the office? How had he managed that? And why? “I think I need to go.” The Creator started collecting all his basic belongings. “I need to get back to the office.”

“Oh! Well, don’t let me stop you.” She waved him out. “Go, go!”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Morgan. This was supposed to be your special day—”

“Don’t be daft. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’ll be back.”

“Oh, I know.” She nodded. “You’ve been great to this old lady, but a smart, young man like you shouldn’t be wasting away with me.”

“Stop demeaning yourself.” He grabbed his coat from the hanger. “And you’re not old, Mrs. Morgan. You’re about the same age as my mother.”

“Sweet words, young man. Sweet words.” She patted him on the back. “I feel like I’m finally getting to know you better.” Then she gently pushed him out. “Now go. This is the only time I’ll tell you to leave.”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Thank you.” With that, the Creator swiftly headed out. Back to his job, to Azan. All the way back to home sweet home.

…

Bread, what are you thinking?

Azan was usually the only one at the office—the only human employee inside. That eyesore of a tower was more of an empty façade. Simular Inc. needed to be grand, and to Azan, that meant a large, symbolic office for their company even though they had no need for it. The number of employees only fluctuated when Azan would hire someone for personal, butler duties, but they’d always get fired within the week with reasons ranging from not feeling it to simply being bored.

As the only corporation in the world to have two consistent human members registered under their corporate name, most of all company business matters were conducted autonomously through sophisticated programs. Almost everything was computerized. There was no point in having the largest building in the city, but Azan never did listen to him…

He could see the structure from here, but that meant nothing. The place Azan was most likely residing in was much higher and further above the clouds. To the average eye, Azan would’ve never been visible. But of course, he wasn’t average. Far from it. His cybernetic implants were more valuable than even some of the largest of his rival corporations. And amongst his recent implants, his eyes were, by far, the most expensive.

X-Razen Mark-X. State of the art. Only ten were in circulation, and he’d received them as a gift…

It was more of a bribe than a gift. Companies all over the world took part in corporate gift-giving so to speak as Simular continued to seep into everyone’s daily lives. But these Razens were far more valuable than mere gifts. As well as having sophisticated features unrivaled by any other, these implants were also able to zoom in farther than even the best of modern binoculars. All the way up to the swirling gaseous surfaces of Jupiter if needs arose. So while he made his way over to the base of the office, he used his eyes to zoom in on what was happening inside—

Bread?

Azan had his weaponized finger locked in his hand—a disguised photon revolver. It was his most prized possession. At its highest settings, that gun could pierce through a solid block of chromium the length of two football stadiums, and studying the trajectory, he had it aimed directly at Bread’s heart—the source of his energy, his core. If the core was fission-powered and not fusion, it would spell disaster for everyone involved.

What are you trying to do, Azan? That was a last resort; he never brought that out. It was and had always been a show piece—a symbol of his wealth. It had never been within his intentions to actually use the thing.

The Creator sped up his pace. Bread was in danger, but the building was still about a mile away. He wasn’t going to make it on foot. There was no way…

“System: initiate Fūjin Clouds.”

Instinct took over. He quickly skidded to a stop, bent down, and tensed his legs. Steaming, crimson blood pulsated through his calves; the ground crumbled under the pressure. Then, with all his strength, he jumped.

He sliced through the air.

Trajectory was accurate. Velocity was good. He was launched perfectly in line with Bread, but he didn’t have boosters to control any sort of deviation in sudden atmospheric pressure. He had no way of stopping himself either. He’d crash through the glass, and then what? How would he decelerate?

It didn’t matter. He just had to get there. Azan had his finger hovering over the trigger. It was only a matter of seconds…

The tip of the gun flashed. It was getting ready to fire.

At the same time, he made contact—crashed headfirst through the glass. Shards scattered everywhere. He tried to pull Bread out of the trajectory of the gun with one arm, and with the other, he slammed down and dug his fingers into the floor. The see-through composite tore away but held. It managed to soften his landing just enough for him to not fall out of the building.

It was a success. With Bread safely in his arms, he could finally breathe a sigh of relief. But as his chest heaved up, an intense pain immediately followed suit.

He looked down.

Blood.

And then the world went dark.