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Grilled Cheese is a product of Village Compute

Version devBuilt at: 2026-10-17 03:54:26 EDT

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“Why does he hate humans so much, anyway?” Valir asked.

“I’m not entirely sure. He didn’t talk about it, but there have been rumors. A long time ago, years before I’ve been born, he had a run-in with a soldier who raided the region where he lived with his family. The others said she hurt him, but wouldn’t say how. They got all weird on that topic, so I didn’t ask further. Probably all the broken bones.”

It takes a few steps back of its own, then lunges up and to it’s left, half running up the wall. My now empty hand closes on the other intact table leg as the animal drifts across the open hallway, twisting in mid air as it does so to land on the opposite wall feet first. I can see what it’s doing, and I decide to make one last counter, here and now. I pull back the table low and behind me, opening myself up to the animal.
It rebounds off the wall, leaving deep scratch marks in the wood, and launches right at my face, mouth open and snarling, but the table meets it halfway. I swing as hard as I can, nearly overbalancing with how much power I’m putting into it, and the table shatters completely apart, leaving me holding only two chair legs. The animal flies backwards down the hallway and hits the terminating wall there with a series of yelps of pain, but I can’t let it get it’s bearings again and charge at it again with both table legs held above my head and screaming like a crazed caveman.

“Where’d you get the gun?”
Boden touched the sparkgun hanging at his belt. “Cache. Back in the woods.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Duona’s Kettle,” he said. “Raided it before Lavoie. Hid a few things in case everything went sour.”
She studied his face. “Weapons of war. Aren’t you retired?”
“Trust me,” was all Boden could think of to say.
“I used to,” she said at last. “Crowbar?”
“Thief left it behind. Tried to steal our motor. We dealt with her. Thought it’d come in handy.”
“In a fight?”
“That,” said Boden, “or all sorts of situations.”
She looked satisfied with that answer, at least.

Reading hadn't been a thing for Mac. The occasional magazine, or maybe he'd pick up something Marcia kept around the house, but he tended toward television when he had idle time. Of course, the television in Valladolid – also its few small movie houses – were shockingly negligent where English-language material was concerned. Mac had taken to raiding Amazon for trashy action stories.
So he found a bench beneath a sheltering tree, folded open the dog-eared book, re-inserted the pages that tried their best to fall out, and leaned over, elbows on knees, to lose himself for a while in the exploits of forgettable characters.

A First Degree Chuntey Breach at Bootlesquith Manor sounded like a TED Talk on the history of alarms rattled out in a single lesson at Surbiton High, squeezed in between Philosophy and double French to the utter bamboozlement of both Year 9 and the entire faculty. Loud electronic wails and rotating beacons competed with awooga horns, an World War 2 air raid siren, and eventually the tinkling of bells desperately hoping to summon assistance from an Edwardian butler lost deep inside the mansion. Somewhere a bonobo was probably banging rocks together frantically.

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Soft brown eyes looked down upon us from the throne, seeming heavy, cheeks wet from tears. Her long golden hair was messed and knotted, and her breathing weak and tired. Yet even still, in her billowing white gown, she was beautiful.

As her eyes drifted towards Liz, her smile faded, and her regal voice gave way to a more casual tone. “Are those… my sister’s clothes?”

As if oblivious to the mood in the room, Liz smiled and spoke brightly. “Hey Cat! Raided Iris’ wardrobe at the villa. Glad to see you’re in good health, and all that. Wish I could say the same but…” She shrugged. “Well, you know...”

My mother stared, but eventually returned a small smile, speaking with genuine concern in her voice. “I’m so sorry, Elissa. I wish we had reunited under better circumstances.”

What am I?
As if this was the cue it had been waiting for, the resistance surges to a new height, pushing the green further and further back than ever. At the same time the taloned hands reach up and grasp something on my forehead, as if they’re trying to remove a hat or a pair of glasses. They grasp something both tangible and ethereal at the same time, something that sparks and flickers right above my eyes as it protests the attempted eviction.
“What are you doing?” I can no longer tell who is saying what, as the whole of my mind is now focused on this one act of removal, of defiance, of asserting autonomy once again. The green energy is pushed out completely, and my hands rip off something… something that I hold in both hands in front of me. It crackles and splutters as it decays from the onslaught, and I quickly drop it too the floor where it dances and burns like a lump of sodium dropped into water. Marks are left on the wooden floor as it jumps around, giving no doubt to my mind that whatever happened is indeed real, that there are real life markings that can bear witness to it.
My mind, my soul, my body and everything inbetween is filled with the furiously defiant purple, and I stand there with my still betaloned hands held in front of me. These are mine, I’m sure of it, but how?

With the exception of the banmoi, there was little in way of light or colour. As if the whole district had been dipped in mud. Even the residents had a subdued feeling to them, like all colour and feelings had been stripped from them.

The last time Halla had seen people like this was when her uncle had taken her one of their villages that had been recently raided. Most of the homes had been stripped off possessions before being burnt down. The few survivors were being escorted back to the family stronghold, the castle of Caldhyl. They'd build up their strength, try to contact any relations via the castle clerk and then attempt to find a new home. The people of the Dip had the same look in their eyes as the raid survivors. Everything had been taken from them and all they had were their lives. Only the Dip citizens had no one arriving to help them.

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Elm was lying on her back on the mossy rocks of the Gargant Foothills after the RAID that had earnt her a name. About her were piled the bodies of friends and foes. The clans didn’t habitually fight this hard or earn this much dead in one day. Life was precious, said the old ways. But talks had gone poorly, and neither side had been willing to back down when the fists had started flying. A blade had been drawn. Now, Elm was one of five who would make it home. A hero’s welcome, which was horribly ironic considering the catastrophic failure of their diplomacy.
For now, all she could do was lie there. She had blood on her face and aches in her bones. Her vision was swimming. Someone had knocked her on the head early in the fight, but she’d thought she’d shaken the concussion off. Turns out, she’d just delayed it. She’d brought a staff with her, the traditional weapon on the Unnamed, but it had shattered after a couple of swings. Some of its splinters still dug into her palm. Hair matted, hanging in her eyes. Teeth broken. And the birds… The sound of the birds chirruping in the distance was achingly, agonising loud!
And then she awoke. The birdsong was still there.
“Oh… fuck!"

She gasped and shot upright, her eyes widening. For years she had done everything she could to erase the raid from her memory. Now she closed her eyes and held her breath, turning the memory over and over until a cold sweat prickled across her skin and nausea settled heavily in her stomach.
Oh, fuck.

Mel Waverly - Wishing You Knew, chapter 5

“You’re sleeping in a ditch?! Why not just bite the bullet and go home?” Phil looked at his friend as if he was a different person.
“I need the ditch, I have another problem. Not just these shackles. This taser. It didn’t just stick me in that world making escape difficult. It actually reset my homeworld to that one and I have absolutely no intention of ever going back there in an uncontrolled drift. If I fall asleep, that’s where I go and if they capture me, it’s dead time. They don’t like slaves escaping, instant execution.”
The blood drained from Angie’s face. “Executed?”
“Yes. They don’t take slaves back, give them a slap on the wrist and send them back to their cell without any supper. Anyway, I think you’ve seen enough to convince you I’m not demented. We can drift back here so you can see how everything changes between here and home or we can go back to the courtyard so we appear in the clearing, your choice.”
“Courtyard” Ian chipped in “I don’t want anyone seeing me pop out of nowhere.”
Phil shook his head. “Here, I want to see this place change.”
“Angela, deciding vote...” Mike grinned.
“Here. Anyone sees us, tough. Just accuse them of being drunk.”
Yi-erwu let go.
The three stared in awe as the clouds danced in the sky. Then, without even a flicker, everything instantly transformed from cobbled streets populated by horses to modern tarmac and heavy traffic.
A short walk and they were back in the clearing. Yi-erwu appeared a moment later.
Phil’s awestruck expression seemed to have stuck solid. “Why didn’t you tell us! God, Mike, you can go anywhere, do anything!”
“Not quite. It takes a lot of walking to get most places where there’s a significant difference. I stumbled onto what look like the exact opposites of each other within a couple of days, tranquil, technology free versus hell on post-nuclear bombed earth. That’s another thing I need to do, check myself for radiation. No idea how long fallout sticks around, how long it takes to get washed away.” He …

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