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Grilled Cheese is a product of Village Compute

Version devBuilt at: 2026-10-16 08:00:47 EDT

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Silence from the bathroom invaded his thoughts and drew him closer. A small whimper raised his fist, and he knocked on the door.

“Viv, are you okay?”

A sniffle escaped under the door before the water turned on full blast. “Almost done.”

Asshole thy name is no longer Kyle or Daniel, but Caden.

Next day, the crew slowly appeared, shit faced, their night plain on their faces. Even Jarvis couldn’t see straight, and the captain seemed rough too, but he managed to walk up to the wheel.
Facing Alex with a smirk. “You shaved, Dog? Cute…” He burped. “Let’s get ready… we ‘ave this race to win.”
Alex’s eyes went wide. “Now?”
“Whaddaya think, scum? Now.” He spat, glancing at Seb who was getting taking their spare clothes off the ropes. “Ye don’t scrub today, Rat. Today, we race and then plunder that ship.”
Alex’s back drenched in ice. “Plunder?”
Billy laughed. “Yeah, tas’ right. Plunder. If we get there first, and we get there first, righto?”
Alex nodded, swallowing. Plunder. If he took part in this… there might not be any way back. How to explain, if he ever gets back? “Right, captain…”
“Get going! Tis’ the map of sort’a where we going, but we’ll see that ship soon enough. Oy! Tas’ our ship we need to race. They leaving, aye? Come on, you scums! Off we go!” Howling to the crew who started to climb, let the sails down. The ropes swung off the posts.
Alex quickly calculated where they had to go, his worried eyes on that sluggish crew, the dangling ropes as the sails unfurled. Flapping, not tightened fast enough as men were trying to walk straight. Fuck. Watching as that other ship started leaving port, waiting for the sails to catch the wind too, as they got finally tightened when that other boat had soared onto open waters. How? Mad worried, but he clenched his jaw, steering the ship as it lazily caught some wind, finally. That leap there which he was waiting for, racing towards that other ship which already seemed far. Feeling the wind in his hair, on his skin. Still fine…

“Fuck if I know, Zoe. I’m just saying you hardly need foreign money coming in to set barbarians off raiding civilized lands or disaffected warriors to turn their skills to their own profit.”

“Uncivilized’ people are hardly a rampaging horde,” Zoe objected.

“Of course you’d say that, you’re one of them! But we both know for some people, raiding Macedonia or their other neighbors is a way of life. As long as they don’t catch you or they go after some other group, it’s very lucrative. I know you know this.”

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“There are no coincidences,” Richard said as he stood. He looked out to the sector. “I made a grave error in thinking I was ensuring Veronica’s safety by keeping her sequestered. She left during the raid because we were all distracted and couldn’t stop her. The Circle picked her up because Decimus wanted to use her against us.” He turned back to Ferris. His expression reflected the weight of their choices. “Don’t you find it odd that Ort’s men attacked Rollan over tainting a vat of cream with dye? Decimus has been messing with Rollan from the shadows for a very long time. Now he can’t. Rollan has caught on. He is gaining power. Decimus is going to strike. It is up to us to be prepared.”
Ferris winced as he pushed away from the wall. The plasma wounds on his back stung with the release of pressure. “It has been astonishing,” Ferris said as he centered his breath. The pain lessened as his muscles relaxed. “Rollan has nearly destroyed everything that Titus created.”

"Those seventeen men were members of the Larizian vanguard," the Sazade explains. "The same Larizian vanguard that, for decades, have fended off the Bandit King's raids upon their land—and the ones who, one fateful day, about three years ago, led the assault against the retinue of a young bellatrice, and paid the price dearest for her capture. But what are the lives of a few hundred men against the prize of a lifetime?"

Smith grumbled, like Tomas expected him to do, so Tomas added a smile. “S’il vous plaît.”

“Your French makes you sound like a sissy girl.”

Tomas sighed. Yes, the primary language that Tomas had learned to communicate with came from a cantankerous French pirate, but his Spanish wasn’t terrible. It was becoming second nature to him. He leaned in for a more private exchange. “Do you think we are safe because a Spaniard makes promises?” The promises he was referring to came from a letter delivered by an anxious messenger a week ago. REDACTED had sent word that the king of Spain had given the Cimarrones the right to be free as long as they stopped their raids on the mule trains that traversed the Panamas through Las Cruces. REDACTED was the same man who had taken their king, months ago. Tomas shouldn’t have believed in the promises then. He certainly wasn’t going to believe in more promises now.

“See? He owns the police!”

“Abby…we can’t just…” I said, my head spinning. I tried to imagine what would happen if Abby went off full-cocked like this. Exalted Church buried under controversy and conspiracy; twenty-four-seven news coverage; police or FBI raids on the church; spotlights all around.

Spotlights on me. Endless questions from journalists and detectives from every agency in America. Dalton having an aneurysm at yet another media-discourse cycle, this one the biggest of them all. Say goodbye to the Grammy he was sure I was about to win; no way they’d give it to a singer linked to hate groups and domestic terrorists.

The rest of the weekend went by normally, with me just vegging out, and Heather working on some lesson plans for the next week. Void and Lysander were mostly quiet—though sometimes, late at night, I could hear Void raiding the cupboards for food.
As I was having breakfast, Void pulled themselves onto the table and stole a strawberry.
“Do you actually have to eat, or is it just fun for you?” I asked, pointing my spoon at them.
“In this form, fun,” they said, then sighed. “In my original form, I had to eat, though.”
“I see. What did your original form look like?”
“I was sleek!” they cried. “A massive beast, nearly as tall as Veilwhisper, with black fur and white eyes.”
I choked on my sip of juice.
“Oh.”
For some reason, I’d assumed that they’d had a human form. But maybe that was just me being overly human.

Rummaging through the racks of sports equipment, Ebenezer eventually spotted what he was looking for. A gym bag. Specifically one that had a compartment for sneakers. The boy needed a bag to carry his clothes, and while he could’ve brought one from home, he felt it’d be the smarter choice to grab something from the mall since he was stealing stuff anyway.

The next item on his list was running shoes, something that was made to move around in and could last for a while. The store had plenty of options, but since Ebenezer didn’t know what qualities made for a good shoe, he just grabbed the most expensive pair he could find. Corporations wouldn’t make their products super costly without good reason, right?

Before leaving, the chimp also grabbed a pair of insulated gloves. Ebenezer knew he needed to keep his hands covered so as not to leave fingerprints, but he might as well grab some extra protection just to be safe. The boy stuffed his stolen goods in his bag, then jumped into the hole he made and returned to scouring the vents.

His next targets were clothes that could hide his body while being easy to move in. The ape raided a clothing store for a red hoodie, a black vest jacket (for a few extra pockets), and a pair of jeans. The jeans weren’t any different from his usual pair, but Ebenezer figured he should make sure every part of his villain costume didn’t belong to his civilian identity

The boy also grabbed a crossbody bag that he’d use as a makeshift sheathe for his staff. While it was possible to store the weapon in his pocket, Ebenezer could imagine that method taking too long when he only had seconds to react. Having the golden staff on his back, ready to be pulled out at a moment’s notice would be more efficient.

Plus, it would look cooler…

An excerpt from the first draft of my book A Thief's Guide to Happily Ever After: She stands and crosses to Melirin, clasping her shoulder. “Hey, I’m going—”
A fist flies out, and Ness rears back, her face searing with pain, as she cups her tender nose. “What the fuck?!”
Melirin scowls. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“I wasn’t. I was waking you up to tell you I’m going for a walk but you had to go and attack me.”
“You should’ve said my name or something.” She shoves to her feet, raising her voice. “You can’t just touch someone and not expect some sort of reaction.”
“I didn’t want to wake Thias.”

Someone is approaching, dressed all in black, and a warning bell sounds in my head. My fangs push downward, my gaze locked on the figure.
They haven’t seen me; they’re on a mission. The figure draws a gun, and I move with vampire speed. The gun goes off just as I reach the stranger; it’s an automatic weapon. My claws dig into the man’s arm, but not before bullets spray the bar, shattering glass with a waterfall of liquor. At least one round punches through the bartender’s shoulder; he lets out a wounded grunt as he falls. The stranger draws a second gun and keeps shooting, riddling my chest with bullets. My fangs tear into the man’s neck, and he drops, clutching his bleeding throat. Guns sound off elsewhere in the club. People scream.
“Everyone on the ground!”
The pain in my chest is searing. I can barely remain upright, so I sink to the floor. People drop to their knees, hands overhead as they cry and whimper with fear. I am quiet. I am angry.

“You'd best be getting back” said Gary. “Not that I'm trying to … it's late. I don't want you falling asleep at the …”
Gary and Scott were standing on the beach watching the pewter coloured sea and feeling the cold gusts filled with tiny droplets of rain.
“Come back with me,” said Scott.
Gary shook hid head. “I was a highly paid professional once. My mind was filled with useless knowledge that was obsolete as soon as I mastered it. How to code terminate and stay resident routines in MS-DOS, how to swap out a failed disk in a RAID 5 unit, how to zero out the root password on a SPARC server by changing the jump switches.”
“Gobbledegook to me,” said Scott.
“Those things are ancient history. There have been thousands of useless facts since. They're all…”
“Lost like tear drops in the rain?” suggested Scott, grinning.
Gary chuckled. “Always something new to learn, courses, certifications then it's obsolete when the next version comes out and you have to start again. The point is, people think it's funny - the old guy who keeps the campsite immaculate for a pittance. But, up here, I've been happier than I've ever been. That court win means I can spend the rest of my life here.”

White text on an ombre blue background, with a blue pencil to the right. The pencil is pointed down, as if to write.

The text reads:

"The picture next to the grave was of Void Knight in his prime. A chevron-shaped mask cut across his face, shrouding his eyes, down to the bridge of his nose. His broad shoulders were thrown back, showing off the Void Knight insignia on his chest: the silver shield on black, with the jacked representation of a black-hole in an oil-slick patina.

There was a proud tilt to his chin, a firm smile on his thin lips. This was an icon of justice. This was a man who would stand between the harrows of the universe and civilization, who would protect those who could not protect themselves.

It made Marissa’s stomach churn to see it."

“All of us in the mountains, we don’t have a priest or priestess, so it’s such a blessing for you to visit us!” The man was grinning widely.
“I’m honored?” Loke watched the bird flying around over the governor’s head.
“Yes! Be honored! Let us honor you! You were looking for the platform, right? I can show that to you. We keep a good guard on it. Those missionaries from the villages like to come and raid and destroy artifacts, so we like to nip it in the bud. Those Tumben people are nothing but trouble.”
“I’m sure not all of…” Loke was cut off by the governor but in a non-jovial, booming voice.
“ALL OF THEM.”

The dryness in his mouth was passing, the knot in his stomach easing. Arthur stared straight into Lancelot’s eyes. ‘I’m fine with it. It would be OK by me.’
Lancelot hunted in his gaze for the truth. Then he laid on his back, his movements considered. With his hands on his stomach he stared up at the ceiling. ‘How did you know?’ he finally asked. ‘That I like her?’
Arthur blew out a puff of air. ‘It’s kind of obvious? I just—I didn’t want to see it, before. But now I do.’
Lancelot rubbed his face vigorously. ‘Sorry, Art—’ He dropped his hands with a sigh. ‘—I tried.’
Arthur turned over on the small camp bed, which squeaked and complained as he tried to get comfortable. He closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep. ‘It’s good, Lance. It’s all good.’
He awoke before sunrise, when Lancelot’s room was pale and grey, felt surprisingly comfortable cocooned in the sleeping bag and duvet—cosy, warm. He thought about last night. Gwenhwyfar and Lancelot. It made sense.
He sat up and pulled on his Young Moral uniform—undershirt, shirt and jumper, then untangled his legs from the sleeping bag to don his trousers and socks. He checked his phone for the time, listened for movement in the rest of the house. But everything was still, and Lancelot was fast asleep.
He lay on his stomach, his arms thrown above his head. Twilight diffused into the room through the gap in the curtains. Dressed, and with nothing to do, Arthur raided his bookshelves. He’d forgotten Lancelot mostly read non-fiction, mostly stuff about space; tugged the first novel he found from the shelves. He went to sit at the end of his camp bed with his back pressed against the bedside table, where the light was best, and read.
‘Is it morning?’ Eyes closed, Lancelot turned his face towards Arthur. ‘I literally just fell asleep.’
Arthur lowered the paperback novel, his arm propped over his knee. ‘Couldn’t sleep?’ Lancelot grunted. ‘Hard luck, volunteering’s soon.’

The lounge was quiet and empty, and someone had apparently tidied it after the party, which made her feel a touch guilty. Her stomach growled. She wondered what time it was, but had left her phone in her room, so couldn’t check. Helena considered what to do next. Was she supposed to walk home by herself? Running a hand through her hair to chase away the bed-head as best she could, she yawned, stretched, and scrubbed her face with her hands. She briefly pondered a raid of the snack pile and a can of warm soda, before giving that up as not hers to steal from.
“Come up here,” said a voice, softly, from above. She saw one long leg dangling over the edge of the wall. An iridescent, turquoise, serpentine tail swayed idly back and forth around it. Kia sat on the ledge in a tank top, her other knee hugged loosely to her chest, gazing serenely towards the west. Helena's breath caught a little, watching how the light fell over Kia’s bare arms and wondering what her muscular tails might have felt like to touch, if they hadn’t been made of pure light.

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“I told you my name is Callix,” the Seeker said. “And you never told me yours.”

“Because I don't think that's relevant information to you.” Rowan paused, watching the man's body language. He was not coiled and on edge as Rowan was, assessing every little thing in the forest. He was calm, collected, almost appearing bored with the interaction. “Are we done now? Or would you like to continue your meaningless interrogation? I have nothing of substance to offer you.”

The Seeker – Callix, if that's what he demanded to be called – cracked his neck and leaned against the tree, crossing his arms over his chest. Too at ease. He wasn't worried for his safety at all. “Your Order has been rather quiet lately,” he said. “Most Rekshimyr Orders have been, actually. No raids or riots, no destruction of S'kekshayran temples. I haven't even seen any of you in the city recently.”

Rowan raised an eyebrow. “Okay. So what's the question?”

Callix shrugged. “Not really a question. More of a comment. The queen grows concerned when she hasn't heard from certain citizens of Vayashtos in a while, and with the child missing…well, you can imagine. She's been very on edge.”