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Grilled Cheese is a product of Village Compute

Version devBuilt at: 2026-10-17 18:04:42 EDT

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“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.”

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“Mira! There's a…” Bert trailed off as he saw an unknown man sitting at the large table, drinking slowly from a cup of water.
“Sit, Bert,” Mira said quietly. “You were saying?” she said the man.
“Yes,” he took a drink of water again. “Fastriver was attacked by a large group of men on horseback. Thousands. We had been warned about half a day early, but we weren't aware of the numbers—they managed to conceal most of their forces in the woods south of the town. We had set up defenses expecting maybe a tenth of the numbers that arrived. Even Bee’Fa’Ga could only fight for so long. She took one of those oversized arrows to her tail.” He caught Mira’s reaction.
“Relax! I rested her on an empty hill as we flew here and treated it as best I could. The healer, Nock, is looking at her now and says she will be fine.”
“Bertram, this is Spine, a wyrmrider from Fastriver,” Mira said quickly, clearly wanting to get back to the issue at hand.
“Well met, brother,” Spine said and reached his hand across the table. “Word of your deeds has reached us all.”
Bert happily clasped the man’s hand, but wanted to hear more. “How are the people of your town?”
“We sent our young, old and infirm into the woods in advance of the attack. We lost many dozen fighters, but took hundreds of theirs.” He gave a grunt and rough smile. Clearly, he was proud of how they fought, but knew their losses were great. “They didn’t kill us all. We learned later that it was a distraction. Our Earth Mother was not harmed, but she said a lean man with Fox insignia raided her home.”
Mira slammed her fist on the table. “That’s where he was!”

The sight of him floating made Tink’s eyes widened, and shock vanished, only to be replaced with fury. Her body lit up with a shining aura.”Y-You did that as a joke?! You scared me to death for fun! Peter, you stupid ass!” She charged at him and landed her tiny fist on his nose. Despite being ten-inches tall, her punch was hard. She dived forward and punched him in his stomach now.
Peter felt the air being knocked out of him. He yelped as she was on his shoulder pulling on his ear, and hair. He caught Tink and shook her up and down. His thumb and index finger rubbed against her hair, ruining her ponytail and dazing her. When it came to size, he had the advantage.
This didn’t stop her, as Tink lifted his thumb and bit down. “Ouch! Tink, what’s the deal?” He cried out, releasing her.

“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.”

“All other characteristics aside, they look like toads.” Without thinking, she touched one wart-like nodule on the head of the nearest creature. Instantly, it and all of its companions leapt backward on their short, muscular legs. The group around Owen retreated likewise. The sudden jolt of movement all over their moonlit campsite spooked Pest, making the pony trumpet and kick. The night dissolved into a mad flurry as every one of the small creatures scrambled and bounced off one another before vanishing down well-hidden tunnels between rocks or leaping gracelessly into the pond. Within seconds, only one remained, careening around their campsite, bouncing off trees and boulders, blinded by the knapsack it had been raiding, now stuck on its head.

“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.