JOHNDEREVLANY

10
Jul
2026

The Stall of No Return

Ryan, Dover, and Nebula hide from Mr. Meankinder.

Ryan scrambled into a dressing room stall at the Obsidian Spire 16 retail colony, dragging Nebula and a collapsed Dover behind him.

“If Mr. Meankinder finds me, I am getting sent to the spice mines of the food court,” Ryan whispered, bracing his feet against the vibrating door. He had lied about completing the five-thousand-page safety audit, and the manager’s Mean head was currently screaming for blood in the apparel aisle.

“I am literally a three-story escalator,” Dover groaned, his metal railings folded into a painful, accordion-style square. “I am not built for stealth. I am built for moving people upward at a glacial pace. This is my lowest point, physically and emotionally.”

“Shh!” Nebula’s third arm lunged from her shoulder, slapping Dover’s emergency stop button. He is right outside. If he hears a single clink, we are all getting recycled into fountain pennies.

Mr. Meankinder’s angry head slammed against the stall door. “Random! I know you’re in there! The motion sensors detected a massive influx of human laziness and metal fatigue!”

“I am not Ryan!” Ryan shouted, panic overriding his common sense. “I am a mannequin! A very vocal, high-end security mannequin! Leave a message at the beep!”

He then made a high-pitched meep sound.

“Oh,” the manager’s Kind head chirped. “A talking mannequin? How festive! I shall take it to the incinerator for a celebratory melting!”

As the manager hooked a heavy-duty crane to the top of the stall, Nebula accidentally leaned on the Express Checkout button. A localized wormhole opened beneath their feet.

“Going down,” Dover sighed as the floor vanished and the trio plunged into the dark. Way, way down.

(This story was created by an earthquake on July 9, 2026, Magnitude of: 3.48. 16 km NW of Pinnacles, CA. URL: https://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/eventpage/nc75392631)

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07
Jul
2026

The Big Pine Gravity Gaffe

The Big Pine Retail Colony, perched nine kilometers above the Big Pine Nebula, was currently upside down.

A screwball gravity glitch had flipped the floor with the ceiling, leaving Ryan Random dangling precariously from the fronds of a decorative plastic palm tree.

“I feel a downward spiral coming on,” Dover moaned from above, his escalator treads flapping uselessly against the sky-mural. “And for once, it is literal.”

Ryan adjusted his baggy security cap, trying not to look at the three-hundred-foot drop into the skylight. “It is just a perspective shift, Dover! Think of it as a promotion to the penthouse!”

Mr. Meankinder drifted past, his three heads spinning like a top. “Fix the gravity, Random!” Mr. Mean bellowed. “Or I will deduct oxygen from your paycheck!”

Mr. Kind blew a kiss, while Mr. Er tried to eat a floating stapler.

Nebula Norris backflipped through the zero-G food court, her third arm juggling slushies from McDopplers. “Hey Ryan, want a brain freeze to go with that vertigo?”

Ryan grabbed a passing Wormhole-Mart shopping cart, using it as a rudder. He slammed the emergency reset button with his flashlight. Gravity returned instantly, dropping five thousand alien shoppers—and Ryan—directly into a giant vat of Discount Dimension Dipping Sauce.

“At least we are well-seasoned,” Ryan joked, treading honey mustard.

(This story was created by an earthquake on July 7, 2026. Magnitude of: 2.48. 9 km NE of Big Pine, CA. URL: https://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/eventpage/nc75391211)

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06
Jul
2026

The Customer is Always Moist

Ryan stood at a kiosk exactly thirteen kilometers north-northeast of the Siren Sector’s atmospheric dome. Mr. Meankinder’s Mean Head was currently vibrating with such fury that his Kind Head was forced to wear earplugs.

“There is a leak in the fabric of reality, Random!” Mean Head bellowed. “And it is getting the merchandise soggy!”

Ryan looked at the floor. A puddle of sentient neon-purple slime was slowly consuming a display of interdimensional flip-flops at Pod Locker. “It is just a Liquid-Organic from the Aquatica Moons, sir. It probably just wants a refund.”

“I hate the damp,” Dover groaned, his escalator treads clanking as he compressed himself into a hunched, metallic heap. “Moisture leads to rust, and rust is the slow death of the spirit. We are all just one spill away from the scrap heap, Ryan.”

Nebula Norris leaned against a nearby kelp-pillar, tossing deep-fried nebula-rings from El Pluto Loco into the puddle. “Don’t bother, Ry. I tried to kick it out, but it claimed it had Sovereign Fluid Rights.”

The puddle suddenly surged upward, forming a translucent, three-story-tall Karen with tentacles for hair. “I wish to speak to the architect of this dimension!” she shrieked, splashing Ryan’s security uniform. “These shoes do not fit my lower-left pseudopod!”

Ryan pulled a tattered paper map from his pocket and flipped to the fine print. “Actually, ma’am, according to Mall Statute 402-B, all liquid entities must provide their own spill-proof containment vessel before initiating a return.”

The creature froze, its tentacles drooping. “I left my jar in the nebula.”

“Then you are loitering,” Ryan said, clicking his flashlight on. “And I have a very large mop.”

The entity shrieked, collapsed into a splash, and slid down the drainage grate.

“Genius!” Mr. Kind Head cheered.

“You are fired!” Mean Head screamed.

“I think I am a fish,” Mr. Er Head whispered.

(This story was created by an earthquake on July 6, 2026. Magnitude of: 3.22. 13 km NNE of Avalon, CA. URL: https://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/eventpage/ci41287863)

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06
Jul
2026

The Case of the Zero-G Churros

Ryan sat on a hovering bench at the Graniterock Grotto, a retail platform located two clicks southeast of the Aromas Asteroid’s primary mining core. The air smelled of lavender and wet stone, a specialty of the sector’s atmospheric recyclers. He was three bites into a tuna melt when a gelatinous shopper began vibrating violently at him.

“I am on my lunch break,” Ryan said, pointing to his name tag. “Check the manual, Section 4, Paragraph B. Security is not required to engage with sentient fluids during designated digestion periods.”

Dover, the sentient escalator, groaned as he compressed his steps next to the bench. “I wish I had a digestion period. Instead, I just have gum in my gears and a soul-crushing sense of verticality. Why go up when you are destined to come down?”

“Because the churro stand is on the second level,” Nebula said, sliding next to Ryan. Her green skin shimmered under the flickering fluorescent lights as a third arm emerged from her shoulder to steal a piece of his sandwich. “Anyway, Mr. Meankinder is having a meltdown. All three of him are arguing about whether to fire the janitor or give him a Nobel Prize for cleaning up a black hole spill at the outlet mall.”

The mall intercom crackled with three distinct voices shouting over each other. “Attention!” Mr. Mean shrieked. “Ryan Random! The gravity in the food court is being discounted by eighty percent for a flash sale! Stop the customers before they float away without paying their convenience fees!”

Ryan watched his sandwich drift toward the vaulted ceiling. He sighed and grabbed a nearby mop to use as a tether.

“I am not being paid enough for physics,” Ryan muttered, watching a family of four-armed tourists drift toward the intake fans.

(This story was created by an earthquake on July 5, 2026. Magnitude of: 3.18. 2 km SE of Aromas, CA. URL: https://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/eventpage/nc75390041)

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04
Jul
2026

High Pressure, Low Standards

Ryan Random goes on a date with Nebula at Lava-Flow Lattes

Ryan was officially on the best date of his life until the gravity decided to resign.

They were perched on the VIP balcony of Lava-Flow Lattes within the Steam-Vent Retail Colony. Nebula Norris seemed genuinely impressed; her floating third arm was gracefully juggling three orders of deep-fried stardust while her other two held her drink.

“Best date ever,” Nebula smirked, her green skin glowing under the neon. “Usually, guys just take me to the black hole petting zoo. This is actually classy.”

Ryan leaned in, sensing a rare moment of connection. “I wanted to show you I am more than just a guy who patrols the restrooms.”

Suddenly, a corporate siren cut through the music. The mall’s atmospheric stabilizer failed, instantly flipping the gravity. Ryan and Nebula slammed into the ceiling as their lattes surged upward into the ventilation system.

“Do not panic!” Ryan shouted, dangling from a pipe. “Technically, the Extreme Gravity Experience costs fifty credits. We are getting it for free!”

Nebula wiped foam from her eyes, her third arm already picking Ryan’s pocket for his master security key. “Random, you really know how to sweep a girl off her feet. Literally.”

(This story was created by an earthquake on July 4, 2026. Magnitude of: 2.52. 3 km SW of Anderson Springs, CA. URL: https://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/eventpage/nc75389021)

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02
Jul
2026

When Shopping Carts Attack

Ryan Random and Dover are attacked by shopping carts on the sand dunes.

Ryan wiped scorching grit from his goggles as he stared across the OCO-12 Sector, a desolate stretch of the Sand-Dune Moon located exactly twelve clicks north of the main mall hub. His electric security scooter had finally died, leaving him and Dover stranded in the Permanent Clearance overflow lot—a graveyard of rusted kiosks and unsold holiday décor.

“I am overheating,” Dover groaned, his metal steps clicking rhythmically like a dying clock. “My lubricant is boiling. Leave me here to become a very shiny, very depressed piece of scrap metal.”

“We aren’t dying over a broken battery,” Ryan said, checking his tattered paper map. “There is a survival cache hidden behind the Abandoned Abercrombie and Droid monolith. If we make it, we can call a Teleports Authority shuttle.”

The ground shuddered. A swarm of feral, As-Is shopping carts crested the nearest dune. These weren’t standard carts; they had evolved jagged, wire-mesh teeth and a thirst for protein. They squeaked a high-pitched hunting chitter that echoed off the scorched dunes.

“Run!” Ryan yelled, dragging Dover toward the monolith. They slid down a sun-bleached billboard for Donna Karan Milky Way, narrowly avoiding a lead cart that snapped at Ryan’s heels.

They reached the monolith’s shadow just as Nebula dropped from a vent above, her green skin dusty and her third arm holding a glowing canister of liquid nitrogen.

“Took you long enough,” she smirked. “Mr. Meankinder’s middle head says if we use the emergency coolant, it is coming out of our checks.”

Ryan looked at the charging swarm. “Survival or a paycheck?” Hardest decision of my life.

“Ryan!” Dover screamed as a cart bit his bumper.

“Fine! Survival!” Ryan popped the seal, freezing the entire dune—and accidentally Dover’s left railing—solid.

“Great,” Dover sighed. “Now I am a depressed popsicle.”

(This story was created by an earthquake on July 2, 2026. Magnitude of: 3.39. 12 km N of Ocotillo Wells, CA. URL: https://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/eventpage/ci41285223)

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01
Jul
2026

The Mote in God’s Eye (and also the Food Court)

The Silver Sands Retail Colony was currently being swallowed by a Class-5 ion storm, but Mr. Meankinder didn’t care. The three-headed manager was crouched in the main concourse with microscopic laser-tweezers, ignoring the screaming customers fleeing a pack of escaped hyper-crabs.

“Look at it, Ryan!” Mr. Mean shrieked. “The edges! They’re perfectly equilateral! This dust mote is the peak of cosmic geometry!”

“Sir, the food court is literally folding into the fourth dimension,” Ryan said, dodging a flying burrito from El Pluto Loco.

“It’s beautiful,” Mr. Kind whispered, weeping from his left eye. “The symmetry is divine. I must name it Percival.”

Dover groaned as a panicked crowd trampled his metal treads. “I’m just a stairway to nowhere. Let the crabs eat me. It’s a step up from this.”

Nebula Norris swung her third arm to catch a falling tray of Nacho-Noids. “Ryan, your boss is trying to marry lint while the mall structural integrity is at four percent.”

Ryan grabbed a janitorial vacuum. “Sorry, Percival.”

He sucked up the mote. Mr. Mean’s middle head collapsed in grief, while the other two heads simultaneously offered Ryan a raise and a lifetime ban.

(This story was created by an earthquake on July 1, 2026, Magnitude of: 2.27. 19 km ESE of Silver Springs, Nevada. URL:https://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/eventpage/nn00920998)

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30
Jun
2026

The Great Janitor of Groom Lake

Ryan Random defeats the Krag-Beasts with a Customer Satisfaction Survey.

The Groom Lake Singularity Sector was swarming with Krag-Beasts, four-armed conquerors who had just mistaken Ryan for the Great Galactic Purifier because he was carrying a chrome mop handle.

“The prophecy!” the Alpha Krag roared, bowing his four knees. “The hairless one arrives with the Staff of Oblivion to cleanse the retail floor!”

Ryan looked at the mop, then at the mob of three thousand bloodthirsty aliens.

Dover, currently a set of stationary stairs due to a panic attack, groaned. “Just play along. If they find out you are just the guy who mops up spilled Grav-Soda, they will turn us into mulch.”

“Citizens!” Ryan shouted, holding the mop high. “To achieve total purification, you must first fill out these ten-page customer feedback surveys!”

The Krag-Beasts froze. Surveys were the only thing in the multiverse they feared more than death. As the crowd stampeded toward the exits, Mr. Meankinder’s Kind-head floated over.

“Magnificent work, Purifier!” the head chirped. “Since you have cleared the floor, I have promoted you to Lead Janitor of the Black Hole Latrines. Your shift started five minutes ago.”

Ryan dropped the mop. “Does this come with hazard pay?”

“Only for the mop,” Meankinder’s Mean-head snarled.

(This story was created by an earthquake on June 30, 2026. Magnitude of: 2.41. 29 km SSW of Alamo, Nevada. URL: https://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/eventpage/nn00920879)

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30
Jun
2026

The Great Stillness

An earthquake hits the mall and turns Pod Locker into a purple mist.

The Richter Rift Shopping Colony was vibrating at a magnitude that turned Ryan’s soda into a pressurized geyser. Every three seconds, the entire tectonic asteroid convulsed, sending shoppers tumbling toward the food court.

“I must see them, Ryan,” Dover moaned, his metal steps rattling like loose teeth. “The Limited-Edition Grav-Grips at Pod Locker. If I can just achieve total stillness for one millisecond, I can scan their laces into my memory bank.”

“Dover, the floor is literally splitting,” Ryan shouted, grabbing a handrail. “We need to evacuate before the mall folds into a tectonic sandwich!”

Ignoring the structural collapse, Dover deployed his emergency hydraulic stabilizers, rooting himself into the bedrock with obsessive intensity. He was becoming a localized point of absolute zero-vibration in a chaotic universe.

Mr. Mean’s head screamed for Ryan to fix the seismic dampeners while Mr. Kind offered him a pension.

Ryan frantically slapped Anti-Gravity Tape onto Dover’s railings. Suddenly, the shaking stopped. Everything went silent.

“I did it,” Dover whispered. “The laces are beautiful.”

Then, the built-up kinetic energy of the entire asteroid rebounded. Dover didn’t just vibrate; he vibrated at a frequency that turned the Pod Locker into a fine purple mist.

(This story was created by an earthquake on June 29, 2026. Magnitude of: 2.31. 4 km NW of Parkfield, CA. URL:https://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/eventpage/nc75386396)

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30
Jun
2026

The Inquisitor’s New Threads

Ryan gives fashion advice to aliens... and they actually believe him!

Ryan found a shimmering, lead-lined trench coat in the Sector 51 Restricted Clearance Rack.

When he put it on to block the Nevad-9 moon’s triple-sun glare, a legion of six-eyed Glattonians immediately knelt, chanting in rhythmic clicks. They mistook Ryan for the Grand Arbiter of Style, the only being authorized to approve the mall’s new Universal Uniform before the scheduled planetary purge.

“The fabric must breathe, or the galaxy will suffocate!” screamed Mr. Mean, appearing on a hover-pod. “Ryan, if you don’t sign the decree, they’ll vaporize the food court!”

Dover, currently serving as a temporary luggage rack nearby, groaned. “I’d help, but I’ve got a loose step and zero hope. You’re about to be unraveled, kid.”

A Glattonian general handed Ryan a Golden Stylus. “Judge us, oh Padded One, or face the disintegration beam.”

Ryan looked at the terrifyingly tight, neon-spandex uniforms. Using his best retail-manager voice, he declared, “It lacks pockets. A warrior without pockets is just a target with nowhere to put his keys.”

The crowd gasped at his wisdom. Just as the general prepared to crown him, the actual Grand Arbiter—a sentient cloud of silk—drifted in. Ryan threw the coat onto Dover and bolted. “I’m on break!” he yelled, leaving Dover to explain why an escalator was wearing the garments of a god.

(This story was created by an earthquake on on June 28, 2026. Magnitude of: 2.41. 29 km SSW of Alamo, Nevada. URL:https://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/eventpage/nn00920879)

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