Ryan ducked behind a fountain of liquid methane in the Needle Point Outlets, heart hammering against his security badge. The Spire-Stone Sector was usually quiet after three moons-rise, but tonight, something was breathing heavily through the vents of Abercrombie and Droid.
“I told you the clearance sale on Cloaking Capes was a security liability,” Dover groaned, his metal steps clanking as he compressed into a heap behind Ryan. “We are going to be shredded, and my warranty does not cover inter-dimensional predator attacks.”
A trash can near El Pluto Loco levitated and hurled itself across the concourse. Ryan pulled out his standard flashlight, clicking it on. The beam cut through the fluorescent haze, revealing nothing but flickering neon and Nebula Norris crouched on a roof, eating Glow-Fries.
“He is behind the pretzel stand, Ryan!” Nebula shouted, her third arm pointing frantically. “And he looks really hangry!”
Ryan lunged forward, not with a weapon, but with a stack of official incident reports. He tripped over a floor tile, sliding face-first into the Pod Locker. A shimmering ripple in the air lunged for him, letting out a blood-curdling screech that sounded suspiciously like middle-management.
The cloaking field flickered out, revealing Mr. Meankinders angry head. The other two heads were fast asleep, wearing matching silk nightcaps. Mr. Mean was tangled in a prototype invisibility scarf, his face purple with rage.
“Random!” Mr. Mean hissed. “I am not stalking you! I am testing the anti-theft tech! Also, why are these floors not waxed?”
Dover unfolded himself with a weary sigh. “Actually, sir, that is the Sentient Slime floor wax. It ate the maintenance crew an hour ago.”
Ryan looked down as the floor began to purr and wrap around his ankles.
(This story generated by a California earthquake on Aug. 6, 2026. Magnitude of: 3.26. 5 km NW of Pinnacles, CA. URL: https://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/eventpage/nc75413432)
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