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)

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)

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)