New Hosted Game! Nuclear Powered Toaster by Matt Simpson

Believe it or not, I wasn’t always the legendary tycoon I am today. :face_with_monocle:

My first three games have ratings of 3.9, 3.6, and 3.5 on Google. Yikes. :grimacing: So a 4.0 is pretty good, all things considered.

It took me 4 titles and 6 years of writing to finally release a fairly successful title, The Magician’s Burden. So don’t be disheartened, even though I know that’s a difficult thing to do. Trust me, I know.

I literally thought about quiting after Trial of the Demon Hunter…and then Captive of Fortune…and then Foundation of Nightmares…and then The Magician’s Burden…and then Mass Mother Murderer. :dizzy_face:

And yet I’m still here. I guess all my rambling is to say that writing is largely about getting more and more experience over the years. It’s a long game (and by that I mean years or even decades) but the improvements that a dedicated and passionate writer can eventually start to see are pretty amazing.

I’m not done tooting my own horn or buttering my own biscuit yet, either. I used to be one of those annoying teens who wrote shitty stories and whined publicly about bad reviews. Now I’m just an annoying 20-something who writes pretty good games and causes trouble. :grin:

So keep chugging along. I found Toaster to be funny, and The Parenting Simulator is a one of a kind game.

3 Likes

You need to cut yourself some slack :). Anything from 4 and above is doing very well on the app stores (especially given the hit it got early on from people complaining about set protagonists.) It’s just comedy, spaceship and set protagonists stories seem to be freqiently tricky ones to get a large following for. You had the trifecta. But if you are getting an average review of 4+ it means most people who do read it, like it.

Haha Amazon… Yeah. I’m actually surprised gamebooks often do so badly there, but then again, they’re in the app section, not the book one and Amazon probably isn’t the first company that comes to mind if you wanted to buy an app based game. So yes, quite normal for Amazon to sell the least out of the stores. (I didn’t sell a single game on Amazon last month, just saying. I sold more on the chrome store and that’s a discontinued platform.)

2 Likes

Actually, the HG app works a lot differently review-wise than anywhere else. Because you can only review after a game is completed, you tend to get higher scores (it is a great system too, the scores have more meaning because you know the rarer actually experienced the whole thing). Sort it by highest rated and you will see NPT just on the sad side of average, albeit in good company (right now it is in between The Magician’s Burden and So You’re Possessed; all three are at 4.4). So yeah, if it was a 4.4 on actual iOS I would be thrilled. But the omnibus sets a high bar.

I also got shut out on Amazon this month, and don’t expect a change there anytime soon. I never link to it, figure the 56 reviews on Google make it seem more legit than zero on Amazon.

@Samuel_H_Young Yeah, I have been encouraged seeing your sales comparisons between where you began and TMB. And I suspect your next one will outstrip TMB too. I’m honestly not that discouraged; I will keep writing until I run out of ideas, and right now I have the opposite issue, more story ideas than time to make them.

2 Likes

Oh, shiny! I didn’t know that, and thought it worked the same as the normal stores. (I don’t have any apple computers or phones so have no idea what goes on there.) I’m actually starting to like the idea of that app more and more. Google was way outselling IOS since the beginning… Up until the omnibus came along combined with Google making it really hard to find games by company searches by leaving half of them off the list. Having to complete a game and give it a fair review is even better.

1 Like

Hey, if you or anyone else that doesn’t have an iPhone ever wants to know about where their stuff stands on the app, just let me know. I’m an obsessive refresher type, which means I load it up at least once a week to see where NPT is in that week’s bestselling rank (and that I refresh the Steam achievement data and Google app page at least once or twice a day to see about new sales or reviews). I would be glad to post, PM or email any info you want.

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Thanks @hustlertwo! I actually found the IOS reviewers were by far the harshest and non-constructive for my game though. I think in this one case ignorance is probably bliss :grin:

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NPT is part of a sale on Steam, so if you want it and don’t have it, it’s 34% off until July 9th, which makes it a paltry $1.97 for all my fellow Americans and presumably something roughly equivalent for everyone else (except the EU folks, gotta love that VAT).

4 Likes

So, obviously this is random, but I was in the jumbled mess that is my Google Drive looking for an article I wrote for our local paper (which I finally found in another Drive entirely; I was logged in on the account my wife used for a preschooler’s music class she ran until recently), and I came upon the original document where I was writing NPT as a novel years ago. I’m far enough removed from it all now that I figure I can share it to the general public in case anyone is interested in seeing where some of the story came from (although not the true origin, since it was a webcomic when it started). Without further ado, behold: the mediocrity!

Nuclear Powered Toaster

“Seen it. Seen it. Didn’t see it, and for good reason.” The thin man’s hand waved over the control sensor, skimming through the holosphere’s channels at an eye-blistering pace. “Neb, let’s pare down the selection a bit. Throw out the 100 vids most often tagged as funny. Nothing gets that popular without being a generic slagheap.” The computer’s response echoed through the corridors an instant later. “Completed, Alexi. In fact, I went ahead and threw in some of the lowest-rated vids currently in my database. Since you’re such a rebel and all.” “Helpful as always, Neb. At least I know that if I’m being forced to watch it, essentially you are too.” Finally Alexi’s restless fingers halted on an image of a priest dressed all in black, shouting a spit-flecked diatribe toward an assembled group of followers. “And GAWD set these interlopers against us, to be the instrument of His wrath for how quickly we forget the sins of the past! The rise of the great golden idol of technology once more! The willful debasement of the flesh by our youth! And worst of all, horrific GEE-netic mutations suffered to live among us!” “Bishop Neod!” exclaimed Alexi. “I love this guy. So spaced even the other crazies distance themselves from him.” Alexi reclined back in his seat as he watched the vitriol, and was dozing when a siren blazed to life all around him. Unperturbed, he rolled over onto his side and tried to shoo the disturbance away. “Neb, stop overreacting and shut the warners off.” The metallic voice that answered him was tinged with a hint of urgency. “Alexi, my sensors indicate an unknown projectile travelling towards us at a high velocity. Approximate distance, 15 miles. It will intercept in 3 minutes.” Alexi managed to get a quick gloat in even as he sprang to life and wrenched the control stick to begin a sharp bank to the left. “And you said those thirdhand rangefinders weren’t worth the pittance I paid, Neb. Scoffaw!” Alexi’s grin of vindication did not even have time to fade before the missile impacted four seconds later, sending his world spiraling into a fiery darkness.

-chapter break

No brave new world here, just more of the same. Humanity nearly destroyed itself in nuclear hellfire, then recovered. The survivors agreed that such a tragedy should never again come to pass, and apparently each remaining nation decided the best way to prevent it was to go ahead and appropriate as many of the remaining nukes as possible to keep them from falling into dangerous hands. Naturally, this keen strategy led to a second near-apocalypse, the only benefit being that everyone was a bit more prepared for it this time. Fortunately, that appears to have been the end of the man-made Armageddons; not due to the inherent need for conflict in humans being eradicated, but instead because increases in technology gave them ways to slaughter each other en masse that were less indiscriminate and messy. So now instead of whole continents set aflame, there was just the occasional problematic town or province that got wiped out. Things were looking up for the race as a whole: limited control over the weather allowed for the restoration of many irradiated wastelands and ultimately lessened drought and famine, countries were tending to have governments that were less oppressive (at least, to their own people) than those of their ancestors, and science was actually taking some steps forward in areas other than military applications, entertainment, and hair loss. This meant it was time for something terrible to happen again, but for once it was not due to some halfwit with his finger on The Button. Humanity had been stretching slowly outward in space for quite a long time by this point, without any resistance save for those Earthside who still thought such ventures were a waste of time (though as mining colonies became more and more responsible for providing Earth with the necessary resources, these naysayers diminished both in number and volume). But eventually the fingers we had spread across the stars were smacked with a cosmic ruler in the form of the Salia, or “Sallies”, as it is expressed in the local patois. Of course, we don’t know what they are actually called, but it’s the name that stuck, thanks to a sound-snip heard in their first transmission, right before we lost contact with the Io facility. Not a big fan of the moniker myself, seems a bit too poetic and flowery for such a brutal people, but what can you do? In any case, they soon found out Earth was humanity’s true home (and it’s better not to ponder how they came by that info, brings up mental images of miners strapped to some unimaginable mind-rending device), and they came ready to game.

However, we had not spent countless millennia rising to the top of the food chain to be knocked off by the first usurpers who happened upon us. The war was vicious, hard-fought, and lasted all of five hours. The grand unknown forces of the aliens finally met Earth’s own combined aerospacial might in open space near the far side of the Moon; Earth’s ships had chosen to assemble here in the hopes that any battered ships from both sides would not rain wreckage down upon the home planet. The Salia technological advantage was not gigantic by any means, but their entire fleet acted as a single cohesive unit, the kind of crack fighting one only sees in units that spend a lifetime together drilling and redrilling together until they can perform the most complex maneuvers in their sleep. They even seemed to think as one. By contrast, the forces of Earth, cobbled together from various national armadas and whatever civilian pilots were able to be cajoled into becoming blaster fodder, was divided, largely untrained in the realities of space combat, and were as much an obstacle to themselves as they were to the enemy. And thus, the Earth ships were battered over and over until most of the surviving civilian pilots (and more than a few of the less loyal or more underpaid military ones) decided to finally do one thing together: bug out and burn ions back to the surface. Only the truly heroic and amazingly foolish stayed, and as so often happens with both types, they were able to do great damage but ultimately could not maintain against the superior forces of the enemy. But there wasn’t exactly time to mourn the fallen; beaten in the skies, humanity had to wonder what awaited them now. It could be a land war, the creatures conquering the planet bit by bit, either exterminating or enslaving the populace, but what seemed more likely was that they’d turn their weapons upon the planet itself and commence an orbital assault. Instead, what we got…was nothing. For a month, they simply floated above us, and let everyone stew. Radio transmissions didn’t get through; the few nations who sent diplomatic envoys saw them reduced to atoms as soon as they got within hailing distance of the nearest Salian cruiser (their only offensive action during this initial phase). Then, without warning, they simultaneously destroyed every single installation on the planet capable of monitoring objects past Earth’s atmosphere. Radar, electromagnetic detectors, gravity fluctuation scanners, even high-powered telescopes, anything that would allow us Terran folk to monitor their armada was annihilated, along with anyone unfortunate enough to be in these facilities when the hammer came down. Simply put, we were blind, deaf, and dumb, since transmissions were still failing to get past their fleet. Completely isolated from the rest of the galaxy. And that’s how we’ve been ever since. Every person or group who attempts to reconstruct one of the monitoring sites meets the same fate as those in the original ones during that fateful day, and there has not been a single successful transmission to or from a colony or interstellar craft.

The Great Blackout brought with it a period of chaos and disorder that had become all too common in society over the last few centuries. But it was relatively brief and bloodless, and when it was over the tentative peace between the Euro-Canadian Union and the Eternal Japanese Empire had strengthened considerably in light of this new threat. Everyone knew it was us against them. The only problems were that we had no idea who ‘they’ were, how many of them remained (though reports from the few deserters who returned to their respective military groups suggested that as much as half of the enemy’s forces had survived the battle unscathed, estimated to be over fifty large-scale warcraft and perhaps five times that in zipfighters and support ships), or how we would be able to stop them with our electronic eyes poked out. And after twenty-five years, billions of work-hours, and a total global expenditure of more than two quadrillion universal monetary units, there is still no definite answer to any of these questions.

THE END

The burly man pressed a button on his chair, raising him from his reclined position. He scowled at the young woman across from him for a full minute without saying a word. Finally, he pulled out two sheets of paper from a desk drawer and cleared his throat.

“Well, you can probably guess what this is,” he said. “Now, tell me why you think I’ve called you here.”

A wry smile on her lips, she responded, “Well, this school seems to give out so many awards and medals that I can only guess which honor I’ve earned. Is it the Star of Valor, the Medallion of Integrity, or the Certificate of Good Hygiene?”

The burly man’s scowl deepened. “Ms. Branford, I’m sure you think you’re quite clever. But I wonder, would you be able to retain that biting sense of humor if you were thrown out of this institution? Or possibly off this mountain entirely? Now, I’d like to hear your explanation on this Contemporary History essay that came from your terminal a few moments ago.”

“Were my facts inaccurate in some way, Lieutenant Commander?”

“How did you just address me, Cadet?”

She rolled her eyes. “Sorry, I meant were my facts inaccurate, Capitaine de Chevelier?”

“Better. And no, as is often the case you managed to squeak by with a sufficiently correct answer, although your tone is borderline treasonous. Also, you have injected too much of yourself and your personal beliefs in what should have been nothing more than a simple, objective two-screen analysis of the Salian attack and the events surrounding it. And finally, I have to ask why exactly you felt the need to bring World Cataclysm I and II into something entirely unrelated.”

Thinking, she said “Well, they are related, in the sense that had we not blown up large portions of the global population on a couple occasions, we might have had both the manpower and the technological advantage to-“

He cut her off. “I’m curious, did we expend a great deal of time and effort in training you to be a historical theorist? I think not. One thing you seem unable to accept is that part of your evaluation in any assignment is based on how well you follow directions, instead of going off on irrelevant tangents.”

“But sir, segments of history aren’t isolated, they’re influenced by what came before, and if that changes, so does the more recent history.”

“Ms. Branford!” He bellowed, “I won’t have my time wasted with such pointless whiffing.”

“Whiffing, Capitaine?”

“As in what-ifing, imagining what could have been instead of focusing on the assignment, which was regarding what actually was.”

With a poorly concealed smirk, the woman snorted “Yes sir. Was the warning against whiffing the only advice you wished to convey? Might I be dismissed?”

“No, so stifle it. Clearly you haven’t checked the Announcements browser……ever, or you’d know it was quarterly review time again.”

Sobering quickly, she gulped and responded with a meek “I was not aware those had come around again, Capitaine. Have I shown sufficient progress?”

The burly man leaned forward in his seat, looking the woman directly in the eye. “Let’s dismiss with the decorum and politeness, my dear; you have no talent for such things anyhow. You want to know if you have finally been judged worthy of advancement, or if you’ll be lurking around these halls for yet another quarter, wondering how much older you are than the rest of our cadets. Correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I do so enjoy these times, they seem to be the only ones where your desire for advancement overrides that motormouth of yours. I suppose we should start running through the list yet again. Academic marks are above average, but not stellar; strong areas appear to be mathematics and…” here he paused to glare first at the report in front of him, then its squirming author, “….global history. The sort of analytical thinking considered more desirable in some dungeon-dwelling scientist than a field agent. However, your streak as the top pan-martial arts champion among all trainees in this facility is now entering its seventeenth month, if I’m correct. And I am. If we allowed non-essential contact between training facilities, I suspect you might prove superior to their champions as well. I do have a request from your instructor that you learn to pull back just a bit during learning matches, to cut down on the bruises and contusions being suffered. Especially by him.” The young woman summoned a ghost of her earlier bravado to protest in her behalf. “Sir, with all due respect, a person with a porcelain jaw like his really ought to look for a safer line of work.” Like yours, she thought. The burly man sat through her brief interruption with a neutral expression, then continued on as if she hadn’t said a word. “You’ve also proven adept at various survival situations. As useful as these skills are, however, Project Mantra was not created just to turn out some sort of karate death squad. At the core of everything are your manipulation abilities. You have consistently done well enough to keep from being expelled or kicked down to one of the more traditional divisions of the military, yet you’ve also failed to prove yourself adept enough to merit full field commission. I regret to inform you that you have finally lost your hold on that balance.” The woman tensed, trying to prepare at the last minute for something she’d been mightily trying to discount as a possibility for many months. The man continued, the twinkle of mischief in his eye completely lost on the woman fighting hard against a tide of misery at what she thought was coming. He continued, “Ms. Branford, you have been approved for a promotion to the rank of Initiate, pending the results of your final assignment.” Her cynical armor cracked, the woman leaped to her feet and grabbed the hand of the burly man, pumping it up and down exuberantly. “Thank you sir, I won’t let you down!” she exclaimed, aware that she was making a spectacle of herself but too caught up in the moment to truly care. The burly man recoiled a bit, being somewhat unused to physical contact, but he forced a smile onto his face in order to keep the girl from feeling awkward. “Yes, well, keep in mind that this is all dependent on how you fare during your trial field assignment.” The woman named Branford halted her inadvertent attempts to fracture the man’s wrist, and eased back into her chair, sobered a bit by remembering that not all of her hurdles had been cleared yet. “So I’ll be going to the Headquarters, then.” The man simply nodded, knowing no explanation was required. “Your shuttle is being prepared as we speak. You should arrive at HQ within the next two hours. I won’t waste your time with idle chit-chat or empty congratulations for something you’ve yet to completely accomplish, so let me simply say good luck, Ms. Branford. Prove that we did not make a mistake advancing a borderline case such as yourself.” And with that he rose and gestured for her to leave. Though still a bit dazed, the woman quickly composed herself before snapping off a salute and turning to leave. “Capitaine, for what it’s worth, thank you. Even if the way you told me was just plain wrong.” “Yes, well, you reap what you sow, Initiate. Dismissed!”

Passed. At long last, she could begin her true calling. The thought still seemed alien to Fiorella, a woman who had spent so many years mired in preparation. Indeed, the thought of actually doing something, instead of being forever in stasis, had quashed any curiosity she might have had about the unknown mission awaiting her at Resistance. She whirled through the academy, packing those few belongings that were necessary, and distributing what was left among the few acquaintances she had among the staff (for the age gap had made it too difficult for her to connect with the newer cadets). Cursory goodbyes were given, idle promises to stay in touch made and forgotten almost simultaneously, and then she was in the hangar, preparing for departure. It was all a dream, and Fiorella Branford never wanted to wake up. Of course, she knew she had only made it by the skin of her teeth, that she was hardly expected to have any significant impact due to her limitations. But that didn’t matter, because she had confidence that where their tests saw only mediocrity, there was still the potential for greatness. All she needed was an opportunity to display the qualities that could not be tested for, and at long last she had been provided with one. She watched the sun’s rays seemingly force the hangar’s doors open, pouring in from over the west mountains. The takeoff programs initiated, and the small shuttle slid into the sky.

Once she had departed, the burly man flicked off the flatscreen display of the hangar and turned to his tricorder. “Burst transmission, double encrypt, send to Destination Unknown.” A hollow voice from his terminal said “Acknowledged, recording begins in 3, 2, 1…” The burly man immediately began with his report. “This is the final analysis of Mantra Initiate Fiorella Branford. I like her, which surprises even me. Lippy, yes, and not very good with traditional studies, but she’s got spirit. And even though she isn’t the most proficient Mantra user, she tries as hard as any of them. My one concern is that under that veneer of sarcasm, she seems to be genuinely, truly patriotic. Almost a fanatic. That kind of devotion could either make her incredibly useful or incredibly dangerous.”

-chapter break-

Fiorella toyed with the largely impotent control stick as she watched the mountains of the academy pass from her line of view. Given her inability to grasp anything but the most basic elements of flight, she sincerely hoped she would not be called upon to actually do anything during the voyage. It’s unfortunate she did not silently express this wish fifteen minutes later when the missile was fired, as that would have been quite ironic. But then, her shock at the appearance of outdated ballistic weaponry on her radar would likely have made her unable to appreciate the answer to her desire to avoid manual piloting. The warning klaxon was the first thing to truly penetrate the mental fog created by her long-awaited promotion, and it did so with a vengeance. The ship’s systems shut off primary thrusters and covered the outer shell of the craft in coolant foam to throw off emission-seeking sensors, but this was a defense meant for automated land or air zappers. The antique explosive was remote-controlled, and thus all that had happened was that the now slowed ship made for a much easier target.

Fiorella woke up with a pleasant whistling noise in her ears, but a rather unpleasant churning sensation in her stomach. When she forced her eyes to open, the explanation to both was evident: she was falling. Burning chunks of wreckage descended with her, but she still remained strapped into her seat, with the now-unattached control stick grasped tightly in one hand. Just like training, just like training…she thought, repeating it to calm herself as the ground continued to grow larger before her eyes. She hit the emergency chute button with her free hand, and the seat slowed suddenly and began drifting down to earth. Fiorella breathed a sigh of relief and looked around, attempting to gauge where she would land. Below her sat a long range of hills, buried deep in snow. Above her, a superheated ember from the missile bounced off the fireproof polymer of the parachute, before making contact with the decidedly unfireproof skin of Fiorella’s neck. Startled, the young woman thrashed about attempting to remove the painful particle, but succeeding only in hitting the button to disengage her safety harness. The seat continued its safe trip to earth, but the Mantra Initiate found herself plummeting again, with only fifty meters before she would impact on the snow. Beyond conscious thought, she began to work. Her eyes glowed, the air around her seemed to vibrate and shimmer, and suddenly the snow below her began to crumble. It melted at an astonishing speed, chunk after chunk reverting back to liquid form, creating a small but deep pool of water which Fiorella Branford gracefully plunged into. Moments later, she gracelessly scrambled out of it, screaming “Cold, cold, cold!” She stood up, shivering despite the heating strips lining her flight jacket and pants.

“C-c-c-c-can anyone hear me?” she called out tenuously, kicking herself for it not two seconds later. Note to self: when someone just tried to reduce you to ash and believes themselves to have succeeded, revealing your position ranks as a fairly poor idea. Smoldering wreckage surrounded her, and Fiorella quickly realized the largest bit of the ship left from the blast was its lone passenger. Repair was a laughable notion to even consider, and the small slice of her life carried in her belongings had been ripped to shreds. It was when she kneeled down to inspect the previously ornamental control stick that the shadow appeared behind her. “Hands in the air, if you don’t mind,” came the male voice from behind her. She moved to turn and face him, but a hollow metal object rapped onto her skull as she shifted, stopping her in her tracks. “Not quite yet. I don’t want to use this, at least not until I find out whether you were the one responsible for blasting my beloved Toaster out of the sky.” Fiorella snorted a quick and ugly laugh. “Shoot you down? If you’d been here less than five minutes ago you’d have seen me falling like a stone after someone ambushed my shuttle. My unarmed shuttle.” The man came back with a derisive laugh of his own. “Oh, I saw the blast. Certainly a fatal one for your poor target. And now I see you pawing through the wreckage, no doubt trying to find a body for verification.” She fired back “I’m sitting here, scorched and singed, bruised, and half-frozen from an impromptu diving contest, and you think I did this to myself? Why? To what end?” The shadow responded with a slight note of confusion, “Well, that likely came from you being too close to the site of your own handiwork. Or perhaps you simply roughed yourself up a bit to try and lull me off guard by playing the damsel in distress. But to no avail; Alexi Beaumont is too savvy to be taken in by your transparent ploys, mild concussion or no. Now stand up, because whatever you came here in just became my getaway vehicle and you’ll be pointing me towards it.” “Sure thing”, said Fiorella. In one smooth motion she rose, pivoting towards the shadow and swinging the control stick into his head. The man sagged, slowly crumpling to the ground.

She saw him now, for the first time. A slight wisp of a fellow, dressed in loose and baggy coveralls and, inexplicably, a rather fancy dress shirt. Before examining the situation any further, Fiorella made sure to secure the stranger’s weapon, some sort of archaic but nasty-looking slugthrower. I guess I can afford to be disdainful of it now that it’s no longer pointing at the back of my head. It was at this point that her antagonist stirred from his semi-conscious state, and noticed his reversal of fortune. As well as the thin rivulet of blood trailing from his right ear at a steady pace. Fiorella pointed his weapon at him, and demanded “Your turn. Who are you, and what do you know about these missiles?” Alexi grinned, then winced at the effort involved in the facial expression “All I know is they’re old, effective, and hurt like hell. So do you; another thing to connect you to this plot, perhaps.” Fiorella, suddenly feeling very impatient with this whole situation, rolled the fallen man onto his back with her foot and loosened her hair constrictor, turning it up to maximum tension and placing it around her captive’s thin wrists. “I don’t have much taste for proper interrogations, but I can assure you I will overcome that to get what you know. You might as well stop playing the tough guy and give it up.” Alexi sat up, his tied hands still behind his back. “Trust me, tough is not an adjective I use to describe myself very often. But I know this game, as soon as you get the information you desire I’ll be worm food. I always strive to stretch my life out as long as possible, thanks. Besides, it gives me more of a chance to escape from your clutches.” He blinked. “I probably shouldn’t have mentioned that last part out loud. But, you know, concussion.” Fiorella slowly but deliberately stepped on his fingers and ground them into the dirt with her heel. “Listen closely…Alexi, was it? I am not here to kill you. Although I probably could find the time if you keep insisting on it. Let’s start with something easy: can your ship fly?” Alexi turned to look at Fiorella from the corner of his eye. “Of course it can. That’s why I’m down here hobnobbing with you, because it can fly. I simply needed a bit of fresh air, is all.” Fiorella shrugged her shoulders “Fair enough, that was a pretty stupid question. But can it be repaired, or is it a giant jigsaw puzzle like this one?” “I’ll need some parts, but it should fly again.” Fiorella considered this a moment. “And how exactly were you planning to acquire parts?” “By asking, naturally.” Alexi responded with a sniff of derision. Fiorella looked at him with disbelief. “Asking the wrong person might have about the same effect as swallowing a blast from this little toy you’re toting around.” She dangled Alexi’s weapon in front of him on the end of her finger. “But then, staying here can’t be a good idea either. Odds are no rescue would reach us before whoever wanted us dead.” Fiorella grabbed Alexi’s elbows and hoisted him to his feet, ignoring his groan of discomfort. “Did you have anywhere in particular in mind to find whatever you’re looking for?” The thin man glared at her, aimed, and spat a streamer of blood in the direction of a mountain chain to the north. “I’d point if I could. But about ten kilometers that way is Mount Limberry, a small settlement I’ve flown over before. They may not have what I need, but if not they’ll have a shuttle service to take me where I can find it.” Without speaking, Fiorella raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her captive, and he shrugged as best he could. “Well, I thought about continuing to give you the cold shoulder, but nature ought to take care of that while we walk. Besides, the strong silent schtick isn’t easy to maintain. Pain really hurts, y’know?” “Come on then, cupcake. Let’s start the hike.”

After trudging along in silence for three minutes, Alexi chimed in with exasperation, “It’s a long story, so you know. You may want to rethink asking me about it.” Fiorella started at the sudden break in the silence. "What are you talking about? Alexi rolled his eyes at Fiorella failing to understand what they hadn’t been talking about yet. “The crash, how I got here. It’s a long story. Exciting, of course. Full of dashing derring-do. But you still need to be sure you’re ready to hear it all before I start, because I’m only going to tell this once.” “I’m not really interested. Is it relevant to what happened?” Alexi chortled happily. “Almost certainly not. Let’s begin!”

-chapter break-

Chapter 1-A (Alexi’s skewed version of opening)

His name was Alexi, and he was not sleeping. I can’t stress that enough. Indeed, Alexi Cornellian Beaumont, scourge of the skies, space, and several Saskatchewan sangria stations, was monitoring the current news feeds, looking for signs of trouble that might require his attention. Though the starving people of Grazton desperately needed the rations he carried, Alexi was sure there would be time along the way to do some cinematic injustice-thwarting. There always was. Finding no crises worthy of his attentions, he willed his physical form into a relaxed state. To some it may have seemed like sleep, but he had merely begun his Bactarian Battle Meditation, in case one of his many foes had tracked him down and wished another beating. Unlikely, I realize, but some people just never learn. And as luck would have it, there were indeed some such fools who began to fire upon his beloved ship. It was five…no, ten flitships, swarming around the majestic freighter. Alexi maneuvered the craft with the elegance of a very masculine ballerina and sat down these nuisances with little effort. But before his weapon systems even had time to cool, Alexi found himself staring nose-to-nosecone with some sort of stealth missile, designed to overcome even his formidable security. The explosion ripped through the ship, and while this did make Alexi look quite heroic with his hair and clothing whipping around and whatnot, it also had the unfortunate effect of causing the freighter to crash again. Our erstwhile pilot rose from the wreckage, despite having suffered injuries enough to kill ten mortal men, and went down to the cargo hold to free the adorable puppies he had been charged to deliver to the Grazton Orphanage. As he lifted a heavy chunk of debris, he-

“I thought it was rations.”

Alexi glared at this unscheduled interruption. “What are you nattering on about? You thought what was rations?”

Fiorella sighed. “Your cargo for…Grazton, was it? You said before that it was ration for starving peoples, and now you’re saying it was puppies for orphans.”

“Clearly it is both, silly girl. They were cute puppy rations for the starving orphans of Grazton, who happen to prefer Korean cuisine.”

“Ick. How about the real story? Keeping in mind that your walking won’t be slowed down any with a couple of broken fingers.” A little applied pressure on one of the bound wrists for emphasis, producing a yelp from the lithe braggart.

“Fine. I was watching the holovids, fell asleep, woke up to sensor klaxons going off and a missile hit shortly thereafter.” He folds his arms and purses his lips. “Happy now? Here I was crafting an exotic and flavorful platter of lies for you, and you reduced it to the bland, pallid bread of the truth.”

Quick edit since I cannot post again in this thread: this story is now free to help promote the release of The Day After Ever After. I hope you enjoy it if you have not read it before!

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