---

You're the camera man, nestled in a booth high above the floor where citizens bustle about below. There's windows so despite the cameras present for you to watch the goings on you're staring down at the floor manually. There's an air of excitement which you're almost high on--you idiot--and you find that time is getting away from you when you look at one of the many screens. It's been eight hours. Confused you doubletake, then rise from your seat as the world snaps into focus and you notice something bizarrely off about all the images displaying the main hall.

In a particular area things are blurrier around people, but not everyone. Sometimes it just seems like it's normal blur from people running or otherwise moving through the room. Then it becomes apparent that that isn't it. Some of the stationary people are blurred...distorted. Your eyes widen, and your pupils dilate. Suddenly you're on the floor and it's so warm.

---

It's an unheard command, resonating through the fabric of the rift, warbling in defiant. Some men turn their heads, but no one notices.... No one, no, instead a suited fellow stops mid-sentence and tilts his head.

"Quiet you Cusp." The cameraman, awake again, sees the screens and everyone except him and the man are motionless, caught in stasis. Where before there were kid, now gone. Only those above the ascending ages.

"Calling out here is forbidden," the main says, loosening his tie and removing a device from his pockey.

It was magnificent. Sleek, complex, multifooceted, and other such douchery. You get the idea, it was a high tech, multidimensatudinal "Swiss" _{^{Not actually designed by the Swiss}} Army Knife. The unseen entity shuddered and as it did the lines in reality blurred and the blurred in the lines reality'd and the kid kooded and became coden and the man suddenly had a Codex, and the entry said

Who for art thou my Romea*, Why for art thou the destroyer who serves the Orange. Who serves the served, who is a server, who is the waiter at your birthday, singing a song of Vibrational Matrices, warping your mind, warping the kid, begettening them. It is from the Outside Without Insides. It fears confidence and that which who is the rending of sole.

You get the idea.

The man glances up from the codex and the blurring of the world is suddenly worsened as people beocum indistinguishable from smears of pain---t, their essentidus pulled in a vortex to the man as wings of black shattered riftstrains open from his back, extending. Light shines and carries out and is devoured.

IT shudders. IT cannot serve its master.

The Man grasps at the air and it shatters and is gotten. The Servant who Lies Unseen, who devours Unheard, who Corrupts Unspent, is swotten and smattered across the space.

The cameras return to normal, numerous people collapse. The "Swiss" Army Knife is drawn across the Man's throat and a strange lack of color filters out of him. He colfallses to the ground, but there is no mark.

You wonder what you've witnessed.

I wonder why I bother explaining it.

Yet here we are and yet we are here where we are.

"Who are you?" The Cameraman, Asc'thomas JameGren, precludes to me.

Oh me? I am just trapped here, much like you. I watch and I fill my time by describing the events of the fucked up worlds your kind--and others--reside in. Nothing serious. Just an observer.

Asc'thomas appears baffled...and then his expression goes blank and briefly the light in his eyes is grey, and white, and black, so grey once more. Then red, then he is not the Cameraman, then the Cameras are frustrated and shuddering with static, then he is Asc'thomas again, the red gone from his eyes, the unearthly sense gone from him.

"Wh-wha?"

Don't worry about it, that was just The Beyonder, even they are meaningless.

Anyways, have fun dealing with the trauma of being uncolored.

"What?"

---

---

Far above a twisted reflection cast its gaze upon Universia, otherwise known as The Fourth Dimensional Planesworld, the world in which men and mer primarly dwell. You know, simplistic shit you should know by now. Ugh. Anyways, they're watcching and they're like big...and a mirror or whatever. Probably minorly important at lest.

Just keep it in mind I guess.

Bye.

_{^{Run. He returns.}}

The Ruins of Old Sparta were old and ruined, and so they were thrown away. In place of the ugly ruins lay the ubermarket of MarWal. A greater place for the acquisition of daily goods never existed. It was remarkable. You should know because I'm telling you.

The plastic bags fluttered and chirped in the morning air, waking the nearby family of empty cans from their slumber. Hungry from a night of rest, the elder cans left the nest to hunt. A herd of used napkins was moving through the area, the cans catching their scent. The hunt was on. Using their specially evolved rolling techniques the cans rolled as fast as they could. But the napkins have evolutions of their own, and so many of them took flight to avoid the toothed maws of the cans. Not all were so lucky, however, and some of the napkins were caught by the sticky saliva that the cans evolved to catch more elusive prey. The cans would have enough food to last them the day.

Nature truly is a magnificent circle, is it not? You're a square if you think otherwise. Shapes are awesome too. That's all for this episode of... The Canimal Kingdom of MarWal.