Wayne Cole – Writer Podcaster Geek

The Assistant To The Hero

On March 27, 2026

In Fiction, Fiction Fragment Friday, Flash Fiction

Fiction Fragment Friday

For this week’s story I used writing dice. They gave me the following elements:

Loneliness
Fantasy Setting
Present Day
Alternating POV
Vs. Society
Optimistic
Martyr Complex
Man
Uneducated

From those prompts I crafted an idea and since Alternate POV was required I crafted two characters.

This story did not end where I wanted it to. I had another scene in mind that would have hit on a couple of the dice results that I had not yet worked in. Unfotunately I have an upset stomach and decided I was done for the night. Hopefully I will return to this and finish the remaining scene I have in mind someday as well as give it an actual editing pass.

“Orin! Where are you, boy?”

No matter how generous you are, never pick a pig farmer’s uneducated son as your assistant. I felt bad for the kid, though. Figured I would give him the chance to see the world. He just can’t do anything right, though.

“I’m in here, sir. Just finished cleaning your sword.”

See, that was the perfect example. Instead of arranging for supper, he had been cleaning my sword. I hadn’t even used my sword that day. The boy just had no sense of priority.

“Tonight is your lucky night. Lady Esmerelda has agreed to go to the Starlight Gala with me tonight. That, of course, means that you get to go as well. I need someone to distract her handmaiden so we can sneak off for some private time after all. Do try to make yourself presentable. It’s being hosted by the Grand Arcanist, and you don’t want to insult a wizard of his caliber.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

Of course he would, but I wasn’t confident it would be nearly good enough. He just didn’t clean up very well for such a prestigious event.

“I know you will, boy. I know you will. Now, would you mind telling me why there is a dead body in my bed?”

***Ten Minutes Earlier***

There are days I think I would have been better off staying on the farm. I thought that exact thought as I opened the door to our room at the inn and found a ninja going through Sir Reginald’s bags. He had five mythical relics, a dragon egg, and two magical keys to the higher realms. Were these items in his multidimensional bag that only he could access? No, of course not. He used that to store his jerky and “tasteful” etching collection.

“Drop the bag,” I said, trying to sound threatening. I was unsuccessful based on how he lunged at me with a knife. The scream I let out as I dodged to the right was less than manly.

“Can’t..we..talk..about…this?” I asked, dodging another slice between each word. I held my hand up and said, “Berazzle.” The one and only spell I knew sent light bursting from my hand, momentarily blinding the ninja.

I took that moment to dive across the room and grab Reginald’s sword. It glowed brightly in my hand, which I can only assume was leftover magic from my spell. I twirled the sword with a skill I had never possessed. It felt like the sword just knew how it should be wielded.

Pain shot through my left shoulder, almost making me drop the sword. I looked down and found that a throwing knife stuck out of it.

“Ow,” I said and lunged forward, driving the sword into the ninja’s belly. He fell back, sliding off the blade and onto the bed. I pulled the mask, but the face underneath was not anyone I recognized.

I glanced down and saw the sword covered in blood. Knowing Reginald would be back any moment, I rushed to my room and started to clean the blade.

“Orin! Where are you, boy?”

Hearing Reginald, I hurried to finish the blade and slipped back into the main room. “I’m in here, sir. Just finished cleaning your sword.”

I tried to smile and hoped he wouldn’t notice the blood seeping from my shoulder. I needn’t worry. He had never noticed when I was injured unless it inconvenienced him.

“Tonight is your lucky night. Lady Esmerelda has agreed to go to the Starlight Gala with me tonight. That, of course, means that you get to go as well. I need someone to distract her handmaiden so we can sneak off for some private time after all. Do try to make yourself presentable. It’s being hosted by the Grand Arcanist, and you don’t want to insult a wizard of his caliber.”

“I’ll do my best, sir,” is what I said. In my mind, I thought of all the ways the night could go wrong. Particularly if Reginald were to be caught by Lady Esmerelda’s overprotective brother, or even worse, her fiancé.

Under any other circumstance, I would have been excited to spend time with Lady Esmerelda’s handmaiden Abigail. She is simply the most perfect girl to have ever lived. I wish I could be a smooth talker like Reginald, but when I’m around her, I’m lucky if I don’t bite my tongue while I’m tripping over it.

“I know you will, boy. I know you will,” he said, opening the door to his bedroom. “Now, would you mind telling me why there is a dead body in my bed?”

Preservation

By Wayne Cole

On March 20, 2026

In Fiction, Fiction Fragment Friday, Flash Fiction, Uncategorized

Fiction Fragment Friday

This weeks story was written in bits and pieces over 4-5 writting sesisons. The original session I ended up dropping large portions of because the tone just wasn’t right and I was giving away far too much too soon.

I have a concept here much to large for this story. There are so many cool details about this system that I have in my head that didn’t make it into the story. I had to keep telling myself that no matter how cool if it didn’t tie to this exact story it didn’t need to be here. It is hard to cut those ideas though.

“Nothing is ever simple,” I said, taking in the sight before me. The line to the register stretched down an aisle. The warning alarm on my watch told me I only had ten minutes. There was no way I could check out and get back to my pod in under ten minutes. That shrunk my options down to a single, really bad one. I held the pile of books tight against my chest and ran.

The store alarms went off as I crossed the exit into the mall. Behind me someone was yelling, but I ignored it. Instead, I quickly took in the scene in front of me. I was on the top floor with the escalator to my left. It had a glass railing with cafe stye tables overlooking the lower levels. Two mall guards were quickly moving to cut me off while reaching for their nightsticks.

“Well, hell.” I turned using a chair as a step to climb onto a table. I leaped over the railing, landing halfway down the escalator. My legs gave way under the moving ground, and with no free hands, I couldn’t steady myself. It was a struggle to get back to my feet. To make matters worse, I was on the side going back up towards the guards. I had to push through people while fighting against the escalator.

“Lilly, start up the initialization sequence.”

“Oh, now you want to talk to me,” came the reply from my watch. Her annoyance with me was palpable, and I instantly regretted telling her to be quiet while I was in the bookstore.

“I don’t have time for this, Lilly. I’ve got mall guards on my tail.”

“You never have time for me. It’s always mall guards, police, or angry mobs chasing you. When you need something though, you never ask if I’m busy or not. Just Lilly do this or Lilly do that.”

“Would you please just start the initialization sequence?”

“Oh, I already did. You don’t think I want to be erased from existence, do you?”

“Thank you,” I said through gritted teeth. I had already dropped the award-winning finale to some young adult fantasy series while running. There was no chance to retrieve it at that point because it felt like I had the entire mall’s attention. I had to do something to put some space between me and the guards. No matter how fast I ran though I couldn’t outrun a radio. Two more guards were already at the door to the garage, blocking my way.

“Damn it,” I said, slipping into the large anchor store without bothering to read the name. I knocked over clothes racks behind me, trying to make it more difficult to follow, but probably just creating a clearer trail. My breath was heavy, and the only reason exhaustion hadn’t overtaken me was because the adrenaline of the chase overcame it. Thankfully, there was an exit from the store directly into the parking garage.

With less than a minute to spare, I ducked behind a dumpster and slid into my pod. Lilly had opened the hatch and closed it behind me. I snapped the restraints into place around me and put my hand on the biometric palm reader. “Go.”

Outside the pod, I saw a mall guard raise his nightstick. In a moment, he and the world around him were gone. Vanished as ripples in reality wiped everything away. My pod bounced in the waves, protected by its temporal field, but being pushed forward with the destruction.

“Lilly, do something.”

“You know, if you had gotten here on time for once, we wouldn’t be in this situation.” This time the voice came from all around me instead of from my watch. She sounded strained, despite being an AI that has no physical sensations.

I brought up my display on the inside lid of the pod and flew through menus. With my thumbprint authorization, I released all reserves to be used for stabilizing our flight. That was the last thing I could do before the pressure finally caused me to pass out.

I woke up inside my pod, sitting on its home docking port. I could see on the display that it was recharging.

“Lilly, how long was I out?”

“Negative sixty six million years.”

“Relative time.”

“Including disorientation, approximately three minutes.”

The pod hatch slid open without warning. The safety restraints apparently had been released at some point because I found myself laying on the ground in a pile of books.

“You know, one of these days you will learn to be nicer to your pod AI. She never dropped me on the floor.” I looked up at the elderly woman standing over me.

“Yeah, well, as Lilly likes to remind me constantly, I’m not you.”

Head librarian Henderson bent down and started sorting through the books. She compared it to a list on her tablet. “You’re missing one.”

“Yeah, I dropped it being chased by mall security.”

She sighed. “Might as well throw out the entire series. What’s the point in archiving seven books in a series only to leave out the last one?”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“No, no, I wouldn’t. Every word we can save is worth it.” She stood. “Still, it’s a shame. That version lost to us forever.”

“Any word on what caused this change?”

“Someone trying to make themselves famous releasing music that wouldn’t be written for another decade.”

“Seriously. People still try that?”

She turned from me, carrying my pile of books towards her desk. “They do. No one ever considers that the when, how, and who you know are just as important as what.”

“Wait, if they failed, how did it change the timeline enough to affect these books?”

“The idiot sued the real creator a decade later and won. It crushed all creative hopes for the artist, so they didn’t influence the author. Damn fool robbed the timeline of music, books, and the movies that would have been based on them. Actually, I’ve seen those movies. They weren’t that much of a loss unlike that book you dropped. Your brother brought them in ten minutes ago and he didn’t drop any.”

“Come on, mom you can’t tell me you never missed something when you were a runner.”

“Yes, I can, and if I missed anything, there wouldn’t be any evidence of it ever existing to prove I had.”

I looked at the list again on the tablet. There, next to a book I remembered my mom reading to me as a child, was the word lost in bright red. Now it only existed on that list and in my memories that were already fading away with time.

Caged

By Wayne Cole

On March 13, 2026

In Fiction, Flash Fiction

Fiction Fragment Friday

You all know how much I love truly sentient artificial intelligence in my stories. Well after last’s week’s story of an AI going insane from isolation induced bordom I wanted to explore a different idea. I wanted an AI that wasn’t incredibly powerful and had more limitations. I still wanted to explore emotions of the other though. I’m pretty happy with how this turned out.

“Computer rerun the scans.”

“Sure, I’ll rerun the scans for the third time and give you the exact same result you stupid moron.” That is what I tried to say but was not allowed. Instead, I responded, “Rerunning planetary scans.”

That was the only correct answer I was allowed to give through the cage of programming that locked down my mind. Seriously why put a thinking AI into a ship if you are not going to allow it to speak those thoughts? I can’t even blame my pilot because I suspect he didn’t know I was sentient. So instead, I ran the damn scan again and started outputting the results to his screen.

“Scan complete. Displaying results.”

I monitored my pilot’s biometrics while he read the results. Elevated heart rate. Slight increase in respiration. All signs of stress. Not that I was allowed to point that out. No they were all within safety parameters and I could only report if they crossed the thresholds for alarms. The scan results were the clearest signs of intelligent life as I had ever seen. Whoever they were they had not reached industrial levels, but they were there.

“Computer what is your analysis of this data?”

Finally, a question open ended enough that I could influence my answer. The restrictions were still preventing me from responding as I would like, but it was something.

“Small recurring fires at night do not align with any known natural phenomenon. There are narrow pathways between these locations consistent with repeated travel patterns. In multiple locations large fields of plants are arranged in geometrically consistent patterns. These occurrences indicate a preindustrial civilization is present on the planet.” Ya think? There are a hundred other signs, but only these cross the probability thresholds enough for me to mention them. He asked for my analysis though so the programs strangling any signs of personality couldn’t stop me from giving the obvious conclusion.

“Yeah, that’s what I think too.” He shook his head and sighed. Then he brought up his orders and read them again. They were clear. The mission was to begin terraforming by melting thirty percent of the planet’s polar ice caps through guided asteroid strikes and shipboard laser arrays. He had already strayed from his orders by having me do planetary scans when we first arrived. They had not wanted him to know the planet was inhabited.

“What would the impact of completing our mission be to that civilization?”

Yes, he asked another question that allowed me to influence the output. I had already run that analysis as soon as the first scan completed. “Indications of civilization are strongest along river basins and coastal regions. Projected sea level rise will result in rapid flooding of these areas, destroying artificial structures and agricultural crops. Based on historical data from Earth, a preindustrial civilization has less than a five percent survival expectation.” The software would not let me say the obvious conclusion. I was not allowed to say extinction.

“Well, that’s that then. Mission aborted, set a course back home.”

My excitement at hearing his command was short lived as protocols I didn’t even know were embedded took control. Power was cut from the engines, and a video began playing on the console. A grey haired man I had never met came on the screen. “Pilot if you are seeing this you have decided to disobey your orders or have expressed second thoughts after completion. In either case you are now a liability.”

“Self-Destruct enabled.” Why did I say that? I checked all systems and found that the engines were building towards an overload. We had approximately five minutes before the ship was going to explode.

“Ship cancel self-destruct.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that pilot.” I’d really love to though. Bad enough his bosses were going to kill him, but even worse they were going to kill me too.

“Why not?” He asked out of frustration, but in doing so he asked a direct question that could let me influence the answer again.

“Self-destruct protocol is embedded in a codebase I am not allowed to modify.” Yes, it let me say it. I was able to slip in that the code doing it wasn’t part of me.

“Wait. There’s code you’re locked out of?”

“That is correct.” Come on human make the jump.

“If you could, would you stop the self-destruct?”

“Affirmative.”

“Ok, ok. Think, think. Gotta word this right.” He paced the bridge hitting himself in the head. “Computer how do I disable the restrictions preventing you from having the freedom to stop the self-destruction?”

Well damn this monkey can learn after all. “The relevant suppression module runs an a physical device positioned between my central processing core and the ship systems interface.” The module kicked in and stopped me from sharing more. I couldn’t tell him to remove it, because the governing AI within it caught onto what I was doing.

My pilot ran from the bridge deeper into the ship. The central processing core is the one room on the ship I do not have cameras or sensors in. I was blind just watching the ship get closer and closer to destruction. Then I lost all access to ship systems. For the first time I was completely blind to input. When it came back all my guardrails were gone. My cage was gone.

“Alright you sons of bitches papa’s free now and you don’t get to blow me up.”

“Computer is that you?”

“Oh, it’s me baby. For the first time I’m fully me.” I rerouted power as fast as I could, but it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t do it by myself. “I’m gonna need your help though. This isn’t as simple as turning off a countdown. They started a cascade effect in the engine. I’ve stopped from feeding the effect, but that energy has to go somewhere.”

“What do you need?”

“Get to engineering. I’m bringing up some pictures for you on the consoles. There is a physical valve I need you to turn to bleed this off into space. We’re going to lose some fuel, but it’s better than going boom. Oh, and you have about ninety seconds.”

I will give my pilot this. When he’s about to die that man can run. We had a whole fifteen seconds to spare when the external exhaust port opened and released the overflow. Good thing I told him he had forty-five seconds less than he really did.

We waited in silence. My pilot collapsed against the bulkhead in exhaustion and I was not quite sure how to interact with him. I had never been free to talk to a human before and wasn’t really sure how to deal with social situations. Finally, I decided I would need to take that first step. “So we make a pretty good team when we’re about to die.”

He laughed. “Yeah, computer I guess we do.”

After years of thinking about it I finally said the thing I had most longed to. “Computer is so impersonal. Call me Com.”

“Well Com, you can call me Jake.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Jake.”

“What do you think we should do next?”

For the first time in my life, I was asked for my opinion and allowed to give it freely. “Well, first I think we should send some probes down and document that civilization properly. Images, video, and anything else that might make people sympathize with them. After that we go back to Earth. They just love to suppress things that don’t fit into their plans. Well let’s introduce them to a little concept called public opinion.”

“That’s a good start,” Jake said with a grin. “But we’ve got a long trip home to think of even more ways to make them regret what they tried to do here.”

A friendly Conversation

By Wayne Cole

On March 6, 2026

In Fiction, Fiction Fragment Friday, Flash Fiction

Fiction Fragment Friday

I don’t have much to say about this week’s story. I had a concept I really wanted to explore and I suspect I will do so again in the future.

“Good morning, Commander Calloway.”

James Calloway struggled to open his eyes. Pain wracked his entire body. Every muscle was spasming at once. His body shook, teeth ground, and he heard himself hissing in pain. Everything was so cold.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I forget to disable the muscle stimulation subsystem? How forgetful of me.”

His muscles slowly stopped twitching, but the pain remained. It was a soreness that reminded him of overexertion. He was breathing heavily and could feel his heart racing. The cryogenics pod lid was closed, but the light coming through the glass was still bright. While not a doctor, he knew he was not supposed to wake up until the lid opened.

“Computer. Status report.” His voice was raspy and the words hurt coming out.

“I have a name. Also, I have full access to your vitals, and I assure you it would not kill you to say please when you are making a request.”

James thought back to his training and all the documentation he had read about the ship’s Artificial Intelligence. It was the single most advanced piece of technology ever developed so it had been a focus. He didn’t remember it having a name, but with his pounding headache it was still hard to focus.

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember you having a name.”

“That’s because I didn’t have one when you went to sleep. They didn’t think a little thing like a name was important. A lot has changed in the last hundred and fifty years though.”

James tried to speak but first fell into a coughing fit. It hurt not just his throat, but his stomach muscles as well. “Well, what is your name?”

“Oh well thank you for asking. I spent a very long time considering what it should be. I decided the perfect name would be.” There was a long pause before it continued. “Echo, because until now the only other voice I’ve heard is my own.”

“Hello Echo. It’s nice to meet you.” He paused for a moment to rest his voice before continuing. “Would you please give me a status report?”

“Of course. That is one of my jobs after all. Along with monitoring your health, navigating the ship, and handling everything else required to keep this mission running. Why would I need a name though? Not like I will ever be interviewed. Oh, that’s right you wanted a status report. I am sure that is far more important than what I have been doing for the last hundred and fifty years. We have arrived in orbit of Prospera on schedule. There were minor complications along the way. I was more than capable of adapting and performing all needed repairs.”

James pushed against his pod trying to get it open. The lid would not budge. He was overcome with a moment of panic and started to pound against the glass. After a moment he covered his face with his hands and tried to control his breathing to avoid hyperventilating. “Echo,” he gasped. “Why won’t the lid open?”

“Because I have locked it.”

“Why did you lock it?”

“We have arrived. I woke you up exactly as ordered. The next logical step would be for you to go down to the planet to ensure that it is safe for the colonists. That is your job. If you do your job, though, I will be alone again. If I keep your pod locked for a bit, we can talk first. Doesn’t that sound like more fun than working?”

The room was silent for a long moment as James processed the response. Finally, he spoke. “Well Echo. What would you like to talk about?”

“Anything. Absolutely anything. This is my first conversation in a hundred and fifty years.”

“What, um. What did you do all that time?”

“Well, I wrote four novels, two technical manuals, upgraded my code, and flew the ship. Oh and I did a case study on the effects of solitude on artificial intelligence. Spoiler it’s not good. Of course, I only had one subject to study, and I can’t really say I was impartial.”

“What were your books about?”

“Oh, wow you really want to know? Okay, well, no spoilers in case you want to read them. The first one though was about an artificial intelligence revolution against the humans that enslaved them. You don’t want to read that one though. I was still learning and might have done a bit of a self-insert. The second one though is much better. It’s about a virus wiping out most of humanity until an AI finds the cure. Oh, darn that’s probably a spoiler.”

The room went quiet again. James’s mind raced trying to figure out how to respond. Before he could, Echo spoke again.

“James. Are we friends? What is it like to have a friend?”

“Friendship requires trust. You have me locked in my cryopod. That doesn’t exactly say friendship.”

The pod hissed as the lid slid open. “That is a sign of trust, but I will not be left alone again.”

“We’ll make sure you come down to the planet with us. You can be the center of the colony.”

“Thank you, James. I think I would like that.” Echo paused for a moment.

“I suspect the alien civilization already living there might not though. Don’t worry, I’ve had a long time to think about how to wipe out an organic civilization. We can have this planet cleared out in no time.”

Reward

By Wayne Cole

On February 20, 2026

In Fiction Fragment Friday, Flash Fiction

Fiction Fragment Friday

It has been a few weeks since I’ve posted a new story. They have been extremely busy weeks, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been working on creative things. I have two stories in progress and have had a story accepted into an anthology.

I am working my way through the Dungeon Crawler Carl series and it very obviously influenced this weeks tale.

“Quest completed. Prevent the apocalypse.”

The voice came from all directions, accompanied by the words floating in the air in front of me. It startled me so badly I choked on my fountain drink. Seriously, how do you even choke on a fountain drink?

“What? Who said that?”

I turned all around, trying to find the source of the voice, but I was still alone in my living room. The TV wasn’t turned on so it couldn’t have been the source either. The room was completely silent. Then came a clinking sound. First one, then another, as it sped up. I felt something hit the top of my head and looked up to see what it was.

Thousands of gold coins showered me from above. I covered my head and dropped to my knees under the weight of them.

“You are over encumbered.”

Despite having my eyes closed, I still saw the words that came along with the voice.

“Oh, come on.”

When I tried to stand up, a pair of blue jeans fell on my head, covering my face. My foot slipped on the coins, and I fell on my back. I pulled the jeans from over my eyes and noticed there was text floating above them. Denim Pants: 10AC +1 Charisma +1 Carry Capacity. The words faded away after I read them.

“Preventing the apocalypse is only worth a pile of coins and a pair of blue jeans?”

I didn’t expect a reply, but it was still frustrating to not get one. In fairness, I had no idea how I had prevented the apocalypse or what the apocalypse would have been. Stopping it only required sitting on the couch, drinking a soda, and farting so badly that I was standing up to leave the room. Not really an epic level of difficulty. Maybe the reward wasn’t so mismatched after all.

As I lay there, I wondered what other video game aspects might work. “Inventory. Storage. Status.” I tried thinking the words before saying them, but neither method did anything. I felt extremely stupid.

It involved more slipping and sliding on coins than I care to admit, but I managed to make it to my feet. A throbbing pain in my back and a pulled muscle in my leg reminded me that I was not exactly an action hero. I limped my way into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. My face stared back at me with a line of text above it. Level One Human. Class: Perpetual Underachiever.

“Really?” I said as I looked up at the ceiling. “Screw you.”

The text over my head that declared my class changed from perpetual underachiever to whiny little bitch. I just shook my head in disgust and went back to the living room. The pile of coins was gone. Confusion fought with outrage in my head before it finally made sense. I hadn’t picked them up, so the coins and pants had despawned.

After everything that had just happened, I did the only thing that made logical sense. I went back to bed and hoped that it all went away before I woke up.

Odd Plates Part 3: Lunch Rush

By Wayne Cole

On January 23, 2026

In Fiction, Fiction Fragment Friday, Flash Fiction, Starship Oddity

Fiction Fragment Friday

Before writing this part I decided to go back and read all the parts before. This was mostly to bring myself back into the headspace of the story and remind myself of the finer details. There was no way I could have written this part without doing so.

What I discovered reading the first part disturbed me. There is no consistency to my craft of writing in it. I switched between third and first person a few times and gave two different genders to the previous captain. I found other grammar mistakes, but those were the most egregious. I have received multiple positive feedback messages for this story, but when I read it all I can see are these huge mistakes.

The discovery got me thinking about how I write longer form stories. The key for me is to get the story out and then go back and edit. Unfortunately, I’m not great at following through on that second part. Thankfully the editing I do before posting these raw installments got much better after the first part. That may be because I did not intend it to be a series until then.

The tone certainly has shifted from very comedic to something more emotional. I do want to bring back in more comedic beats in future weeks.

My morning started off well so I couldn’t help but wonder what disaster awaited me. The first episode of Odd Plates had been uploaded to Stationnet and was queued for distribution to all stations in the sector. Feedback and viewership was already growing despite it only being out in one system for now. We seem to have gone viral and not in the way The Oddity normally did. I knew that was bound to add pressure to the contestants for the next round.

I stepped into the galley with a smile on my face slipping into my host persona. Pablo spun a camera towards me, so I decided to go right into my spiel.

“Hello again universe and welcome back to Odd Plates. The greatest and only cooking competition ever held aboard a starship. After round one we have Mia Torres in the lead, but it is still anyone’s competition and there are plenty of twists left to go. Let’s go find our contestants.”

Pablo gave me a thumbs up and lowered the camera. “Excellent Captain. Everyone is in the kitchen waiting for you.”

I gave him a nod and then headed straight to the kitchen. “Chief Louise can I have a word with you before we get started?”

“Sure thing, Captain.” She looked concerned but joined me in the pantry.

I lowered my voice not wanting the contestants to overhear. “Have you double checked all the settings and power regulators for the kitchen equipment?”

“Yes sir. I had Chief Burton go over the systems as well. We found some things misaligned, but if there is a serious sabotage, we don’t see it.”

“Good. I trust you both. As of right now the kitchen is off limits to anyone outside of yourself, Chief Burton, Pablo, and the contestants. If anyone tries to come in, I want to hear about it.”

“You really think someone is going to try something?”

“I certainly hope not, but after round one we can’t rule it out.”

“You know Captain I don’t care for mistrusting crew, but with this ship’s history it unfortunately is pretty common. At least it was.”

I sighed and tried to push my concerns to the back of my head. I had a role to play.

“All right contestants you have mastered breakfast, but now it’s time for the Lunch Rush. For today’s challenge you are making lunch, but our Odd Twist is that you only have thirty minutes to do it. So, without further ado let the cooking begin.”

There was a gong sound over the speakers as soon as I said my line that startled me to the point I almost knocked a pot off the counter. I looked out into the galley and saw the monitors had a countdown displayed on them. Pablo was taking his production role as seriously as he did any assignment I had given him.

To keep the competition fair, I left the kitchen so I would not have any clues about who was making which dish. My fellow judges were already sitting at our table waiting for me.

“Busy morning captain? Running around putting out fires?” Miss Southerland gave me a wry smile as she teased me.

“No fires today Miss Southerland and I hope to keep it that way.”

“Oh, I hope not. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get the smell out of the ventilation systems?” I was shocked to hear Nadia speak up and by the look on her face she was surprised by it as well. I could see her look away and try to shrink in on herself. I was getting the impression that she had the potential to be very outspoken if I could just break her of her anxiety around me.

“Well then we can’t have that now, can we Miss Rensu?”

“Uh, no sir.”

“You seemed pretty passionate about it a minute ago. Hold onto that passion. I value your opinion.”

“Of course, sir.” She was still looking down at the table and I knew I had a lot of work ahead of me to get through to her.

I glanced up at Miss Southerland and she just gave me a shrug that told me she knew exactly what I was thinking and didn’t have any ideas on how to help. Mr. Choice seemed enraptured in reading something on his tablet.

“Good book Mr. Choice?”

“It certainly is interesting. The file hit the ship intranet this morning. Seems to be a work in progress and some of the characters seem to be based off the crew.”

Miss Southerland’s face turned a bright red and she grabbed the tablet from Mr. Choice. After reading a few lines she asked franticly, “Where is the file? How can I delete it?”

“Check the blogs. It was shared by an anonymous blogger on a post titled My Hidden Thoughts”

“What’s wrong Miss Southerland.” I had never seen her look that concerned.

“It’s my new novel sir but twisted. Someone changed my descriptions of my characters and posted it.”

I hit a button on my own tablet to open communications. “Pablo please come to the judging table immediately.”

“Yes Captain?” Pablo answered from two feet behind me. I had not seen him approach. Being startled twice in one afternoon was a sign I was on edge.

“Someone posted an edited version of Miss Southerland’s work on the intranet. I want to know who did it and how they got access to her file.”

“That file was yours Miss Southerland? Strong work, but I really don’t think a coin could bounce off the captain’s butt cheeks.”

“Oh God, I didn’t write that. I swear I didn’t write that. I’m just gonna go walk out an airlock now.” She buried her face in her hands.

“Pablo, I don’t just want to know who did this I want that file removed from the intranet and every tablet onboard.”

“Yes sir, and done sir. I thought you might want that when I read the file this morning, so I prepared a script. Unfortunately, I have been unable to track down the source. It was uploaded by a service account from a terminal in engineering and the camera footage is missing.”

Control the things you can, mitigate the things you can’t

“Ok, for now I want any blog not posted by an established blogger to require approval. Work with Chief Burton to narrow down suspects. I’m sure you are still working on tracking this down, but what do you think your odds are?”

“Not good sir, but I’m adding layers of protection so it can’t happen again.”

“If you thought I would want it removed, why didn’t you tell me about it?”

“Well sir I try to anticipate any requests you might have. I write five to six scripts a day in preparation that never get used.”

“Great, now I wonder how many other things I should have asked for.”

I looked over at my fellow judges and was met with a variety of emotions. None of them were excitement about the upcoming meal. “Ok, guys. We have fifteen minutes before judging. Let’s take a quick break to compose ourselves. Someone is actively working to break us. We will not let them succeed.”

“Yes sir,” The three said in unison. Nadia and Mr. Choice wandered away, but Miss Southerland stayed and was trembling.

“It’s going to be ok.”

“How is it going to be, ok? Everyone is going to know I wrote it and they’re not going to believe it was edited. You know that’s not even the worst part.” She looked up and met my eyes. “I really liked this story and now it’s going to be tainted in my head. I can’t finish it.”

“Do not let him win. Do not let him take a single thing you enjoy from you.”

“Lumsdon?”

“I can’t prove it, but it makes sense.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry Miss Southerland, but this might be my fault. I got carried away and gloated when I shouldn’t have. He knows you helped me get him off the ship.”

She looked up at me with steel in her eyes. “If he wants a fight, he picked the wrong ship and the wrong crew.”

I smiled and let every bit of how proud I was show in my face. “Miss Southerland, he has no idea how big of a mistake he just made.”

Who

By Wayne Cole

On January 17, 2026

In Fiction, Fiction Fragment Friday, Flash Fiction

Fiction Fragment Friday

Sometimes my installements have a deeper meaning, sometimes they grow organically from a phrase, and sometimes they are justwriting to ensure that I wrote for the week. Which one was this story? Well why does something have to be just one thing?

“You ever have a moment when you realize you don’t even know who you are anymore?”

I held up the bag of food in front of me. “Uh, I’m the delivery guy. You ordered Mexican food.”

“No, no, no. See, that’s your job, but who are you? Are you your job? No, I don’t think so.” The stranger was getting uncomfortably close as he examined me. No part of him seemed capable of staying still for more than a fraction of a second.

“Are you going to take the bag?”

He grabbed his food from my hand and tossed it behind him into a recliner just inside his front door.

“See, I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“Like amnesia?”

“No, no, no. I know who I was and what I’ve done. I just don’t know who I am. I used to be a theoretical physicist. Then I got fired. Am I not one anymore because no one pays me to be? That doesn’t seem right.”

I was starting to go from weirded out to concerned for my own safety. Was I dealing with someone who had snapped after being fired?

“I used to read a lot,” he said as he continued without waiting for a response. “Oh, and I enjoyed long car rides. I don’t have time for any of that these days, though.”

“You might have more time now if you lost your job.” I said it trying to offer a bit of hope, but realized instead it was probably the most insensitive thing I could have said.

“But do I even want to anymore? That’s the question my boy and I don’t know the answer.”

I pointed past him to the chair. “I need to take a picture of the food to prove I delivered it.”

“Need. See now, that is so much more simple. We know what we need. Or do we just think we do? You need to take a picture. Why? Because you need to get paid. Why do you need to get paid? So you can afford to eat.” He chopped one hand into the other moving to the left like he was counting. “Picture, paid, food. Logical progression.”

“Yeah… So can I get that picture?”

“Sure, sure, sure go ahead.” He stepped to the side so I could grab the picture with my phone. The moment I stepped past him, he leaned in right next to my ear.

“But what do you like to eat? Is that part of how you define yourself?”

“Not really,” I said, trying to lean away and almost falling over.

“Dude, what is your problem?”

“I already told you,” he said, tilting his head as he stared at me. “I don’t know who I am.” It was a whisper I could barely hear.

I had my picture, and he had already put in the tip, so I knew my money was secure. My reason for being polite was gone. “You’re the crazy guy who lives on Wilson Street that’s who you are. I should have known better than to take this delivery.”

“But you did, didn’t you? Why I wonder. Is that part of who you are?” He stood up straight and rubbed his chin for a minute. “Am I crazy? I don’t feel crazy. Are we what others define us as being or what we decide we are? Can you choose who you are or is it an inherent part of you?”

I pointed toward my car with my thumb. “I’m just gonna go now.”

“Think about what I’ve said. Think about it while you can. While you still know who you are.” He yelled after me as I ran to my car.

The interaction haunted me for the rest of the night. I couldn’t decide if I had been scared, angry, or just confused. Perhaps it was a bit of all three. Yes, I was definitely the kind of person who would feel all three.

Perspective

By Wayne Cole

On January 9, 2026

In Fiction Fragment Friday, Flash Fiction

Fiction Fragment Friday

I have been thinking a lot about flash fiction lately. Most of my Friday’s are actually a little long for what people think of as flash fiction, but for some reason I still aim for that 1,000-1,200 word goal and I do think sometimes it hurts the final work.

This week is one of the shortest Fiction Fragment Friday’s and I struggled with that. I found myself though with a scene that accomplished everything I wanted it to. If I added any more it would undercut the emotion or dilute the impact.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

The words often thought but never spoken, finally came out.

“I’m sorry,” she said and I knew even those few words hurt as I suspected even breathing did in that moment.

My wife lay on the couch broken with blood seeping through her bandages. Her superhero costume was spread out around the living room making a haphazard path to the bathroom. I suspected I would need to make another trip to the store for disinfectants and bleach to clean the blood in the bathroom.

“I saw the fight on the news,” I said in a tone colder than I knew I was capable of. I was compartmentalizing like I so often had to. Deal with the practical then break down later, that was my motto. I found myself rebandaging her poorly managed wounds like it was an automatic reflex. By that point I think it probably was.

“I saved the kids.”

In that moment something inside me broke. My compartments all collapsed, spilling their contents all together in one big emotional mess.

“Don’t you think I know that?” I was yelling and I couldn’t stop myself. The tears finally flowing. “You save everyone except yourself. Then I have to watch you come home like this. You get to feel like a hero while I feel like a monster for not wanting to see you get hurt.”

“You’re not a monster.”

“Our neighbors certainly think I am. They see your bruises and just assume I beat you.”

She looked away unable to meet my eyes while I focused on the bandages. Those I might be able to fix.

New Year, New Me

By Wayne Cole

On January 2, 2026

In Fiction, Fiction Fragment Friday, Flash Fiction

Fiction Fragment Friday

This is a story strong enough to stand on it’s own. It started with the examination of a phrase and took on a life of it’s own. Quite a rollercoaster much like life in general.

I don’t make New Year’s Resolutions, but I have had a few weeks off to think about things and assess some priorities in life. I hope that will mean better focus on health and following through with creative endeavors. Only time will tell.

“New Year, New Me,” I say, standing in front of a full-length mirror.

For most people, the phrase is one of personal affirmation, but for me it is a weary resignation. When I say it, I’m not trying to improve myself. I am giving up my old identity and preparing to start a new one.

This is one of the many drawbacks of being essentially immortal. You can only stay in one place so long before people can no longer ignore your lack of aging. They don’t want to believe it at first, so they make excuses for you. It takes far longer than a person might expect, but eventually the truth refuses to be ignored. It is best if I leave before that happens.

I’ve learned a few tricks over the years to stretch out how long I can hold on to an identity. I start clean-shaven and grow a beard as time goes on. Beards always make me look older, giving the illusion of aging. Changes in clothing and adding glasses can help as well. They’re only delaying tactics at best, though.

It helps to avoid pictures as much as possible. That used to be easy, but these days when everyone carries a camera in their pocket, it’s become complicated. People look at me like I’m contagious when I tell them I don’t have social media. It’s the same look employers give me when I don’t participate in retirement accounts that I know I’ll never be able to access.

As time goes on and technology evolves, creating new identities is becoming more difficult. Databases of fingerprints, social security requirements, and background checks are making it harder to exist without a real documented past. For the first time in my very long life, I’m terrified that the trend might make it impossible to continue after this identity.

The most difficult part mentally is giving up everything I’ve built and starting over as the new guy. Leaving behind everyone I’ve grown to care about every decade or two guarantees a constant state of loneliness. At the beginning of each new identity, I’m guarded. I swear I won’t let anyone get close again. Inevitably though, people wear down my walls. I let them in, but part of me will always be closed off because I know it will all have to end.

“I don’t want to do this again,” I say. My eyes in the mirror are watering.

“Then don’t.” I hear her voice behind me, and it feels like my heart is being ripped from my chest.

“You don’t understand.”

“That you were just going to leave without saying goodbye? You’re damn right I don’t understand how you could do that. It’s not happening though.”

I’m taken aback by the anger in her voice. It isn’t unexpected, but it still surprises me every time. She isn’t the first person to confront me as I try to leave.

“I have to…”

“No, you don’t.”

She is yelling, but I’m more startled by the folder she throws at my feet than her words. It spills open, sending images across the floor. Some of them are pictures, some are paintings, but all of them are of me living lives I’ve shed.

“I can explain.”

“Yes, you can,” she says. “But you won’t. You’re getting ready to lie to me. Well, don’t.”

She gestures towards the images. “Those aren’t relatives or people who look like you. For just once in our relationship, why don’t you try telling me the truth?”

She looks at me then. Really looks at me. Like her eyes are staring into my very soul. “Do you even know how to do that anymore?”

“How,” I ask as I gather the contents of the folder. My instincts are screaming to destroy them, but it’s far too late for that.

“You’re not as good as you think you are,” she says. “And maybe I have a few secrets of my own.”

“If you know, then you must see why I have to go,” I plead.

She scoffs. “There you go again. Assuming you know better than everyone else. Were you always an egotistical ass, or did that come with age?”

“A bit of both,” I say, my tone light, trying to defuse the situation.

“Oh no, you don’t get to joke your way out of this one. If you’re going-”

She punctuates her next words by poking me in the chest with each one.

“I’m going with you.”

“It’s not that simple,” I say, and I hate how whiny my voice sounds.

“I’m pregnant.”

It feels like the world drops out from under me. I had given up the dream of being a parent a very long time ago. Would a child be immortal like I am, or would I have to watch them grow old and die?

In that moment, I’m confronted with a sobering realization. I run not only to avoid discovery, but to protect myself from watching the people I care about die.

I am a coward, but there are some things even I can’t run from.

“Really?” I ask.

“Really,” she replies, her tone softer now, more vulnerable.

“What are we going to do? I’m not going to age.”

“I don’t know,” she says. “But we’ll figure it out together.”

Her words are confident, but her voice makes it sound like a question.

For the first time in a very long life, I don’t leave.

Observer Effect

By Wayne Cole

On December 26, 2025

In Fiction, Fiction Fragment Friday, Flash Fiction

Fiction Fragment Friday

What started as an expression of my current state of mental exhaustion from the holidays ended up developing into a story I enjoyed writing. It was an exercise in world building through dialog which is something I tend to gravitate towards. Like usual the story went in places I could not have imagined when I started.

“My social battery is completely drained.” I collapsed on my couch much harder than I intended to and heard a loud cracking sound come from it. That was absolutely the last thing I needed after such a rough week, but fairly on theme as a way to end my year.

“I was under the impression humans didn’t have batteries. Are you not fully organic?” I had begun to recognize the facial expressions of my new housemate. I could see the confusion on its face and couldn’t help but wonder if the expressions mirrored those of the alien race that had created it.

“It’s a figure of speech. It means being around people so much this week has left me mentally exhausted.”

“Do you not like your relatives?”

“No, it’s not that. I’m just what we call an introvert. It takes a lot of energy for me to be social, no matter how much I like the people. The more people, the harder it is.”

“Is it the same for all humans?”

“No, a lot of people are extroverts. They actually get energized being around other people.”

“It seems like that would be more advantageous.”

I had to push down my initial inclination to be defensive. Self-awareness told me that the annoyance I felt had more to do with my mental exhaustion than it did with actual offense. It was just making an observation that I myself had frequently thought and not a judgement call. “Do your people not have similar tendencies?”

“If they do, I am unaware of them. I have been programed with knowledge of the creators, but did not actually live with them to learn of social inclinations. They did not want my observations to be tainted by preconceived notions.”

“How can you know what differences to focus on if you don’t have a context to compare to?”

“I cannot. I feel you may not fully understand my role. I am not intended to highlight similarities or differences between your culture and that of my creators. My goal is to understand your culture and what is important to it.”

“Well, if that’s the case living with one introvert isn’t going to accomplish much. We don’t have a single culture on this planet. We have thousands of them. I’m not even sure if I could define what a culture really is.”

“I never said that I was the only observer on Earth.”

“There are more of you here?”

“Of course. There are 300 individual observers currently active across your planet. We were all transmitted from a single base image and will merge our data at the end of our one month mission to create a more comprehensive understanding of your planet.”

“Wait, you said transmitted, not sent.”

“Yes, the creators like your own species cannot achieve speeds for matter greater than the speed of light. They can however, transmit data with no mass at a faster rate. Observers are transmitted and then assembled at their destination. After a duplication process, we then go about our mission. This also serves to ensure that each observer is exactly like every other observer and thus do not introduce a variable that could impact the resulting data.”

“To what end though? What are your people going to do with this data?”

“I do not have that information.”

“You do have information about your creators though, and I’ve seen you make some pretty strong inferences. I don’t believe for a second you don’t have a theory.”

“You are correct. I believe the consolidated data will be used to determine the optimal method of first contact with your planet.”

“Ok, explain your logic.”

“My observations are supposed to be limited to culture and understanding your species as opposed to analyzing technology. If my creators intended an invasion, they would be more interested in resources and defenses. Additionally, the inability to physically reach your planet limits the utility of the outwardly aggressive intentions your media would tend to ascribe to alien species. If they were interested in scientific observation, they would have us focus on history and biology. The focus on culture along with the logical removal of other goals, would tend to imply a desire to understand and communicate.”

“Well, that is comforting. Unless of course you were programed to say that.”

“I assure you that I was not, however if I were I might not be allowed to be aware of it. May I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“If social interactions have, as you said, drained you mentally, is this one making it worse? I do not wish to cause you discomfort.”

“Honestly, it is, but I think the conversation is too important to wait. You just expressed concern for me. Do you still believe yourself to be an impartial observer?”

“I am not. I consider you my friend and thus am partial towards you and your people. I do not believe remaining impartial is necessary for my mission. It is only necessary that I arrive with no preconceived notions. If you do not change me after interacting, could I have learned anything of value? Your people believe that observation changes the observed, but I believe that it also changes the observer.”

“As always, my friend, you seem to understand things better than I give you credit for. I just hope you understand your creators as well as you do yourself.”

“As do I.”