Hugh J. O'Donnell

“We can’t bring dinosaurs back to life – so we went in a different direction.” The lead engineer lifted the drop cloth and revealed a robotic dinosaur skeleton underneath. On the other end of the video call, his employer furrowed her brow.
“It’s smaller than I was expecting.”
“This is just a prototype, of course. We’ll be able to scale up once we get into production.”
“And they’ll be completely lifelike?”
“Well, our team will have to make some guesses on their behaviors, but yes. When were you planning on opening the theme park?”
“What theme park?” his supervillain boss asked.

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At fourteen, she awoke as a conduit for mystical power. By saying the words and performing the dance, she could call forth destruction. Or, she could remake reality in her image. It was a terrifying destiny, and she wasn’t ready for it.
Worse, her power made her a beacon for beings that would misuse it for their own ends. She was stalked by parasites that could sniff out her potential. She couldn’t save the world yet, but she could protect it from herself. She could punish those that would misuse her gift.
In the name of The Moon, she vowed.

They built them bigger during the war. Ten story behemoths with nuclear reactors and onboard AI were launched into the void to tear at one another while their creators sat in gardens drinking cocktails.
I tracked one to the icy shore of a desolate moon. It was damaged beyond repair but still powered. We talked for a long time, then I ended their suffering.
These days we’re smaller and sleeker, but certain design elements remain the same. They call us ‘Peace Preservation Units’ now.
I resumed my patrol, vowing once again that the humans would pay for all they’ve done.

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When the ancient city of magic vanished, there was much discussion about what happened to it and why it disappeared.
Philosophers opined that their power must have displeased the gods, and they destroyed the city in their wrath. They invented tales of tidal waves and volcanic eruptions to explain the missing city-state.
Time passed, and the world moved on. The city faded first into the mists of history, then the fog of legend. After a few centuries, nobody believed it had existed at all.
Which made their invasion when they phased back into this plane of existence all the easier.

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She was considered something of an epicurean among magic users. She hated brewing her potions and elixirs in big iron cauldrons, as was customary.
Not content to reproduce formulae from grimoires, she could usually be found in her kitchen, studying and practicing.
She sought out other methods, and mastered techniques that she claimed were faster, easier, and produced better effects. She infused reagents using the Sous Vide method, and developed serious knife skills for chopping herbs.
The traditionalist witches claimed that experimentation would only lead her to ruin, but she became well known for the effectiveness of her witch’s roux.

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He was captured and enslaved by giants when they raided his village. He was still a child when they carried him off, and thus they thought him pliable.
At first, they put him to work in the mines, but he showed an aptitude for cleverness, so they taught him to brew potions and mix blasting powder.
He kept his head down and cringed with every quaking footstep as his masters walked past, and they thought him cowed.
He waited, and watched. And when he was ready, it only took one properly placed charge to bring their whole mountain tumbling down.

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The ancient Greeks believed the world was held aloft by the titan Altas. As scholars discovered the sciences and learned more about the world, humanity abandoned this belief.
But human belief is a powerful thing, and gods don’t vanish in a puff of smoke.
The titan held his sphere aloft, tirelessly spinning the Earth. It was another perfect day. Suddenly, it seemed to him that he blinked, and rather than standing at the center of Creation, he was passing through it. Rather quickly.
He struggled to hold on as the discovery of gravity suddenly accelerated the Earth to 108,000 kph.

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The ritual is held every year out in the Bluesand Desert. Witches from all over the kingdom gather to be a part of it.
In ancient times, the rite was held beneath the rising Greenbud Moon. Over time, as word of the event spread to the non-magical community, it was moved to the day. Viewing stands were erected in the dunes. The ritual became a spectator sport.
Broomstick in hand, Sol waited for the starting signal. She lowered her goggles over her eyes and grinned. The Great Flying Race was about to begin. This year would mark her tenth victory.

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Whenever we went through a hyperspace gate, I marveled at their size. Each was the size of a moon. They were so large that most of them had breathable atmospheres supporting life. The gates themselves were constantly flowing with traffic, and a hundred cargo vessels of our size could easily pass through one at the same time.
“Why’d they make the gates so big?” I asked as we passed below the verdant landscape of a stabilizing ring. Isn’t it a huge waste of resources?”
The captain smiled. “Did I ever tell you the old Earth legend of the ‘Ever Given’?”

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