Tommorow, Stuck On Repeat

SOMEWHERE ELSE

Far removed from any semblance of civilization, a towering pink banyan tree loomed over a crumbling city. The city, built from ancient bricks and cracked stone, was entangled in gnarled roots that sprouted haphazardly from the buildings like invasive parasites. This place was a festering infestation, populated by grotesque, mythical creatures.

Massive birds, 30 feet tall, with human arms and eerie catlike eyes perched on rooftops. Elephants roamed the streets, their forms grotesquely altered—missing ears and tusks, their skin mottled with unnatural hues. Green whales with human-like eyes and eagle beaks hovered ominously above the tree canopy, their shadows swallowing what little light filtered through. These were just a few of the bizarre horrors that called this city home.

The citizens were gaunt and hollow-eyed, their bodies poisoned by toxic fumes wafting from a factory in the heart of the city. This factory, a monstrous construct of rusted metal and churning machinery, belched clouds of noxious gas into the air, its acidic byproducts corroding everything in their path. Within its walls, vats of deadly chemicals bubbled and hissed, and lethal vapors seeped through cracks. Each day, the city claimed the lives of an estimated 90 people, reducing the population of 300,000 one by one.

The creatures were no kinder to the humans than the city itself. They ravaged homes, tore apart structures, and left destruction in their wake. Every day, the citizens were forced to rebuild, an endless cycle of labor that offered no respite. There was no currency, no trade, no hope for a better life. Children starved in the streets, their frail bodies too weak to work. Survival meant either endless toil or submission to the one figure who ruled over this chaos.

Mengu Lucrause, the dictator of this wretched land, was a grotesque figure himself—a bloated man with a shining bald head who exuded cruelty and indifference. His warped sense of amusement was the driving force behind the country's suffering. Citizens could only escape the relentless cycle of hardship by becoming Mengu's servant—or, for the women, his wife.

This land, if it could even be called a country, was known as Ministrya. It was one of the Seven Kingdoms, a place where despair clung to the air as tightly as the toxic fumes. When asked why his people endured such misery, Mengu's answer was chilling in its simplicity:

"I was bored."

SHIRLEY AND TUCKER POV

Tucker darted across the room, laughing as Shirley chased after him, pillow in hand. "You can't run forever!" Shirley yelled, hurling the pillow with precision. Tucker spun around and deflected it with a quick swipe of his arm, his grin widening as he bolted out of the room and down the hall.

Around the White House they went, weaving through corridors. In a separate room, Micheal calmly packed his belongings into a weathered travel bag, paying little attention to the distant thuds and muffled laughter echoing through the halls.

The door to his room suddenly burst open. Tucker stumbled in, slamming it shut behind him as he crouched behind Micheal, using him as a shield. "You're not safe here!" Shirley's voice rang out as he stormed in, eyes locked on Tucker like a hunter zeroing in on prey.

Micheal blinked, his hands pausing mid-fold as he took in the chaotic scene. "What… is happening?" he asked, his tone more baffled than concerned.

"Go away, Shirley!" Tucker shouted, his voice muffled as he peeked out from behind Micheal's frame.

Shirley didn't listen. Another pillow came flying through the air, narrowly missing Tucker as he ducked. Before Tucker could make another move, Shirley lunged at him, his laughter echoing in the small room.

"Enough!" Micheal barked, stepping in between them and halting the commotion with a raised hand. Shirley froze mid-lunge, and Tucker straightened up, a sheepish grin creeping across his face.

"What is going on here?" Micheal demanded, exasperation lacing his tone.

Shirley and Tucker exchanged a glance before giggling under their breath. Micheal sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Whatever. I don't have time for this. I need to finish packing."

"Where are you going?" Tucker asked, his curiosity piqued.

Micheal resumed folding his clothes, his movements deliberate. "On a mission. Somewhere far away," he replied without looking up.

Shirley's eyes lit up, a mischievous smirk spreading across his face. "A mission, huh?"

Seems like you're an important guy," Tucker teased with a grin.

Shirley chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. "When will you be coming back?"

Micheal's expression shifted, his usual calm demeanor taking on a somber edge. His voice dropped to a calm but heavy tone. "This will be the last time we meet."

The room fell silent as Shirley and Tucker's smiles vanished. Their eyes widened, the weight of Micheal's words sinking in.

"What do you mean?" Shirley asked, his voice trembling slightly. "You can't just leave us here!"

Micheal turned to face them fully, his gaze steady but shadowed. "You boys have mastered Presence Eyes and trained hard in combat. I've prepared you as much as I can. This world is peaceful—too mundane for any real danger to find you. But where I'm going… it isn't even a part of our world."

"What?" Shirley said, stepping forward. "So you're just going to leave forever?"

"No," Micheal said, shaking his head. "The reason I said this will be the last time we meet is because…" He hesitated, his jaw tightening as if weighing the decision to continue. Finally, he exhaled and spoke, his voice low and resolute. "…because the chances of me dying are high. I'm going to kill someone I hate. And I will succeed, even if it costs me my life."

The room grew colder as Micheal's words hung in the air. His eyes darkened, his usual calm energy replaced by a grim determination.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself before speaking again. "You boys are my disciples. I've taught you everything I know. But if you were to come with me, understand this: the unexpected will become your reality. The stakes are higher than anything you've faced, and there's no guarantee of survival."

Shirley and Tucker exchanged a look, their expressions a mix of fear and defiance.

"We're coming with you," Tucker declared, standing tall, his posture resolute.

"Yeah, no way we're staying behind," Shirley added, his voice steady and unwavering.

Micheal's eyes glinted, a faint glow emanating from them as a subtle yet commanding Presence filled the room. It was powerful but controlled, pressing lightly against the boys like an unspoken test.

"You two.…" Micheal said, his voice carrying a rare note of admiration. "You're truly prodigies." He paused, his lips curling into a faint smile. "Alright, it's your choice. Start packing."

Tucker and Shirley exchanged a glance, their faces lighting up with matching grins of determination. They didn't need to say a word—their resolve was already clear.

As Tucker and Shirley dashed out to prepare, Micheal stood in the quiet room, his hand tightening around the strap of his bag. He stared out the window at the horizon, where the sun dipped low, casting the world in shades of crimson. "Choreees," he muttered under his breath. "It's time to settle the score."