"Containment breach!" Fenric shouted into his communicator. "Requesting immediate backup at Prophecy Host Containment Apartment 7B!"
A moon pie shot out of the machine, glowing with the same blue light as my palm. It hovered momentarily in the air, spinning slowly, before exploding in a burst of marshmallow and cosmic energy.
Some of the marshmallow hit my cheek and I wiped it off and licked it.
Yummy.
Reality hiccuped.
The walls of the apartment rippled like water. The ceiling sprouted vines that grew downward at alarming speeds, flowering with blossoms that emitted high-pitched giggles. The kitchen sink detached from the counter, sprouted tiny metal legs, and began singing opera in Italian while dancing across the floor.
"Oh shit," I backed away, bumping into Fenric. "I didn't mean to do this!"
"Don't move," he ordered, his voice strained. "Don't touch anything else."
The vending machine gave another mechanical laugh and began spinning in place, dispensing items in all directions now. A package of cookies unfurled like a butterfly, its wrapper flapping as it flew around the room. The floor beneath us turned gelatinous, then hardened into something that looked like glass but felt like rubber.
The door to the apartment burst open, and my (unwanted) chaos squad arrived in a rush.
Milo entered first, his skeleton crew marching in formation behind him. "Whoa! Reality cascade! So cool!" His eyes widened behind his glasses. "Don't worry, I can help!"
He pulled a tiny bone harmonica from his pocket and played a quick melody. The dancing sink paused mid-song, but then every dish in the cupboards burst forth, animated by Milo's necromantic energy. Plates spun like tops across the counter while forks and spoons performed a synchronized swimming routine in the air.
"Oops! Sorry!" Milo grimaced. "That wasn't supposed to happen!"
Zane vaulted over the transformed couch, which had grown fur and was now purring contentedly. "I knew this was a trap!" He flipped the coffee table onto its side for cover. He lunged toward me, grabbing my arm and pulling me down behind the makeshift barricade. "Stay down, Shortstack. This is going to get messy."
"It's already messy!" I protested as he shielded me with his body. He smelled like something electric, like the air before a lightning strike.
I kinda liked it.
Rook charged straight for the vending machine, which had grown metallic fangs and was snapping at anyone who came near. "Someone shut that thing up!" he tackled it withimpressive force. The machine fought back, sinking its newly formed teeth into Rook's forearm.
"Son of a bitch!" Rook snarled, his eyes flashing yellow as he wrestled with the possessed snack dispenser. "This is why I hate technology!"
Meanwhile, Fenric had somehow managed to levitate himself above the chaos, hovering cross-legged in midair while filing what appeared to be an incident report on his tablet. The floor beneath him had transformed into a bubbling slime that oozed in various neon colors.
I hoped it was not poisonous.
"This marks the fourteenth regulatory violation in the past three minutes," he announced to no one in particular, somehow maintaining his composure despite the pandemonium. "I'm submitting Form 27-B/6 for immediate reality stabilization protocols."
"Are you seriously filing paperwork right now?" I shouted at him from behind the coffee table.
"Proper documentation is essential during crisis events," he looked primly down at me before dodging a flying spoon.
The vines from the ceiling had grown thick enough to form a canopy, dropping strange fruit that exploded into showers of glitter when they hit the floor. The singing sink had recruited the refrigerator into its opera, the two appliances performing a passionate duet while the toaster provided percussion by repeatedly ejecting slices of what looked like glowing bread.
Milo was frantically trying to undo his accidental animation of the kitchenware, his skeletons forming a protective circle around him. "Jeffrey, no! Don't eat that!" He cried as one of his tiny skeletons attempted to consume a cursed granola bar.
Zane kept me pinned behind the coffee table, his mismatched eyes scanning the room for threats. "Just another daybabysitting a prophecy," he complained loudly. "And I gave up a date with a succubus for this."
"I didn't ask for any of this!" I protested.
"Nobody ever asks for prophecies, Shortstack. They just happen to people with terrible luck." He winked at me. "Like yours truly."
Rook had finally subdued the vending machine, though not without cost. His shirt was torn, revealing an impressive set of claw marks across his chest, and he was covered in what had to be enchanted nacho cheese that glowed in the dark.
"Machine's down," he wiped orange goo from his face. "But we've still got a reality breach."
