The New Psycheweave Engine

Forreal followed Surreal down the corridor, her arms crossed tightly as chaos erupted around them. 

Sirens blared, emergency lights flashed in erratic patterns, and panicked personnel sprinted back and forth. Engineers shouted incoherent orders, technicians scrambled over terminals, and the air buzzed with tension so thick it was nearly suffocating. Yet, amidst the turmoil, the two strolled leisurely, untouched and unnoticed.

Forreal turned to Surreal, her closed eyes narrowing in skepticism. "So… what was that all about?"

Surreal didn't respond immediately. Instead, he let out a contented sigh, adjusting his bloodied gloves as he led the way. "Oh, you mean that little incident back there?" He waved a hand dismissively, his extra arms mirroring the motion. "Nothing too complicated. The core of the Psycheweave Engine has simply been… transferred."

"Transferred?" Forreal repeated, her tone sharp. "To where?"

Surreal stopped mid-step, spinning on his heel to face her. His serene smile widened, a hint of mischief gleaming behind it. "To me, of course."

Forreal blinked. "You're telling me that you—"

"That's right!" Surreal interjected, spreading his arms dramatically. "My vessel has become the Psycheweave Engine itself. I am the anomaly now. Reality warping, soul manipulation, spiritual dominion—you name it."

She raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "And you're telling me this while we're casually strolling through a facility in full-blown emergency mode?"

"Oh, don't be such a buzzkill," Surreal teased, waving a hand dismissively as he stepped through a shimmering portal that had appeared out of nowhere. Or in this case, the one he conjured deliberately. "Come on, let's take a breather. All this chaos can be exhausting to watch."

Before Forreal could protest, she found herself standing in a cozy café, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air. 

A barista prepared drinks behind the counter, and a few patrons sipped from steaming mugs, completely unaware of the two newcomers.

Forreal glanced around, baffled. "Wait. What?"

Surreal chuckled, sliding into a chair and motioning for her to sit. "Coffee? Tea? Something stronger, perhaps? Oh, don't worry about paying; I've already taken care of it."

"I didn't even see you order anything," she muttered, reluctantly sitting across from him.

"Details, details," he said breezily, brushing off her comment. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes. The perks of being the new Psycheweave Engine."

Forreal crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair. "So, you're telling me you have full dominion over humanity's… what? Souls? Spirits?"

"Exactly~!" Surreal exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "At least, within the proximity of this Earth. I can revive anyone at will, put souls into objects, concepts, or even weird, experimental ideas. Imagine a soul-bound stapler! Revolutionary!"

Her expression soured. "That's horrifying."

"You think so? The World Peace Corp. didn't. They used this very power to shove unproductive souls into digital crypto-mining farms. Efficient and exploitative!" He laughed, as if he'd just told a hilarious joke.

But to Forreal, those words only made some of her unwanted memories resurface—the memories of her time working as the office grunt of the World Peace Corporation with her notable colleagues.

And many of their fates were nothing but harrowing.

Forreal's lips pressed into a thin line. "What happens to those souls now? The ones imprisoned by the WPC? Without the Psycheweave Engine, their systems must be falling apart."

"Oh, they're all being freed as we speak," Surreal replied nonchalantly, twirling a spoon in a cup of untouched coffee. "They'll pass on to… well, let's just call it the next step. Everything will revert to how it was before humanity got its grubby hands on the Engine." He paused, smirking. "Unless I decide to reenact the whole thing. You know, for fun."

Her shoulders tensed. "So, you're telling me you could restart that nightmare on a whim?"

"Correct."

"... Would you?"

He leaned forward, his smile never wavering. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I don't want to know."

"Are you sure?"

'Why are you pressing me now…?"

"You know, in case you will regret it later."

"You're insufferable."

Their next stop was a sprawling golf course bathed in the golden light of a late afternoon. Surreal practiced a lazy swing with a club that materialized in his hands, his extra arms folded neatly behind him.

Forreal watched from the sidelines, exasperation etched into her face. "So, you've essentially become a god. And you're spending your time golfing?"

"Multitasking," Surreal said, his tone light as he lined up his shot. "I'm always thinking. Speaking of which…" He swung the club, sending the ball flying in an impossible arc across the course. "You seem to have more questions in mind."

She nodded slowly. "Yeah... Is there an afterlife? Heaven? Hell?"

Surreal lowered the club, turning to her with an expression that was almost somber. For once, his playful tone was absent. "There's danger in knowing everything, Forreal. Trust me, you're better off not knowing the truth."

Her brow furrowed. "That's not an answer."

"And it's the only one you'll get," he said simply, his smile returning as he handed her the club. "Your turn."

Both of them were quite bad at golfing. But in the end, it was still quite the fun experience.

Especially for Surreal, since he just outright cheats with his black magic.

Later, they sat at a fine dining restaurant overlooking a bustling cityscape. Surreal swirled a glass of wine while Forreal picked at her food, her mind still racing with questions.

He tilted his head, observing her with mild amusement. "You're awfully quiet."

"Just trying to process… everything," she admitted. "And thinking about how ridiculous this all is. People are probably losing their minds back at the WPC, and here we are, sipping wine."

"Precisely why I love moments like this," Surreal said with a grin. "While they scramble in chaos, we bask in serenity. It's poetic, don't you think?"

It was rare for Forreal to experience proper fine dining. And with her frugal nature, she used this opportunity to order as many dishes as her stomach could contain, since there were no consequences in doing it, and this might be the last chance that they could ever have this kind of dining experience.

Their final stop was the rooftop of a skyscraper, the city's lights stretching endlessly beneath them like a sea of stars. Surreal leaned against the edge, his extra arms folded behind him, while Forreal stood beside him, gazing down at the bustling streets.

"Look at them," Surreal said softly, his tone uncharacteristically reflective. "Living their lives, blissfully unaware of how fragile it all is."

Forreal tilted her head. "And all of this… will be gone when you enact your plan?"

"Correct."

She turned to him, her expression unreadable. "And how exactly are you going to pull off this whole genocide plan of yours?"

Surreal's smile widened, his closed eyes curving upward. "You'll know it when you see it."

Forreal frowned. "When is it, exactly?"

He chuckled, stepping back from the edge. "It will come after I've finished some business."

And with that cryptic remark, he turned away, leaving Forreal with more questions than answers as the city buzzed obliviously below them.

But at this moment, Surreal was the only light that Forreal could see in front of her. Her future, her purpose—all she could do was to follow behind, and try to understand why she would often find sorrow in the fireside corner of his heart.