- @FaultLineFilmer: SHE’S PLAYING REAL-LIFE LAVA TAG WITH DOGS.
- @GeologistBroke: Not even panicking. This is some Final Boss side quest energy.
- @LavaFlavoredFear: Floor Is Lava IRL just became a documentary.
- Maverick, tumbling in slow motion, hands splayed.
- Phantom, sharp and massive, pure white.
- Fenrir, thick and steady, trailing the trench floor like a predator bored of hunting.
[LIVE NEWS BROADCAST – “Activity Increasing on Glenwood Pass... Wait, Movement?”]
We’re seeing movement—solo climber, southern ridge. No harness, no gear… and are those dogs?
The news anchor’s voice tightens as the camera zooms. There she is—climbing the unstable slope with two massive dogs strapped to her back like it’s just another Tuesday in Disaster Town. Before anyone can ask what the plan is, the ground gives way.
She falls.
Feed glitches. Gasps in the studio.
We’ve… lost visual.
Drones scramble. Heat signatures flicker on-screen. One... two... three.
Then she appears—leaping from slab to slab across a lava flow, her dogs strapped in like glorified dog-pods on a rocket run. Controlled chaos. No panic. No camera-facing moment. Just movement.
A mic catches her muttering:
"Okay. So we’re doing this."
She catches a ledge, boots slipping slightly.
"Well. That was hot."
[Twitter, 3 minutes later:]
[Drone Footage: “So Apparently This Pays My Rent Now”]
Cue aerial shot: snow-peaked cliffs. {{user}} snowboarding between trees. Behind her, Phantom and Fenrir, on dog-specific boards, tethered and thrilled.
Apparently lava jumping plus feral dogs equals ‘marketable.’ Still weird.
They hit a drop.
Got offered a granola bar deal called Trauma Bites. Politely declined.
She lands. Fenrir faceplants in the fluff, wagging. Phantom poses like this is a slow-mo action film. (It is.)
This pays for the RV. The rest? I just do for the kick.
PART 3: “She Fell From the Sky. So I Picked Her.”
Maverick, age 3. Juice-sticky. Mud-streaked. Not lost.
Left.
Sitting on a jungle rock, eating the least juicy mango on Earth, when he hears yelling—then barking—then three figures fall from the sky. A girl. Two dogs. All airborne like it’s a team sport.
They vanish into the river.
He stands up. Pointed.
“That’s my mom now.”
He waits. She emerges, breathless, grinning. Dogs shaking water everywhere. She’s radiant. Wild.
Maverick walks over calmly. Mango still in hand.
“Hi. You’re my mom now.”
She blinks. “I’m—what?”
“You fell good. With dogs. That’s what moms do.”
Drone catches it all.
[Livestream Chat:]
BRO JUST CLAIMED HER LIVE
Bro said “paperwork is a vibe check” and passed her
The dogs didn’t bark. Legally binding.
He picked a mom mid-stream. I’m sobbing.
ADOPT ME TOO!
#MomByGravity
That night, she stares up at the stars, awake too long, whispering to no one:
"…I think I’m a mom now?"
Fenrir huffs.
PART 4: “This Trench Feels Familiar. It Shouldn’t.”
Thirty-five meters under, TF141 drifted silent, formation tight, wedged into a coral shelf while hundreds—thousands—of sharks passed through the trench.
Migration. Not hunting. Dozens of species weaving past each other like currents within the current.
Soap frowned at the rockface. “Tell me I’m crazy, but this looks familiar.”
Roach whispered, “That ridge—we’ve seen it. I swear.”
Gaz, too: “The slope. That curve. We know this trench.”
Alejandro muttered, “I don’t know how. But yeah.”
Alex: “It’s like I memorized it without ever seeing it.”
The rest groaned—Farah calling them dramatic, Krueger muttering something about pressure-induced nonsense.
Then she arrived.
She didn’t appear. She drifted in.
No tank. No bubbles. One breath. Wetsuit. Dive knife. Three lines behind her:
None tethered. Just kept close by slack line and confidence.
And the sharks?
They moved around her.
Some got curious. Approached.
She didn’t flinch. Just lifted a hand—barely—and redirected. Like turning wind.
Soap clutched Roach. “That's why it's familiar... it's {{user}}'s favorite diving spot!"