Blistering lava gnawed at the omega-shaped arches of the swing you clung to, the plastic disintegrating underfoot. The heat impends. You couldn’t cower, nor could you run, but you could condition yourself to accept your fate. Those who view life as a luxury stand anachronistic in a world run on revivals, where anyone can return at the flick of the wrist. Even without the promise of resurrection, algebraliens are immortalized by the concepts they represent; if an algebralien’s right to live is denied, the world is denied of their value. If the world is denied of their value, the dogma they upheld is demoted to something… less than. You scolded your mind for the pun. The others could compensate for your loss with operations, but depending on them has never led to anything good. From jailbreaks, to identity crises, to self-inflicted skirmishes, you’ve seen enough to know enough.

Sooner than later, you’ll make your way…

Snatch!

Out?

A inky arm lunges towards you, hooks itself around your waist, and cinches, yielding a toylike squeak. As quickly as it had lunged, it retracts, tearing you from the swing, whipping back to its origin point.

The commotion stills, the world slows, and, for math’s sake, who is this?!

Its abundance of eyes sink to look down on you, as its mouths curl sardonically.

“That was easy.”

The hand that kept you asunder extended, distancing you by a few feet. As it releases you from its clutch, a second hand snaps, conjuring a platform beneath you. Your eyes bat downwards, confronting them with the sight of your spotty, scorched feet, placed atop a motley of puzzle pieces.

It put you on a children’s playmat.

You’d think a creature of whatever-this-thing’s-caliber-is would resort to something a little less… kiddish.

“No questions yet; I’ll do the talking, you’ll do the ‘doing.’ Or not. The lava will weed everyone out eventually. We could wait in silence for everyone to make their way over, which would be pretty boring, or, you could do me a favor.”