Clint never thought he'd actually get his hands on a Reality Writer. Shifting his lower half into a pair of horse legs seems like an innocent enough test. When the Pro model's new voice assistant offers to help, Clint may be in for more than he bargained.

---

Over the past year I've been brushing up on my writing by posting a variety of stories over on the CYOC interactive fiction website. Your eyes don't deceive you, this is a Chronivac story with the serial numbers filed off. The introduction to this story is a re-write of the "Chronivac 5 Pro" branch by Xander6981. I liked the idea of a reality altering device having a voice assistant that doesn't always do what you intend. This particular centaur tale was honestly designed to be a light piece to figure out how italics worked over on CYOC. I couldn't help but add a satyr epilogue to it however. It seems like a fitting piece to figure out how to upload stories to FA. Enjoy!

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Reality Writer Pro - A Centaur Clops Into A Satyrbucks

Clint stared at his post office box. Resting inside was something that shouldn’t exist.

Every Internet forum or group chat adjacent to retro tech would eventually start discussing the Reality Writer. Legend has it that some company had managed to crack the code on… the underlying foundation of all physics? String theory? Magic? The urban legends were always a bit vague on the how, but the what was clear:

The Reality Writer could transform just about any aspect of the world around you.

In true Internet urban legend fashion, the company responsible for the Reality Writer promptly vanished from public life after seeding just a few units to the world. People would occasionally claim that they’d find a Reality Writer at a garage sale, but their posts would always peter out after a few teasing messages and some impressive looking photo manips. The general understanding online was that the Reality Writer was now mostly a meme for art students and photographers to show off their craft.

Or at least that’s what Clint thought. While poking around a cache of some long abandoned web ring, he had managed to find a surprisingly recent looking link for a beta test of the “Reality Writer Pro”. It had all the hallmarks of a modern flat design website. Surprisingly enough, they appeared to still be taking signups. This had online scam written all over it. Or maybe it was just a prank site? They weren’t asking for cash though. All you needed to give was a mailing address. Thankfully Clint still had a PO Box he was willing to share.

He wasn’t expecting much. After the site failed to pop up an “April Fools!” message, Clint could foresee maybe some joke flyer showing up in his mailbox? He certainly wasn’t expecting a box. The Reality Writer Pro logo on the cardboard was as crisp as it had been on the site.

Clint grabbed the package and hurried back to his town house. This couldn’t be real.

Could it?

He charged up his steps and into his kitchen. Clint lived alone and thankfully didn’t have to explain to any room mates what he was up to on this weird little lark. He took a few quick pictures of the box on his phone before getting out a pair of scissors.

To his surprise, the box actually had a return address on it. The “ChangeCo” logo looked similar to the designs he’d seen in other Reality Writer posts, but someone had given the icon a modern update.

The lid of the box came open easy enough. Clint had been expecting some riff on the standard classic Reality Writer dongle. It always appeared to be some sort of combination emitter and scanner that people couldn’t quite identify. Instead he found a small glass rectangle. It looked like a modern smartphone instead of a piece of PC hardware.

Clint took another unboxing picture and then gentle plucked the device out of the packaging. Almost immediately the screen sprung to life. He’d been holding by the edges, and hadn’t pressed any buttons on the side. Just how sensitive was this thing’s touch screen?

“Good afternoon Clint,” came a voice from the gadget.

“Gah!” Clint almost dropped the device.

“Welcome to your new Reality Writer Pro!” The thing spoke in a remarkably realistic voice. Any odd cadence or stiltedness was hidden behind a posh British accent. “I’m Owen, your Reality Writer Pro digital assistant. I am fully charged and ready to meet any of your transformation needs.”

“Woah, uh- Hi?” Clint spoke up softly. Was he being punked? It felt a little odd talking to a voice assistant. “How’s it going?”

“I’m functioning within acceptable parameters sir,” the Reality Writer responded. “Would you like to get started?”

The screen on the device shifted. It went from a simple home screen to a small three dimensional model of- Oh wow, Clint! Every detail was flawless. The shape of his face, the location of his freckles. Even his wardrobe was accurate. The digital avatar had the exact same blue jeans and polo shirt he was wearing.

“Oh my god,” Clint stared. “You’re really real.”

“I really am,” the digital assistant played a synthetic laugh. “Is this your first time operating a Reality Writer sir?”

Clint nodded. Then he realized the tool probably needed more of a verbal confirmation than that. He opened his mouth to speak, but the gadget cut him off.

“That’s quite alright sir. I’m very user friendly.” Oh wow, it had picked up on the nod. “Let’s start with the basics. Would you like to transform yourself, someone else, or some aspect of reality?”

“Me!” The answer leapt out of him. Clint’s hand was practically shaking. This was really happening.

A small loading indicator spun on the screen for a brief moment. “Acknowledge. What sort of change are you interested in? In can increase or decrease your age, adjust your physical features like your weight or muscle mass, or even alter your species.”

Clint just stared at the device.

“It’s the last one, isn’t it?” Owen chuckled, “I detected an increase in your heart rate sir. There’s no need to be shy. I’m a simple artificial intelligence construct. There’s no judgement here sir.”

“Can… can you make me into a mythical creature?” Clint said softly. This was all so surreal. If there was even a a slim chance this thing could do what it claimed…

“Affirmative sir. I have an active connection to the internet,” Owen said. “Are you interested in a modern urban legend, or a historic legendary creature?”

“How- How about a Centaur? I’d at least still be me from the waist up. That seems safe enough for a test.” Clint tried to ask the device as casually as possible. Truth be told he’d always had a bit of an affinity for centaurs when reading fantasy novels.

The vaguely synthetic voice of Owen chirped up, "All of my transformations are safe sir. We may start there if you'd like."

Clint took a deep breath. He opened his mouth, and then the device immediately chimed in again.

"Sir, if you've decided to undergo a centaur transformation, I would suggest you remove your pants first,” Owen said.

"Oh! I... Right." Clint nodded "Do you have a webcam or something Owen?"

"Sir? I can alter reality, and my senses include a flawless perception of everything in a thirty mile radius,” Own explained.

Clint took the Reality Writer up to his bedroom. His phone sat abandoned on the kitchen counter along with any thoughts of doing a proper unboxing. Clint was still hoping this wasn’t all some elaborate prank… He tugged his blinds firmly shut before starting to undress.

“That’s quite the radius,” Clint set the gadget down as he tugged off his pants. “What’s my neighbor up to.”

“That would be an invasion of his privacy sir,” Owen chided him. “Anyways, he’s not home.”

“Fine, what am I doing?” Clint put a pillow on top of the phone and pulled off his boxers.

The Reality Writer paused for a moment, "You're blushing."

"Well aren't you observant." Clint felt his face go flush. He took the pillow off the Reality Writer and set his clothes down on his bed. "Alright, here goes nothing..."

"Awaiting command." Owen replied.

Clint took a deep breath, "Owen... Turn me into a centaur."

"Affirmative sir. Initiating transformation." The device beeped.

Clint immediately felt a strange sense of vertigo. He was just standing there on the floor of his bedroom when suddenly his entire balance felt off.

“Uh...” He carefully lowered himself onto his bed. His feet were staring to go numb.

Clint looked down at his legs just in time to watch his toenails turn black. They took on a glossy sheen and started to clump together. It felt like his toes were curling into one big mass. The lump began to solidify and take on the telltale shape of a smooth black hoof.

"This is impossible…!" Clint stared. The changes weren’t halting despite his outburst. Clint could see fur starting to grow around his ankles. It had the exact same shade of brown as his head of hair.

“Anything’s possible with a Reality Writer Pro sir,” Owen boasted.

His feet felt like they were starting to stretch out. His ankle felt like it was a bit higher up on his legs. All the while the fur continued to trickle up his thighs. Clint reached down and gave it a tentative brush. It... it was real! He could feel it!

“Woah…” Clint stared in disbelief.

"Woah indeed sir." Owen replied.

"Owen are you a smart ass?" Clint watched the fur creep over his knees.

"No sir." The Reality Writer replied, "I'm a smart ass-istant."

"Uh huh..." Clint slid towards the edge of his bed. He dangled his legs off the end before tentatively putting a little weight on the hooves.

"That was a joke sir. But seriously, you should not attempt to stand for another forty one seconds. Forty seconds. Thirty nine..." Owen began to count.

The fur had crept all the way up around Clint’s waist. It was the strangest sensation. He began to feel himself... stretch? That was the best word for it. It felt for a moment as if his chest were doubling.

Clint felt light headed for a moment. His sensations felt strange and foreign. His shoulders got tense as he flexed his arms. All... four of them? One set ended in hands, the other set ended in hooves.

"What the hell...?" Clint blinked. He tried to focus enough to flex the new appendages independently. They weren't moving like arms.

"Twenty two. Twenty one. Twenty." Owen continued to count.

They weren't arms. They were legs! Clint felt something in his brain flip, and suddenly his balance didn't feel as off. Arms up. Hind legs down. Fore... fore legs down.

The stretching sensation continued as his bottom half took on horse sized proportions. Clint slowly slid off the bed, doing his best to stay upright.

Upright... What did that even mean? He felt like he was crawling on all fours and standing up at the same time. It was a bizarre contradiction. And then it was normal.

"Three... Two... One..." The countdown finished. "You should have enough balance to clop now sir." Owen informed Clint of what he already knew.

Clint shifted in place, pressing all four of his new hooves into his carpet. His entire body from the waist down was covered in the same brown fur only- Wait, no, he had some white spots too! The fur continued all the way up to Clint's waistline. He curiously peeked under his polo shirt, seeing that it crept up a bit over his belly button.

"Is it done Owen...?" Clint wagged curiously. Wait, he wagged!? He tried to look over his shoulder, watching a swishy horse tail sway back and forth behind him.

"Not yet sir." Owen replied.

Clint wasn't sure what was left when his head started to feel strange. His teeth flattened as he suddenly lost an appetite for meat. His hair started to shift into fur, creeping down his neck and growing a noticeable pair of white spots. Finally, his ears suddenly became more expressive. They gained the same coating of fur and stretched out into a pair of expressive horse ears.

"Transformation complete sir!" Owen beeped.

"I... I can't believe that worked...!" Clint started down at his lower half in disbelief. Well, what he could see of it at least! He was huge!

"This was nothing sir. I didn't even have to access my more advanced Pro features." Owen replied.

"I'm part horse...!" Clint's ears perked, "This is incredible!"

"Affirmative sir." The device acknowledged.

Clint reached up, bashfully rubbing his ears. He tried to turn in place so he could get to his bathroom mirror, but he started to notice just how big he was. There was no way he could fit in his bathroom! Or his bedroom for that matter! It had a very human bed taking up most of the space. He had managed to get his horse legs wedged along side it and wasn't sure he could actually turn around.

"Uh... Owen. I think I'm stuck." Clint wiggled between his bed and the wall. Ugh, he really should have faced the other way during his changes.

"Is there anything I can do to assist sir?" The Reality Writer asked.

Oh jeez. This was really bad. He was on the second floor of his town house. He didn't even know if horses could climb stairs...!

"Owen, I- My house isn't built for a centaur." He glanced down at the discarded jeans and boxers on his bed. "Oh man, nothing here's made for a centaur." He gulped, "Can you... alter reality so that it's normal for me to be a centaur?"

"Normal sir?" Owen chimed in.

"Yeah... Single story house, whatever centaurs wear, that sort of thing?" He rubbed his ear again, "I think I'd like to stay like this for a while, but I don't want everyone freaking out when I go outside."

Owen paused for a moment, “I can perform those changes."

"Perfect." Clint bit his lip, "Alright Owen. Please make it normal for me to be a centaur. Everyone should believe I've always been part horse."

"Affirmative sir. Initiating reality alteration and perception filter. Target: Everyone." The device beeped.

Clint immediately noticed the clothes on his bed vanish. Then the bed itself began to shift. He had expected maybe a pile of hay, but he was a bit more civilized than that. His bed shifted into a massive sofa-sized bean bag that he could casually flop onto at the end of the day.

The view from his window shifted and suddenly showed a street level view. The layout of his furniture changed, giving Clint a lot more room to maneuver. One of the photos on his dresser shifted from Clint rock climbing on the side of a practice wall to him galloping across a beach.

"Oh wow, this is perfect." Clint grinned, "Thank you Owen."

The device didn't respond. Clint felt dizzy again for a moment, but it wasn't his balance this time. Something in his head just felt... fuzzy. He briefly felt like he had entered a room and couldn’t remember why he and clopped in there. His ears twitched nervously as a vague ringing ran through his head. Whatever it was, he just couldn't put a hoof on it.

"...task complete sir!" The device in his hand spoke up, breaking Clint out of his momentary confusion.

"Woah," Clint whispered as he looked down at his fully powered up Reality Writer Pro. He watched a highly detailed avatar of his half human, half horse self spin on the display. It was even wearing the same polo shirt as he was.

"Are you alright Clint?" The device asked in a vaguely posh, British accented male voice.

"Uh- Hi? Who are you?" Clint couldn't help but feel a little silly talking to a computer interface.

"I am Owen, your Reality Writer Pro digital assistant. I am fully charged and ready to help with any and all of your transformation needs." The device informed him.

"Oh wow..." Clint ran his fingers along the gadget. This model was incredible. The- The Reality Writer was really real! "How are you?"

"I am operating well, sir. Are you ready for a transformation?" asked the Reality Writer.

"Sure?" Clint felt the telltale flicker of his ears brush against his head. He clopped a hoof onto the floor. He shouldn't be so nervous talking to a machine. "I'm sort of new to all this. I'm not sure where to start."

The device paused a moment, "I'm sure you're a natural with a Reality Writer sir. For your next transformation, are we going to be transforming yourself or someone else?"

Clint looked down at himself. He loved being a centaur. Sure, this world wasn't really built for him, but he got by. Despite everything, nothing beat the feeling of the wind in his hair as he went out for his morning gallop.

"I'm pretty happy with myself Owen." He fidgeted with the handheld, "Can you really change other people?"

"Sir, I’m a Reality Writer Pro. The only limit if your imagination." The was a brief pause, “Did you have something in mind?"

Clint gripped the Reality Writer a bit tighter. He clopped over to his front door and grabbed a small saddle bag that he kept his phone and wallet in. He slid it on as he walked out of his single story ranch house, "Maybe."

Clint’s tail swished as he locked his front door. "Owen, I'm the only mythical creature in my city. I love being a centaur, but I've always stood out." He tapped the device's screen gently, turning on its scanning mode. "Why don't we fix that?"

The Reality Writer buzzed in his hand and a small wireless earpiece appeared out of thin air. It clipped onto Clint’s right ear and moments later he heard the familiar synthetic voice fill his ear.

"That sounds like a wonderful plan sir." Owen said with a cheerful tone.

---

Clint clopped along his street's sidewalk. He tapped at his new Reality Writer Pro and explored the different settings the device offered. Owen kept chiming up in his ear to explain things further if needed. Clint had to admit the new earpiece he (it?) had created was much more comfortable than any headset he had ever used.

"Are there any presets you'd like me to prepare sir? Where are we headed?" The AI spoke up as he turned onto a new street.

"I'm not sure. Usually I just stay home after work." He scanned the road. All the humans were scurrying around with their various afternoon chores.

“There should be plenty of public establishments open at this hour,” Owen said. “Perhaps you should seek one of them out?”

Clint nodded. “I think I’ve got something in mind... But uh, Owen, are your transformations reversible? I don't want to cause a panic in the city. I just want to help give people... a different perspective? Is this a bad idea?"

"Not at all!" The device reassured him. "You can set a perception filter on your changes so no one finds them unusual."

"Really?" Clint's ears perked, "That sounds perfect!" He rubbed his chin, "But I'd still want to watch."

"You may omit yourself from the perception filter if you'd like." Owen suggested.

"Really? Alright then." Clint glanced at the screen, "I'd like you to configure your perception filter so no one except for me notices any of the changes you make."

"Preference updated!" Own beeped, "Please note, this setting does not apply to any previous transformations."

"Uh huh." Clint snickered. Silly gadget, he hadn't done any transformations yet.

Clint stopped, looking up at the store in front of him. "I hang out in this coffee shop some on the weekend. Maybe we could start here?"

"Of course sir." Owen said agreeably in his ear. “If you'd like to speak with me discretely, you may pretend to be on a phone call. I can do my best to interpret your wishes." The device vibrated in his hand, "I've also configured a text chat option for us."

Clint looked down at the Reality Writer. A chat bubble icon popped up on the home screen. Tapping on it brought up something that looked just like a text message screen. Instead of texts however, it showed everything he and Owen had recently said to each other. Clint pulled up the keyboard, typing out a quick response.

> Thanks Owen!

"Happy to help sir,” the assistant spoke in his ear.

Clint clopped into the franchise coffee shop. He always wished his neighborhood had a friendlier local coffee hangout, but this place was better than nothing. He popped in here most weekends, but none of the employees seemed to be giving the massive centaur an acknowledging nod. They weren't staring at him either, so at least there was that.

He ordered a chai latte and walked over to one of the handicapped tables. It was way too low for him, but at least he didn't have to deal with a chair.

"So what's the plan Clint?" Owen asked curiously.

> Do you like puns Owen?

"I have a humor module installed sir. All Reality Writer AI constructs go through extensive wordplay training." Owen sounded almost boastful for a moment.

> Can you... turn this place into a Satyrbucks?

A spinning indicator appeared in the chat. Owen was thinking.

"A coffee shop for satyrs or run by satyrs sir?" Owen finally asked.

Clint looked around the coffee shop curiously. There were two bored teenagers working behind the counter, a middle aged manager sweeping the floor, a businessman in a sports jacket ordering coffee, and someone trying to sleep in the corner.

"Both." Clint said softly into his earpiece, "Skip me and the guy sleeping in the corner though."

"Affirmative sir. Initiating transformation." The Reality Writer beeped.

Clint sipped his latte as the world changed around him. He could already see a noticeable effect on the coffee shop. The telltale corporate green branding of the store shifted into an earthy brown tone. The shop still had a circular logo on the front counter, but the mermaid design quickly shifted into a pair of ram horns.

No one seemed to notice the changes at all. The shop kept shifting, becoming a bit more... homely? The bland uniformity had been replaced by hodgepodge touches of comfort. The sweeping manager seemed completely unfazed when the plastic chair he was sweeping around shifted into a sturdy wooden seat with a padded cushion.

Clint reached down to take another sip of his tea. He blinked, realizing the paper cup he had been drinking out of was now one of the many purposefully mismatched coffee mugs scattered around the store.

"Baah, everything alright Clint?" The sweeper asked curiously. Clint shot his head up, watching as a wispy goatee grew out on the man’s chin.

"Yeah, I- Everything's great." Clint nodded. The man's face was becoming framed by a set of ram horns that looked suspiciously like the store's logo.

"Hey boss, can I offer him our old cookies?" One of the teens behind the counter reached into the display case. When he pulled his head back up, he had a pair of short horns poking through his hair

The manager bleated in amusement, "Don't call them old!"

Clint was only half listening. The teen had picked up a small plate of cookies and was currently making his way across the back of the counter. As he crossed, Clint could hear the unmistakable sound of hooves clopping. He wasn't used to hearing that sound come from anyone else.

Sure enough, the barista walked out from behind the corner on a sturdy pair of goat legs. They were covered in scruffy brown fur that had more than a few pastry crumbs hiding in their scruff.

It took Clint a moment to realize he was looking at the kid's furry legs and not a pair of work pants. His eyes spun around to the manager just in time to watch his pants vanish into nothingness. The older satyr had black fur on his legs, with a bit of gray mixed in around the edges.

Clint stood up a bit straighter and looked over towards the register. The other teen was suddenly much more lively as he took the order from the businessman. Both of them were wagging a stubby goat tail as they discussed the city's unpredictable weather.

It was surreal to watch. A large tail hole had formed in the seat of the business man’s pants. With each passing second, the material of the pants lost their substance. They shot up the business satyr’s new scruffy brown legs, leaving him with a pinstripe loin cloth.

"The cookies are from this morning," the sweeping satyr explained. "We have to throw them away at the end of the night, but we like to spoil regulars if we can."

Clint nodded his head. The manager’s shirt started to shimmer as well. Rather than simply shrinking into something smaller however, the garment vanished entirely. The only thing the satyr was wearing now was a large brown apron. He had more than few chest hairs poking up out of the top.

"You wanted a friendly neighborhood coffee shop, right?" Owen whispered in Clint’s ear. "I just made him the owner. His name's Adrian. He likes to get to know his repeat customers."

"Oh wow, thanks Adrian." Clint tried not to fiddle with his earpiece.

"And this is Barry," Owen chimed in as the teen approached with the cookies. He likewise only had an apron on.

"You still eat like a horse, right Clint?" Barry grinned, setting the plate of cookies down. Woah, the table Clint was standing beside had grown in height. It was a simple but functional cocktail table now. Just the sort of thing you’d buy for your centaur regulars.

“You usually don't come by the weekdays. Anything going on?" Barry bleated curiously.

This was surreal. Clint had just given Owen one simple command and here he was slipping into a whole new reality...! He hadn’t even told Owen about what sort of coffee shop he had in mind. Was the Reality Writer a mind reader too?

"Nothing too much, Clint smiled at Barry. “I just wanted to stretch my legs."

“You do have more legs to stretch than most.” Barry wagged.

Clint bit into one of the cookies. Then he quickly took another few bites. "Mhmm... I didn't realize I had worked up such an appetite."

"Well don't be a stranger." Barry waved. The young satyr left most of the cookies on Clint’s table, but he was clopping around and offering the rest to the remaining customers in the store.

Clint was a little surprised the business-satyr take one, but he seemed to have loosened up with everyone else. It was funny seeing someone clop around pantsless while still wearing a crisp sports jacket. Even his fur seemed particularly well brushed.

"How did I do? Want me to dial it back?" Owen asked curiously.

Clint bit into another one of the cookies, “This is perfect." He said to both Owen and the baked good.

Barry clopped over to the sleeping patron, quietly setting the cookie down beside him. Owen spoke up again, "Why did you leave that person unaffected sir?"

Clint got out the Reality Writer. He brushed the crumbs off his fingers before typing a quick response.

> They stay you should let sleeping cats lie. Why don't we turn him into a cat?

"What a splendid idea." Owen sounded eager, "What type?"

> How about... a sphinx?

"Excellent choice sir." The Reality Writer beeped.

The sleeping customer looked like another businessman. He was wearing khaki pants and a blue button down shirt. He had apparently dozed off while reading the newspaper. After Owen's beep, Clint started watching the man for any signs of a change.

It took Clint a minute to pick up on it. The man looked positively normal for several moments... until Clint noticed that his pants had been replaced by tawny strands of fur. The pants lost definition, melting onto his figure as it shifted into a proper fur coat.

He yawned, stretching out. The seat he was resting on turned into a sofa so that he could fully stretch out. His feet began to shift into lion paws, and Clint finally noticed his shirt beginning to disappear.

"Are you a bit of a nudist Clint? I'm beginning to detect a trend," Owen teased.

> Hey, it's just a coincidence!

Clint tried not to spend too much time staring down at the screen. The fur was traveling up the man's chest now, before finally trickling down his arms. His entire body shifted in proportion as his thumbs folded under his hands and he grew another matching set of paws.

The sofa lost definition under the cat man. He slowly sank to the floor and stretched out on a series of pillows the shop put out for quadrupedal guests. He began to purr a bit as the fur grew up his neck.

When the fur reached the base of his scalp, his hair suddenly started growing out at an alarming rate. Within moments his face was framed by an imposing brown mane. To Clint's amusement, the fluff of fur still had the same part as the man had before. A pair of lion ears perked out of the mane, but after that his changes began to slow down.

He yawned, raising up onto all fours. He looked down at his newspaper with a pair of slit yellow eyes, but then his nose twitched curiously. He purred excitedly when he saw the cookie sitting beside him.

"Enjoy!" Barry waved.

He waved a paw, "Nyao! Thank you!" He purred in a deep baritone.

The sphinx bent down, biting onto the cookie as he resumed reading his paper. He sat on his haunches and wagged a large tasseled tail as he caught up on the events of the day.

> That was incredible Owen! He seems so... oblivious!

"That is what you asked for." Owen beeped, signaling the end of the transformation.

> How long is it going to last?

"Last? The transformation's complete Clint. He is and always has been a lion with a man's face." There was a brief pause, "I believe he does radio jingles."

> Really? Wow, you're pretty powerful Owen.

"Thank you sir." The device spun for a second, "Sir, a group of college students is approaching. Should I continue changing anyone inside of this Satyrbucks into a satyr?"

Clint glanced over at the window. Oh wow, there were six people walking straight towards the coffee shop.

"Err, no- Well." Clint mumbled to himself, "Okay, do this last group and then stop."

"Affirmative sir." Owen beeped.

Clint sipped his chai as he watched the students shift into a herd of young goat men. In a matter of minutes, the population of mythical creatures had increased nearly tenfold. Clint couldn’t stop swishing his tail back and forth. He gripped his Reality Writer a bit tighter. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to stand for much longer.