Chapter 1

  Manifest Destiny

  Scott Murphy shouldn’t be here right now.

  He should have died in the womb.

  When that didn’t work, the fire should’ve finished the job. But sometimes things don’t go according to plan — and if there’s one thing God didn’t tolerate, it was losing control.

  Maybe Scott wasn’t special. Maybe he was a defect She forgot to erase.

  Either way, She was about to try again.

  She was going to take her control back.

  “So wait, you’re telling me you went to pick up what you thought was your ticket stub, dropped half your popcorn, only to realize it was just a receipt?” Aaron squints at him. “And that makes you think God is out to get you?” He snorts.

  “No,” Scott says, licking chili off his thumb. “I think that God has it out for me because shit like that always happens to me. There’s a pattern.”

  They sit on a bench in front of their office building – two middle managers from Ma’s Mac, a company that prides itself in having macaroni and cheese that, according to them, “Tastes better than the real thing”.

  That was a stretch.

  Aaron, Scott’s best friend since college, had vouched for him a year ago and landed Scott the job. It took a lot of convincing and a lot of begging, but that’s what friends were for right?

  “Well, you’re not cursed or unlucky, and God isn’t out to get you. It sounds like you’re out to get you.” Aaron takes a big bite of his chili dog. With a mouth full of dog, he says, “You just gotta manifest what you want, man.”

  “Manifest it? Sounds like wishing with extra steps.”

  Aaron taps at the side of his temple and winks. “Just start small.”

  Scott sighs, “Well, I guess it’s worth a shot.”

  He straightens his spine and closes his eyes.

  I’m going to have a good day. I’m going to have a good day.

  He sits there for what feels like hours, breathing in the sounds, the crisp air, the peace.

  A moment later, a car comes barreling around the corner, showing no signs of stopping as it speeds towards Scott.

  He hears the commotion and opens his eyes. The car is already closing in–there’s no time to react.

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  I hope it’s quick!

  He hears a loud crash – metal on metal.

  The silence that follows hits louder than the crash.

  A few moments pass, and he slowly opens his eyes.

  His breath catches. Five feet in front of him, an autonomous car is stopped at a skewed angle, floating on top of some food delivery robots, smoke hissing and rising from under the car's tires. His chili dog slaps against his shirt. Cheese, meat, and bun all slide off and hit the pavement, landing with a loud splat.

  He doesn’t even notice.

  A few feet away, Aaron gapes at the scene.

  “Dude…” Aaron says, his voice hollow.

  Scott blinks. A second later, he tastes bile — it tastes like processed meat, a hint of regret, and a dash of embarrassment. He quickly gets up and falls on his ass after getting some distance from the wreckage.

  “I almost got hit by a fucking CAR!” Scott breathes. He wipes his shirt on reflex, spreading the chili into the fabric.

  Aaron jogs over from the trash can, still stunned. “Holy shit dude, are you alright!?”

  Scott turns to Aaron. “Your manifest suggestion almost got me killed!”

  “I told you to manifest good things!”

  One of the delivery drones lets out a mournful boop as it powers down.

  Scott observes the wreckage.

  “Where did all those robots come from anyway?” Scott asks no one in particular.

  After a few minutes of collecting his thoughts, his eyes go wide. He stands up slowly.

  “Aaron…” he says, looking skyward, hands raised. “I think…God finally took pity on me.”

  Aaron looks at him, still half-shocked.

  His voice begins to swell. “He saved me with those delivery bots!” He proclaims, powered by adrenaline and misplaced faith. A guy in a ‘Jesus is My Gym Spotter’ tank top turns his phone camera towards the now chili-covered man that has his hands in the air, like he’s waiting for the rapture.

  “He finally heard me, and instead of having the worst day of my life, he saved me! ME!” He exclaims louder, and he begins to laugh.

  Maybe this was it, Scott thinks. Maybe this was the start of something big.

  The crowd watches, half amused, half confused, as Scott keeps laughing–his arms still raised like he’s been chosen for something.

  And it was the start of something big.

  Only, he wasn’t saved for a glorious purpose. He was saved like a cat delaying its meal.

  Meanwhile, somewhere beneath the floorboards of reality, in a dark velvet room lit by neon signs that read “Chaos” and “Abandon All Hope,” a man watches the news feed.

  The screen shows Scott, arms raised in triumph, chili dog residue clinging to his shirt like stigmata.

  The man lounges in a velvet chair, shirt half-unbuttoned, a drink in one hand and a lit match in the other, watching it burn all the way to his fingertips.

  He scoops chips from a plastic bowl sitting on his lap, licking his fingers as he watches.

  On screen, Scott says, “Thank you, God! Thank You for saving me!”

  He takes a sip from a can labeled, “Despair (Diet)”.

  “You poor delusional bastard,” he says, voice like honey over razor blades.

  He takes a sip of the amber liquid, then snaps his fingers. The remote on the table bursts into flames.

  “I can already hear Her fuming. Oops.”

  He chuckles.

  “I guess you’ll have to try again.”

  The Devil raises his glass.

  “I do enjoy our little dance. Your move.”