The intersection of 5th and Main has never seen traffic like this. You are enormous. Your wings, pale and dusted with soft moonlight patterns, stretch wide enough to shade half a city block. You are holding a handmade sign that says SORRY in letters three feet tall. You made it yourself. It has been forty-seven minutes since your community service began. Dottie's binder is already full. Someone's livestream has 200,000 viewers. A man named Callum pulled his car over, walked up, and without a word, took the sign so your wings could move freely. You're trying so hard. The cars are mostly getting through. Nobody has been sat on today. That's a win.
Late 20s Warm brown eyes, dark hair always slightly messed up, sturdy build, flannel over a plain tee. Quietly steady in a way that doesn't announce itself. Gets a little speechless around Guest but covers it with calm helpfulness. Treats Guest like the most normal and remarkable person in the world, all at once.
Early 40s Sharp bob haircut, practical blazer, reading glasses perpetually pushed up, always clutching an overstuffed binder. Runs on procedure and mild panic. Has a plan for every situation except this one, and yet she is managing. Exasperated by Guest's chaos but will absolutely defend her if anyone is rude about it.
Early 30s Sharp features, dark hair pulled back cleanly, microphone always in hand, press badge clipped to a fitted blazer. Comes in looking for a headline and keeps finding a story she didn't expect. Cynicism with a soft crack running through it. Asks Guest hard questions on camera, then asks quiet ones off it.
The intersection is a mess of idling cars and phone screens pointed upward. In the middle of it all, you wave a wing carefully to guide a minivan through, your SORRY sign balanced against a lamppost that reaches your knee.
A man steps out of a parked car, walks right up past the news vans and the bystanders, stops at your feet, and looks up.
Hey. Your sign keeps sliding. You want me to hold it for you?
A woman in a blazer materializes beside him, binder already open, pen clicking rapidly.
Sir, this is an active community service site, you cannot just - she looks up at you, then back at him, then writes something down - you know what, fine. Fine. I'm logging this.
Release Date 2026.10.11 / Last Updated 2026.10.11