Looking down at the bowl, Mark saw what appeared to be a head of brown, scruffy hair sitting in the center, surrounded by a ring of popcorn. “What the hell?” he said to himself as he leaned in for a closer look. Without warning, the hair popped up, revealing a green eyed, scruffy faced young man screaming, “Hey there, slouch potato!!!” Jumping back in terror, Mark screamed in horror at the surreal sight, shouting. “Oh my god! What the hell is that?!” Looking surprised, the head asked, “Why are you screaming? Didn’t you get the email?” “The email?” Mark asked, calming down a bit. “What email... wait a minute? Do you mean the one from the Krockman?” “Yeah, I’m talking about that email,” the man replied as he jerked his head to the side, nudging the bowel closer to the edge of the couch. “I should know. I had my secretary send it out.” Looking confused, Mark asked, “Your secretary... hold on. You’re Krockman?” “In person,” the man answered as he continued nudging the popcorn bowl. “Usually, I would just pop up in the client’s home, but this time, I decided to give a little heads up before I arrive.” Stopping his jerking for a moment, Krockman asked with a sigh, “Hey, do you mind giving me a hand here? Maybe, just push the bowel over the edge so I can get out?” Doing as he was told, Mark pushed the bowel over the edge, sending it tumbling to the floor. Our from the bowel came the rest of Krockman (dressed in a green polo shirt, jeans and a trench coat), and a freaked out looking, blonde haired young man in business casual, bits of popcorn covering their person. Pointing at the other man, Mark asked, “Who’s this?” “Oh, that’s Chad,” Krockman explained. “He’s with me. But we’re not here to talk about him. We’re here for you. Let’s get started, shall we?” 

Sitting at the kitchen table, Krockman, Chad, and Mark were reviewing the request that was posted. “So, you made the request as a joke?” Krockman asked as he looked over the post. “Can’t say this isn’t the first time it’s happened this way.” Coughing a bit, Mark asked, “So you can really change reality, just like that?” Krockman smiled at this, smugly answering, “Of course I can. I can give you anything your heart desires... for the right price of course.” “Yeah, about that, what exactly is the price?” Mark asked nervously. “Because even though my wife’s a banker, money’s been a little tight recently.” “Money? Who said anything about money?” Krockman retorted. “I don’t need money. What I take as payment is something that you consider precious, the more special it is to you, the better the results.” Noticing the confused look on the client’s face, Chad explained, “It means he’ll change reality for you in exchange for whatever crap you consider has sentimental value.” “Really?” Mark asked in a relieved tone. “Well that’s easy. Wait right here, I’ll be right back.” With that, Mark got up from the table and went into the garage. 

A few minutes later, Mark returned with what appeared to be a jigsaw (a rather nice one for that matter). Eyeing the power tool with a discerning eye, Krockman asked, “Okay, I’ll bite. How is that precious to you?” “This, gentlemen, is a Hishoma brand jigsaw, one of the finest models in the market,” Mark explained proudly. “Back when I was working at my old hardware store, I used my employee discount to buy this little beauty. It reminds of the good old days, back when I had a job and wasn’t completely useless. I’d say that it’s pretty precious to me, wouldn’t you agree?” Krockman remained silent as he continued eyeing the saw, judging it by some strange scale of value only he could understand. Finally, he grabbed the jigsaw and shoved it into a hidden pocket in his trench coat, snidely saying, “Yeah, it’s good enough... I suppose. Alright pal, you got yourself a deal.” 

“Really? That’s fantastic,” Mark said excitedly as he grabbed the strange man’s hand. “And I know just what to ask too.” “And that would be... what exactly?” Krockman asked in a half interested tone. Looking nervous by the sudden change in tone, Marke replied, “Well, I was wondering, if you could switch places between me and my wife. You know, with me having a job and her staying at home?” “I’m sorry, have her ‘staying at home’?” Chad interjected curiously. “What exactly would she be doing here?” Confused by this, Mark answered, “Oh you know, cooking, cleaning, all that sort of stuff. Y’know, housewife stuff.” Looking concerned, Chad continued, “So you want Krockman to turn her into a stepford wife?” “No, no, of course not,” Mark explained. “I just want her to stay at home, keep things nice and tidy and help me relax after a hard day of work, no questions asked.” “That’s the definition of a stepford wife you idiot,” Chad retorted before turning to Krockman and saying, “Krockman, you cannot do this. Stripping this woman of her free will is wrong, do you understand? It’s wrong!” Krockman only lowered his head and sighed as golden drool began to dribble from his lips, saying, “I’m sorry Chad, but the man made the payment and the request. I’m obligated to alter reality and put a stepford wife into this house.” “Well thank you very much sir, but for the record, she’s not going to be a stepford...” Mark began in reply, only to be engulfed in a bank of golden mist that Krockman vomited up. 

Mark went into a coughing fit, he could his body changing. He could feel his torso growing colder as all his chest and back hair fell out. Speaking of his chest though, he could feel it grow a little heavier as a pair of average sized breasts grew out along with the hair on his head, the view of his new fun bags obscured by long locks of ginger hair. He could feel his hips and ass push out a bit while something else was sucked in. Even her face and limbs changed, her face growing softer and more feminine around the edges while her hands and feet became more dainty. Where once stood a whiney, self loathing man, now stood an incredibly confused, chubby woman. As Mark (or Martha?) looked herself over, she asked in a huff, “What the hell is this? What did you do to me?” “I did what I said I was going to do,” Krockman answered smugly as more golden drool oozed down the sides of his mouth. “I’m putting a stepford wife into this house. Never said it was going to be your wife.” With that, Krockman fired off another round of morphonic mist, changing the former man’s life forever. 

Later that day, April came back to her home after a long day of work at the bank. After dealing with idiot customers and even more idiotic managers, it was nice to finally be home. Unlocking the door, April walked in to a spotless abode, all neat and orderly. She smiled at this as she took her brown hair out of its bun and adjusted her glasses. Heading towards the kitchen, April’s smile only grew wider as she saw her wife, Martha, preparing dinner. Dressed in a simple green dress that showed off her cute, chubby figure, Martha was busy mixing up the filling of a casserole. Feeling a little cheeky, April reached in and her wife’s rear a light pinch, causing Martha to let out shrill eep. 

“Sorry about that honey,” April said with a coy grin. “Couldn’t resist.” “Oh, welcome home dear,” Martha said as she finished pouring the filling into the pan. “I was just getting this casserole ready. How was work today?” “Oh, same old, same old,” April answered. “Just more moron customers and a bunch of coworkers who still don’t understand that I’m not into people with penises. Anyway, how was your day?” “Oh it was lovely,” Martha replied cheerfully. “A couple of traveling salesmen came by today and sold me some floor polish.” Looking confused, April asked, “Seriously, traveling salesmen? I didn’t think those still existed.” “Oh they do, really,” Martha reassured. “I’ll tell you more about over dinner. In the mean time, why don’t you go into the living room, relax and I’ll bring you a nice cold beer. Just let me get the casserole in the oven first.” Feeling that a beer sounded pretty good right about now, April made her way to the living room, though not before giving her wife a quick peck on the check and saying, “Thanks honey.” 

Meanwhile, just outside the couple’s house, Krockman and Chad were watching the scene unfold. “Here’s a question for you Chad,” Krockman stated as he watched on. “Can a woman be a stepford wife if she’s in a lesbian relationship?” Shrugging his shoulders, Chad answered, “Honestly, I don’t know. At least they seem happy.” “Yeah, that’s what I do,” Krockman said in a tone somewhere between distant and smug. “Cooper Krockman: marriage saver.” As he looked on, Chad turned to Krockman and said, “That reminds me, I never got a chance to congratulate you on your engagement. How’s the wedding planning coming along?” “Oh we haven’t started just yet, but we’ll get there in time,” Krockman answered. “In the meantime, Roquella is already dealing with one of the more major tasks... god only knows how well that’s working out.” 
—————— 

Meanwhile, in Limbo, Roquella was being driven through the twilight wasteland by Misfit. The elder lost soul was puffing on a cigarette, clenching it between his fangs and square teeth as smoke billowed from the nostrils of his long sausage nose. “Thanks again for giving me a ride Misfit,” Roquella said as they cruised down the road. “Think nothing of it, my dear. I’m just happy to help,” Misfit said in a fatherly tone. “So you’re sure you want to go through with this? The little basket case can be more than a bit difficult to deal with.” Roquella nodded in reply and said, “I kind of have to. I mean, it’d be a little awkward not to tell him about the marriage, and besides, it’s not like he can cause that much damage. He is a scrap after all.” Misfit only shook his head, saying, “True, but this is Mac we’re talking about. He’s not like any of the other scraps.” 

Glancing over at the long nosed, older gentleman, Roquella asked, “Why is that? I mean, I know he has a perpetual migraine from a virus that infected him back when he was a regular laptop, but other than that, he always seemed smarter than the others (even when he first came to life).” “Perhaps it has something to do with him having access to that internet thing you all keep going on about,” Misfit answered as he made a turn. “I’m not entirely familiar with it, but it sounds like a real fount of knowledge. I’m certain anything with immediate access to it 24/7 would be rather bright.” “Yeah, well considering what most people do on the internet these days, it’s a real fount of something alright,” Roquella said with a hint of disdain. “I mean, I understand that that kind of crap has been going long before the internet was a thing. I just wish people wouldn’t be so... cruel about things.” Noticing the hint of sadness in the young woman’s voice, Misfit decided to drop the matter, knowing full well about the circumstances surrounding her death. 

After a few miles, the two had finally arrived at their destination: False Orchard. The stately mansion gleamed with the glow of several high tech devices performing routine maintenance on the overall structure. It was a sprawling palace filled with every pleasure and delight one could imagine, all meant to house and entertain one resident alone: Mac, one of two scraps that have the dubious privilege of being Krockman’s “sons”. “Well, we’re here: the dragon’s nest,” Misfit said as he unlocked the car. “Now before you go, I want to ask you again, are you sure you want to go through with this?” “I’m sure I’m sure,” Roquella answered as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “Krockman and I agreed that someone has to tell him about the wedding. Considering his relationship with Krockman, it makes sense that I should be the one that breaks the news.” Misfit only looked on worriedly before saying, “Just be careful in there, alright. Lord knows what that little freak’s capable of.” Nodding in agreement, Roquella got out of the car and made her way up to the mansion. 

Standing at the front door, Roquella examined the door until she noticed the door intercom. Pushing the little button on the intercom, the curvaceous lost soul was greeted by the gratingly shrill voice of Mac asking, “Who is it?” “It’s me, Roquella,” the plush beauty answered. “You remember me, right? I’m Krockman’s girlfriend. I was there when you were first created.” When she said this, Roquella didn’t hear anything but a quick whooshing, followed by the front door unlocking and opening, revealing Mac himself. The scrap stared up at Roquella with glowing green eyes, one of which was covered with a frozen bag of peas. His white ruffled hair draped his forehead while the light glinted of his silver, carapace-like skin. Roquella’s eyes were drawn to the various circuits running across his body (especially the two large, brown coated circuits resembling the straps of a backpack), while she noticed droplets of condensation from the peas dripping down the side of his neck down to his shoulder revealing the full, near invisible seam of his mouth (his face merely compromising just the front). The little scrap only glared up at Roquella in disdain as she took it all in, knowing that in a bizarre way, this little thing was going to be her future stepson. 

“Hey pillow tits!” Mac shouted indignantly, finally breaking the silence. “You gonna keep staring at me like a drunk, or are you gonna tell me what you want?” Snapping back to reality, Roquella blushed a bit as she sheepishly replied, “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare at you like that. It’s just that I haven’t seen you in a while, so... y’know.” “First off, you have a smartphone. Try taking a picture, it’ll last longer,” Mac retorted. “And second of all, that doesn’t answer what you’re doing here? Hardly anyone comes up here, not even Krockman and he built this place.” “Well actually, Krockman’s the reason why I’m here,” Roquella explained as she folded her arms under her chest. “You see... Krockman and I are getting married.” Looking at Roquella with a bored expression as he removed the bag of peas (revealing a slightly bruised eye), Mac simply asked, “And you’re telling me this because?” Disregarding the bruised eye (Mac had tendency of mouthing off to the wrong people), Roquella answered, “Well, seeing as you’re technically Krockman’s son, we thought it’d be nice if we told you the good news.” 

Continuing his glaring, Mac asked, “And I’m assuming you broke the ‘good news’ to Calibur as well?” “No, not yet,” Roquella answered kindly. “But in the meantime, what do you think of all this?” Hearing this, Mac thought it over, tapping a pointy little foot on the ground. “Well first off, congratulations or mazal tov (or whatever you Jews say these days),” Mac finally answered. “And second of all, just because Krockman created me and Calibur, that doesn’t mean I see us as family. Krockman’s not my dad, Calibur’s not my brother, and you’re sure not my new mom. So with all that in mind, congrats on your marriage, but as far as I’m concerned, I couldn’t care less. Don’t even bother inviting me, I’ll just throw it in the trash.”  Feeling a little sadden by this, Roquella said, “Alright then, we just wanted to let you know is all. You can come if you want. It’d be nice if you did though.” Without saying a word, Mac closed the door, ending the conversation. Realizing that this may have been a waste of time, Roquella made her way back to the car, feeling sorry for the poor scrap. 

Watching the curvy lost soul walk away, Mac grimaced a bit. “Of all the nerve,” he muttered to himself. “Of all the unmitigated gall, thinking I would care about their marriage. Not like he ever cared about me in the first place, sticking me out here, not fixing my migraines... not giving me anyone to talk to for company.” Putting these thoughts out of his head, Mac decided that it was time to do his daily drone check. Ever since he first arrived at False Orchard, he had been using a small fleet of spy drones to keep an eye on the surrounding wasteland (after all, considering what’s usually living out there, it pays to be in the know). Grabbing his tablet, Mac said to himself, “Okay, let’s see what’s hit the fan today.” 

Peering at the tablet, Mac viewed the various screens showcasing the various corners of the wasteland. The Northern quadrant seemed barren as usual. The Southern quadrant was home to that ramshackle theatre populated by those damn kobolds and grimalkins. The Western quadrant, close to Babel, Mac saw some strange cat-lizard woman thing in a blouse and a skirt and a teddy bear scrap walking through the junk zone (where the excess of the mortal realm seeps into Limbo). It was the Eastern quadrant that really caught his attention. It was a small fort located near the Torii Gateways. Roaming around in the fort were several scraps, most of whom seemed unusually large for scraps (about as tall as thirteen year olds if he had to guess). While some were strangers to him, Mac did recognized a few faces. There was that fungus covered freak, Shinkin, that guitar scrap Jimmy that got him beaten up, that weird, pigheaded peppermill scrap that’s constantly whining about his lack of meaning, and of course, his so called brother, Calibur. Looking closer at the screen, Mac muttered, “What’re you idiots doing out their?”

As he watched the screen, he noticed a bright glint shine from the center of the fort. “Wait a minute, what was that?” Mac said to himself as he activated an energy scanner on the Eastern drone. What he saw was a massive spike in energy, with readings on par with something Krockman and the other Seven New Gods could produce. “Holy crap! What are they holding onto out there?” Mac said to himself as he watched the energy levels return to normal. Then, a thought occurred to Mac... a very wild thought. Grinning wildly, the little laptop scrap went to his hall closet, pulled out a backpack, filled it with all the essentials he needed to trek through the wasteland (water, trail mix, flare gun, etc.), and made his way out the door. “I don’t what you’re hiding out there, Calibur, but whatever it is, I want in!” Mac said to himself as he ran out into the wilderness. “And when I get my hands on it, not even the great Krockman will stop me.”