Muses, Mishaps, and Murder!

Chapter 1: So, Your Muse Wishes You Would Die.

Muse Paisley

"The only thing I want is to survive the night." Mason Crawley peered out into the darkness.

An unseen business cultist raised his weapon.

This would be the temporary ensign's last dream, last breath, and his finale on the stage of life. Mason traded success for love, and stale kisses didn't linger on his lips because his romantic relationships were distant memories.

I made sure my microphone was off, so the losers surrounding Mason couldn't hear me. Static covered half the scene. My holographic video stream glitched. I adjusted the knobs to search for the face of the man destined to kill Mason.

Only Mason knew I was there, watching the attack unfold.

Twisted trees, rusted vehicles, and abandoned factories were the only evidence that a colony once lived there. The cultists stole everything of value, and only brokenness remained behind.

Mason ran past a charred van and could only see anything around him because dragons flying above him lit the sky with their fiery breath.

"I'm going to live," Mason said as he gasped for air.

"Mason, it's not going to happen. Your mom will miss you, but I won't," I said to him.

The less-than-gifted crew members of the flying clutch couldn't hear Muses, but they weren't creative. They weren't writers, artists, or related to a chosen one.

I don't know why I was assigned to a man who wasn't that special and waited for him to die.

Mason shoved his mother out of the way of enemy laser fire.

Why did he keep surviving? I have it right here in my file. He is a temp, and space temps always die because they are careless and unprepared.

"I don't plan on dying today." Mason rolled his sleeves down with his free hand to cover the moon-shaped freckles on his wrist.

"Come on. Theater troupes and high schools might perform productions of your sickly sweet musicals in tribute. Your funeral will be epic, and I wrote notes to record later."

"Paisley, leave me alone," Mason accidentally said out loud.

Commander Babette Nickel walked briskly behind, despite wearing an obvious back brace underneath her black uniform. Her painted lips stretched into an uneasy smile. "Who are you talking to?"

"I said the wrong cultist's name. Paisley is a traitor and a loser." Mason ducked again, and the killer missed his shot. His face twitched, his tail stiffened, and a growl warned his attackers to withdraw.

Most only hear me when I speak to them directly. My creative subjects call us Muses, intuition, narrators, gut feelings, harpies, or imposter syndrome. Well, unless they are chosen ones or have superpowers. Mason isn't special, but he hears my thoughts when I don't want him to.

'You're more pretentious each day,' Mason's thoughts screamed inside his brain. 'Backstabbers, all of them except for my mom, and I'm not so sure about Commander Nickel.'

I attempted to probe Mason's mind again, but he blocked his thoughts somehow, so I observed the commander.

Laser fire struck the temp in front of her.

The man collapsed next to Medic Lace's feet. I couldn't read his fading thoughts since he wasn't a selected subject.

Lace's shoulder-length black hair fell on her pointed fairy ears. Her tail stood stiff, freckles gleaming. When she turned full werewolf, her teeth grew. She appeared to have fewer wolf-like features and was obviously half-human.