Dear Lord Sigma,
We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a potential intergalactic war for whatever it was that we did wrong. What we did was wrong. But we think you’re crazy to make us write this essay telling you who we think we are. What do you care? You see us as you want to see us… in the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions. You see us as a group of ninja, a group of thorns in your side. An interdimensional demon, an army of spirits, and a formerly deceased traitor. Correct? That’s how we saw each other at seven o’clock this morning. We were brainwashed.
——–Saturday, March 12, 7:06 AM——–
The team, along with the spirit army, are encaged on Sigma’s prison, The Raft.
Alyssa: This is all your fault, Cypress. If you hadn’t agreed to take the Spirit Art under your mantle, we would be out of here by now.
Cypress: Why is it always my fault?
Alyssa: Because you were the one who agreed to this in the first place! Now we’re trapped, and it’s thanks to you that we’re waiting for execution.
Tiamat, Charles and Perez enter from a hole dug into the wall.
Tiamat: Children, perhaps if you two stopped bickering, we could dig out of this place?
Alyssa: You do realize that even if we managed to get out of here, we’re floating in the middle of space, right? We’ll die.
Tiamat: Oh, yes. I suppose I forgot I was in the presence of mortals.
——–Saturday, March 12, 8:04 AM——–
Charles: Look, maybe we can just stage a revolt? I mean, we aren’t the only ones here. Take this fine young man here for example! Hey, Cell 104-A, what are you in for?
The man in the cell turns around, revealing pure white eyes.
104-A: Name’s Ghost Eyes. I’m in here for harnessing the power of entire planets to fuel a death weapon.
Charles: Oh. Well then. You can turn back around now.
Ghost Eyes returns to his former position.
Perez: Okay, was anyone else sort of blinded by that guy’s eyes?
Perez turns around to see that one of the spirits has gone blind completely.
——–Saturday, March 12th, 10:02 AM——–
Cypress: Ugh, I’m so bored…
Alyssa: I know. I mean, we’re only trying to free the galaxy at large. You’d think that it would go accepted.
Tiamat: Sadly, not by these men. They believe their way is the only right in this world.
Charles: I’ve been wondering. You guys are literal ghosts. Why can’t you just phase through?
Stevenson: We would, except you aren’t asking nicely.
Charles: Oh, come ON!
——–Saturday, March 12th, 12:01 PM——–
Perez: Do they have any intention of feeding us?
The warden comes by, slamming his nightstick against the bars.
Warden: We feed you when we want to, maggot! Pipe down!
Cypress, wanting to try out his new powers, moves to the warden.
Cypress: You will let us out and let us raid the mess hall.
Warden: Hah, where’d you learn that one from? Galaxy Conflicts 9?
Cypress: You will let us out and let us raid the mess hall.
The warden’s eyes glaze over, and he moves to the cell door, unlocking it.
Cypress: Sweet.
Alyssa: Wait, you could have done that the entire time? Why didn’t you do it before?
Cypress: Because of this magical story element called a “McGuffin.”
——–Saturday, March 12, 1:04 PM——–
The newly-freed prisoners sit in the kitchen of The Raft, having gorged themselves on whatever they see fit.
Alyssa: That was so good.
Cypress: Honestly. And to think, we could’ve just done the essay he wants us to write and get out of here.
Alyssa: Hang on.. Cypress. You still have that paper?
——–Saturday, March 12, 3:04 PM——–
The warden finds a piece of paper taped to the mess hall doors.
Dear Lord Sigma,
We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a potential intergalactic war for whatever it was we did wrong, but we think you’re crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us… In the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a ninja… an interdimensional demon… an army of spirits… and a formerly deceased traitor.
Does that answer your question?
Sincerely yours, the Lunch Crew.
Warden: Well, that was a waste of time.. Wait, there’s some on the back..
P.S. Shove it, you decrepit old fart.