The Morning Switch

Ms Scribble Sheep skimmed over Canvas Meadow City, then dropped onto Scribble Sheep Fortress with a soft boot-tap. The crayon towers rose like chunky candles. The marker towers looked like shiny rockets.

Her wrist-comm chimed.

“Maintenance ticket: Red Crayon Tower—cafeteria,” the screen said.

Inside, the air smelled like toast and warm wax. A technician slumped at a table, his tool belt clinking when he sat up.

“Patch Bellwether,” he mumbled. “I fixed a jammed elevator, and now… the red wax is going weird.”

He slid over a crayon rack. The reds looked tired, like someone had washed them too long.

Ms Scribble Sheep lifted her silver-gloved hand.

“Hold still.”

She flicked on xray vision. The crayons’ cores looked… hollow.

Outside, sirens popped once.

Her comm flashed: GRAY STREAKS—FORTRESS GATES.

Patch blinked.

“That is not my fault,” he said.

Ms Scribble Sheep’s cape snapped as she turned toward the window

Puddles at the Gate

Ms Scribble Sheep shot out of the cafeteria window and skimmed down to the fortress gates.

The road was striped with gray, like someone had spilled dishwater over a rainbow. A wide puddle spread under the gate scanner.

A koala sat on the curb, clutching a small pushcart. His fur was ash-brown, and his nose was a shiny black button.

“You did this?” Ms Scribble Sheep asked.

“I deliver towels,” he said, pointing at a bundle that looked like it had been dipped in old paint. “For the fortress laundromat. I did not make the road sad.”

Ms Scribble Sheep raised her silver glove. “Crayon blast—contain!”

A red-and-blue burst hit the puddle.

The puddle jumped.

Gray droplets splattered her cape. The silver fabric turned streaky, like it had been scrubbed with chalk.

“Hey!” she snapped.

A security drone hummed closer and projected shaky footage. A fast gray blur zipped past the gate and bumped the koala’s cart.

The koala swallowed. “And a hummingbird flew past my nose. Right before it happened.”