Skyline Ink

MD Fortress sat in the middle of Super Wood City like a neat stack of future—four marker towers, one at each corner, all humming softly.

Marker Doe jogged along a glass walkway, her hooves tapping in quick beats. Her phone buzzed in her glove.

“Traffic drone stuck on Pine Avenue,” she read. “Lost dog—no, lost deer kid—near the fountain.”

She sighed. “Normal day.”

In the main atrium, she planted her boots and lifted one hand.

“Marker, check-in.”

A giant blue marker snapped into the air beside her with a clean pop. It hovered, steady as always.

Then it spoke.

“Don’t,” it said, voice small.

Marker Doe froze. “You can talk?”

The marker trembled. “Please. Don’t ask me. Not here.”

Her ears angled forward. “Are you hurt? Is someone messing with your systems?”

“No.” The marker’s tip pointed toward the floor tiles. “Just… stop asking.”

Floor Tile Problems

Marker Doe’s phone buzzed again.

“Pine Avenue,” she muttered. “Stuck traffic drone.”

The giant blue marker hovered beside her, its smooth plastic body quivering.

“Not the street,” it said.

Marker Doe pushed off and flew out of MD Fortress, wind snapping at her blue mask.

Pine Avenue was louder than a normal rescue call. A tiny music festival filled the block—drums in one corner, kids dancing in another. A shoemaker booth sat under a bright awning, shoes lined up like a parade.

A short-haired woman waved both hands. “Superhero! Watch the puddles! My glue is still drying!”

Marker Doe dropped to a hover. “I’m here for the drone.”

The marker’s tip pointed down. “Do not draw. Do not mark the ground.”

“Why?” Marker Doe said.

A wet pop sounded near the curb.

The street sank like a bad cake. A food cart slid toward a dark hole.

Marker Doe lunged, grabbing the cart with one hand.

The marker shook hard. “It’s thin! Please—stop asking!”