A gentle, but insistent shake of the Magic Eight ball reveals a slow appearance of “Signs point to Yes“ which draws a smile across Logan’s face. He knew he’d make it into Wimbledon. The wall of racquets behind him echoed their non-sentient agreement.

Far away, nestled deep within a distant nebula lays a cosmic horror too vast to comprehend. It feels the vibrations of the request from mere mortals and responds with insight. A dull thud pervades the weight of the stars that hover among it.