Today was the day Alfred had been waiting for. Today was July 4, 2135, the day of Alfred's nineteenth birthday. Today was the day Alfred would receive the Uploaded Past Personality that would become his lifelong companion.

Alfred was personally sick of waiting. All of his friends had already gotten their UPPs last year. Feliciano had gotten a UPP from 1915, a chef by the name of Lovino. He had died in some sort of war. Kiku had gotten one from thousands of years ago, named Yao Wang. He had been a philosopher. Personally, Alfred thought that Ludwig's UPP was the coolest, although Ludwig disagreed. His UPP was called Gilbert, a soldier who had died during the collapse of an old country. Gilbert had apparently loved alcohol, and claimed to be the awesomest person in the world. Alfred had started hanging out with Ludwig more just so that he could listen to Gilbert's stories and play video games with him.

But now it was Alfred's turn, and he wondered what kind of UPP he would get as he walked up the steps to the Adult Registration Facility. The imposing building, scraping up against the sky with its sharp Gothic spires, had always intimidated Alfred, but also seemed like a beacon of hope to him. This impression fit his mood as he slipped through the glass doors and sat in the waiting room.

Five hours later, he left the building severely disappointed.

His UPP was lame. Arthur Kirkland, a British author from 2012, was his companion for life. The first second Alfred had laid eyes on him, he hated the bushy-browed hologram. And now they were stuck together until Alfred died. They hadn't even spoken yet.

As Alfred walked home through the brightly lit streets, he watched Arthur follow out of the corner of his eye. The guy looked depressed that he'd gotten a kid who was so different from him. Well, Alfred wasn't happy either. He unlocked his front door and slipped inside his home, almost forgetting to keep the door open for Arthur. Alfred smiled sheepishly. "Sorry I almost closed the door on you, man. I'm not used to having a UPP with me."

Arthur only grunted and swept his emerald eyes across Alfred's living room, a small room with a comfortable couch, a little coffee table, and a meager wall-sized TV. After all, Alfred lived alone. He didn't have money to throw around.

Alfred had hoped that his financial situation would change with the entrance of a UPP's presence and help in his life, but now he was doomed to be an author. Not a sports star, a soldier, or a superhero like he'd hoped for. An author. Alfred could barely come up with a pseudonym, let alone spell the word. He was going to be poor forever. Alfred sighed and collapsed onto the couch, looking up at the ceiling.

Arthur cleared his throat, drawing Alfred's attention to him. "Well, we haven't really been properly introduced," he began, his English accent strange on Alfred's ears. "I'm Arthur Kirkland, an author who lived from 1966 to 2020. Perhaps you've read one of my books?" Arthur paused, waiting for an answer. Finding none forthcoming, he continued. "Er, you are my first assignment, to be truthful, so I'm not entirely sure how to go on… I'm sure you'll become a wonderful author, despite that. And you are?"

Realizing that he would have to speak, Alfred sat up. "Uh, I'm Alfred Jones, and books aren't my thing, so I don't know how this is gonna work out. I kind of wanted to be something… I dunno, more fun."

Arthur huffed in annoyance. "More fun? There is nothing, in my opinion, more fun than creating new worlds for others to enjoy."

"Yeah, and I'd rather be fighting crime in spandex."

Arthur looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes, an annoyed expression on his face. "Superheroes aren't real. "

"Well, the stuff in half the books that exist isn't, either."

"But superheroes are just silly!" Arthur exclaimed.

"And what you wrote isn't silly?"

Arthur paused. "So you're familiar with my works?"

"Yeah, my girlfriend made me read them."

"And? What did you think?"

Alfred couldn't believe it. His entire future was in jeopardy and the man who had destroyed his life was asking Alfred's opinion on his books. He decided to make these thoughts known.

"You're kidding, right? My entire life just went down the drain and you want me to tell you what I thought of your sappy, lovey-dovey fairy tales? Honestly, I thought they were shit. Romance novels aren't my thing, and neither are prancing unicorns and tiny little men in funny hats." Alfred stood up at this point, determined to make his views heard. "I don't want to be an out-of-work bum who writes about a different world because I can't make the one I live in better. I want to make this world a better place, not hide away in some magical land of rainbows and gumdrops."

Arthur stood there, speechless. He opened his mouth to retort, then closed it again. He looked utterly defeated, and Alfred almost regretted his words. Arthur looked down at his feet. "I…didn't know you felt that way. I'm sorry you got stuck with me."

And then Alfred did regret it. Arthur had done nothing to him, nothing at all, and Alfred had just told him that his life's work was worth less than the dirt under his shoes, and that he had never contributed to the world. Truth be told, Alfred probably would've never gotten his girlfriend if it hadn't been for Arthur's books.

Alfred walked over to Arthur and put a hand on his shoulder. Since Arthur wasn't a real person anymore, Alfred felt nothing, but his hand wouldn't pass through Arthur's image. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just…" He sighed heavily. "I just wanted to do something different with my life. You did make the world a better place, at least for me."

Arthur looked up at Alfred, eyes hard. "I thought you said you didn't enjoy my 'sappy, lovey-dovey fairy tales'," he spat, his voice cold.

"I didn't, but that doesn't mean they didn't change the way my life worked out," Alfred replied.

"Do tell," Arthur snapped.

"You actually got my girlfriend and me together. See, we were just friends before. We were pretty good friends, but we didn't know all sorts of stuff we know about each other now. So one day, I think it was a Monday, we decided to go the library. Not the free digital library, but the real, physical, pay-to-get-in library with real books made of real pages made from real trees.

"So we paid our ten dollars to get in. And Alice – that's my girlfriend – decided that it would be a good idea to read each other's favorite books, as a sort of bonding exercise. So I gave her my favorite comic books, and she gave me one of your books. 'Requiem of Dawn', that was it. And when I got to the fifth chapter, I saw a little post-it note that she had slipped in, asking me to go out with her. And I did." Alfred paused, his story finished, but feeling that the ending was lame. "So you see, you did change the world. Not in the way I want to change the world, but it's still important."

Arthur's gaze had softened throughout the story. "I suppose I accept your apology, then," he said, offering his hand. "So, we should start over. I'm Arthur Kirkland."

Alfred smiled and shook his hand. "Alfred Jones."

Arthur returned the smile before drawing his hand back. "So I've gathered that you don't like reading particularly. What do you enjoy?"

"Uh, well, I like sports," Alfred offered. "I work out a lot."

"Perhaps you'd like to write sports biographies?"

Alfred grimaced. "Ew, no way. Biographies are lame."

"I see… What else do you like doing?"

"I draw in my spare time. Wanna see?" Alfred asked excitedly. He didn't just draw in his spare time. He drew whenever he could. Penning his own comics was his livelihood, more than being the best football player. His only problem was that he could never write a good story to go with his illustrations. Alfred grabbed Arthur's hand and pulled him upstairs to his room. Throwing open the door, he let the Brit view his room in all its glory.

Sketches were strewn all over the floor and covered the drawing desk, where several colored in drawings were laid out. Posters of comic-book superheroes adorned the walls. Comics open to various pages lay about on the floor. Even the sheets of Alfred's bed had Captain America on them. Alfred led Arthur over to his desk and proudly showed him his completed drawings. "Well? What do you think?"

Arthur picked up a drawing of one of Alfred's original characters and inspected it. "They're quite good, actually. I expected them to be childish, but… these look almost professional. They have a nice style to them."

Alfred glowed. "You really think so?" he asked, beaming widely.

"I really do." Arthur held the drawing up to Alfred. "This is a character you made up, right? What's his name?"

"His name's Freedom Fire! He was born with deformed legs that had to be amputated below the knees, so he wears prosthetic Cheetah blades! He entered in a special radiation treatment program that went wrong, so he can summon flames, and he can run really fast, but he had to keep replacing his prosthetics 'cause he keeps melting them."

"Interesting," Arthur murmured, putting the drawing down. "Do you have any completed comic books yet?"

Alfred's smile faltered. "Well, I haven't actually ever finished any… I've started a lot, but they never really seemed to be going anywhere. I have trouble writing the plotline, so they just slowly deteriorate until I don't like the comic anymore."

By contrast, Arthur's smile seemed to grow larger by the second. "Alfred," he whispered. "I have a fantastic idea that I think you'll love."

"What is it?" Alfred implored, desperate for a different fate.

"You know how to draw, yes?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"And I am an author."

"Right…"

"I don't know how to draw, and you can't write plots."

"Uh-huh."

"So, how about I teach you how to write your own stories, and you use your own artistic ability to create comics? With my help, you'll have the most well-written comics in the country."

Alfred's eyes went wide. "That is the best idea I have ever heard in my entire life."

Arthur smiled, seemingly pleased with how this was working out. "Shall we start, then?"

"Already? Well, I guess it's never too early." Alfred pulled out his laptop.

"So, begin by writing a short paragraph about Freedom Fire…"