The first thing the fly noticed was how utterly miserable life was.
It wasn't the buzzing, the dodging of swatting hands, or even the constant risk of being eaten alive. No, that was normal. What made this particular Tuesday remarkable—well, terrifyingly remarkable—was a glowing crack in reality hovering above the trash pile behind the tavern.
"Uh… that seems like a problem," the fly muttered to no one. Mostly because no one would have listened, and also because, technically, flies don't have mouths like humans do. But mental muttering counts.
The crack shimmered, like someone had spilled a galaxy across the sky and forgotten to clean it up. Sparks of raw energy danced in and out of the dimension-wormhole, and instinct whispered that this was definitely not normal.
Now, the fly had always been an inconspicuous little pest, one of the millions buzzing in the background of life. But something about that crack made its wings vibrate with… purpose. A tiny spark of something bigger than garbage scraps, bigger than surviving a cat's paw. Bigger than… well, reality itself.
Before it could question its sanity—or existence—the crack pulsed, and something very un-fly-like happened: a voice echoed in its tiny mind.
"Choose. Or remain insignificant."
The fly blinked, which was mostly just a twitch of its compound eyes, but still, it blinked.
"Uh… choose what? Is this like a subscription plan? Platinum? Premium? Deluxe?" it asked.
There was no reply. Only another pulse. And that pulse… tickled. Deeply. Deeply, cosmically, existentially ticklish.
Then, before it could complain—or complain effectively—it happened. The first wave of evolution surged through its tiny body. Wings elongated, buzzing with colors that no fly had any business seeing. Muscles strengthened. Brain synapses fired with alarming intelligence. And worst of all… a sense of dramatic purpose.
"Oh no," the fly whispered. "I think I might have to do… hero stuff."
It zipped. It zoomed. It narrowly avoided a puddle of fermented tavern ale, which, in retrospect, might have been a near-death experience. Or maybe it was a near-death experience. Hard to say when you're buzzing at Mach-12.
And then, chaos struck.
A neighborhood cat, already notorious for hunting any small thing that moved faster than a slug, launched itself like a furry missile. The fly twisted mid-air, dodged a paw that could have crushed a small moon, and—accidentally—sent a spark of its emerging energy into the cat's tail.
The cat screeched, spun in a cartoonish whirlwind, and bolted… leaving a trail of smoke, inexplicable singed fur, and several feathers that hadn't been there before.
"Oops," the fly said. "Maybe I need a user manual for this whole 'cosmic power' thing."
And yet, even as it laughed nervously to itself, the fly could feel it: the universe was watching. Waiting. The forgotten paths of evolution, long abandoned by humans and animals alike, had stirred at the tiniest heartbeat of a tiny, insignificant creature.
It didn't know what it was yet. A hero? A villain? A bug destined to destroy galaxies with an unintentional sneeze?
One thing was certain: Tuesday would never be ordinary again.