[WitchOfDoubt]

This is not an entry.

Spoiler for Not an entry at all:

Writer's Helper

"Many hands make light work." - traditional proverb

---

In spite of his rapid rise to power, the adolescent boy was miserable. He slumped on his desk, dispirited; behind him, a nameless being floated, chomping blithely on an apple. The floating entity was eating an apple because he liked their crispy, vital taste, and he was nameless because these contests allow only original work, but a blatantly derivative work with the names removed might also fit the bill.

The being chuckled. "You look angry. What's wrong?"

Flapping his arm like a limp noodle, the boy replied, "What do you think is wrong, you stupid glam vulture? I'm a God! With this notebook, I could destroy the wicked in just a few days... if it weren't for this pointless writer's cramp! Argh, my biceps!"

"Maybe you should eat more fruit," said the floaty being. "The potassium might be good for your muscles."

"Did you read that in my sister's health mags? Stay out of her stuff!"

At that very moment, the person whom he regarded as his cootie-filled girl sidekick-slash-slave bounded into the room, disregarding the "knock first" policy the boy had instituted to shield his Divine Work and detective porn from observation. "LOOK WHAT I MADE FOR YOU!" she cried.

It was a set of... arms? Arms on a harness? Some kind of octopus suit?

"What is this."

"It's a neuroprosthetic writing suit!" said the girl. "I reverse-engineered it from a prototype at To-oh University! Getting the spinal interface to synapse properly was a real trick, but if you put in a collagenized support matrix for glial -"

"Shut up. This is gonna help me write?"

"Uh-huh! Tee-hee!"

The boy waved her away, privately wondering how he was ever going to train that little idiot to knock first. Was she some kind of idiot? Then he donned the suit without hesitation, wincing as it precisely jabbed the electrodes into his spine. Once he'd recovered from the shock, he carefully placed a pen in the fingers of one arm, then another, then another. Yes. YES. YES!

THIS was what he needed! This was what the world needed!

--

"Wow," said the floaty being. "Looks like he's setting a new record."

Indeed, the boy had killed more people in the last hour than he'd managed in entire days. The prosthesis was a godsend. He would someday consider it his finest idea.

"Y'know," whispered the girl, "this reminds me of a proverb..."