It was a no brainer to you that there was no way Sarah was going to be able to keep her arm. You could barely call it an arm at this point, it was so burnt to a crisp.

You shake your head and begin muttering to yourself as you examine Sarah's left arm more closely, poking and prodding with expert precision. Sarah flinches once or twice, but otherwise shows no indication that your examination causes her pain. Honestly? It is a toss up between whether she is just putting on a brave face or whether her nerve endings are so shot she can scarcely receive sensation from her arm.

“Well, we definitely have to amputate. You cool with that?” You look up and meet Sarah's steely gaze as you state the obvious. What you both already know has to happen. But, hey, you have to check. Patient consent is important, ya know?

Sarah nods, looking unsurprised. “Okay, as long as I can get a replacement prosthetic. You… you can do that, right?”

You give her a cheeky grin. The Author Skill the golden pears and durians had imbued you with was certainly coming in handy.

“No problem, all I need to do is write it down…” You reach for your Tome before remembering. Shit. That damn Book had turned your Tomes into weird flying creatures. It had been a strange sight seeing your mobile phone fold over and form a rather sleek looking sports car before revving its tiny engine to smack you in the nose.

“Wait!” Sarah interrupts as you begin grabbing some loose paper instead. She pivots on the rotting wood table you had her sitting on and grabs something out of her jumpsuit pocket. “I drafted a design for a bionic prosthetic arm. You can use your skill to replicate this.”

Well, that makes your job a hell of a lot easier. You weren't sure if you could have described a functional prosthetic arm up to Sarah's standards. She was from the 25th century, and you bet they’ll have some pretty damn sweet prosthetics by then.

You run your eyes over the detailed schematic of a replacement arm and, as Sarah begins to describe the mechanics behind it, you take a pen and begin to trace the design, as well as add what Sarah says as notes in the margins.

While you copy the design, you feel the familiar tingling power from before surge from the top of your shoulder to the tips of your fingers. Little motes of light float up, and as you finish you reach into the paper and begin pulling out a collapsed version of the arm.

It reveals itself as a perfect replica of the prosthetic Sarah designed and described. And which you have just made reality.

You show it to her with a flourish. “Up to snuff?”

She blinks and closes her slightly parted lips.

“Ah, yes, it's… even better than I could have imagined.”

“Good,” you grunt and set it down on a pile of bedraggled books. “Now… time for the amputation and the attachment of the prosthetic.”

Sarah pales a little, but begins to arrange herself in a reclining position on the rickety table.

You reach into your medical kit and begin prepping a syringe full of anesthetic. As you tap the glass, banishing the stray bubbles inside, Sarah speaks up.

“Don't knock me out.”

“You're crazy. This is going to hurt like hell.”

“I know… and some pain killers would be nice, but… I need to be awake. For… for it to mean anything.”

You scratch your head, groaning internally. That saying about customers or patients always being right? Bullshit. Straight up BS. But… you do have the knowledge and the skills to give Sarah a lower dosage of anesthetics. Ones which would keep her at least semi-conscious.

You sigh. “Fine, but if you end up regretting it…” You trail off, leaving it a clear and obvious warning.

Sarah gives you a small smile in return, touched by gratitude and sadness.

“Then it's my problem, not yours. Thanks Brad.”

Nodding, you get to work. You have Sarah strip down as much as possible so not just her burnt arm, but the other burned areas of her torso, are visible for treatment. There are no medical grade 'modesty covers' here, but a ratty blanket you found in the drifter hide-out will suffice. You also use a piece of rope to fix her to the table more securely in case she moves around during the operation – with Sarah's permission, of course.

Lastly, before the operation truly begins, you lock eyes with her and plunge the syringe into the artery in her forearm.

Her eyes begin to droop, though do not shut completely. You raise your Flaming Guardian-Cleaving Sword of Medicine, mask over your mouth and nose, all gloved up and ready to go.

Here goes nothing, you think and make the first incision.

Three hours later the ruined parts of Sarah's arm have been entirely removed. Six hours later the bionic prosthetic has been attached and matched to the remaining organic parts of her left arm.

And after at least eight hours, you are done rewiring the nerve endings and adding salves and bandages to the rest of her less severe burns. Some will disappear completely, while others will leave some noticeable scarring.

All that is left is for Sarah's anesthetic to wear off and she will be back to full lucidity – and require some massive doses of morphine or something similar.

Ten hours since, she begins to stir and peel herself off the table. You swiftly untie the rope and help her to a sitting position. She winces and leans against you.

“Ugh, that… that was Minerva-awful.”

“I warned you,” you respond. “How are you feeling now?”

She coughs. “Everything hurts, but, otherwise… strangely light.”

“Take a look at your arm,” you encourage, excited to see her reaction.

Sarah does and her face immediately brightens, taking in a bionic arm with articulated joints, composed of a lightweight, yet sturdy plastic coated in a layer of dark teal metal.

Without your coaxing, she flexes her new arm and wiggles her prosthetic fingers. They move seamlessly, not even emitting a whir of sound.

She continues testing and stretching the prosthetic for a few minutes, her eyes lit with wonder.

You cross your arms, grinning as you watch. “Pretty cool, huh? Now, what's next for you, Sarah?”

Sarah turns to you with an equally wide grin. “Very cool. And now… it is time for me to save my world.”

An Enlightening Conversation with David Narrator (Location: Library of Alexandria, Time: Shortly After Defeat of the Original Book)

“Hey Brad, you know I really appreciate you taking the time to talk to me. I hadn't realised narrating to some external audience the events of the Library without any recognition could be so… lonely.”

“I don't know why suddenly I could hear you, but I hope you can help me like I help you.”

“I'll do what I can, Brad. I'm not a Guardian, but you know, watching over a narrative can be something. Real powerful magic, you know?”

“Same as the other types of Library magic?”

“Hm… maybe not. Maybe my existence just made the most sense in the Library at the time. But, without you Chosen here, I don't know if there is a point in me remaining.”

“Some Chosen are staying behind… forever I think. I'll just stick around for a bit, but the Chosen becoming Employees or whatever could have stuff that needs narrating.”

“So does the outside world, don't you think Brad? Your time sounds pretty interesting.”

“Speaking of my time… anyway can I bring any of this Library magic out there? It would really help people I think.”

“Oh! That gave me a FANTASTIC idea Brad! Why don't YOU become a narrator of your own time?”

“Would that give me access to Library magic? If so, that doesn't sound bad. I don't want to lose all of the skills I gained here.”

“Honestly, I have NO idea! But, even if you can't keep your weird Author skill, it would give you an amazing (and amazingly annoying) ability to narrate the lives of others!”

“Alright, if it doesn't kill me, I'm down.”

“You're the best, Brad. This is really making me rethink my role in the Library. Me and old Hub World might become more useful, yet!”

And thus a beam of pure white light descends on Brad Sands, the adrenaline junkie paramedic from 2017 U.S. of A. Bathed in the essence of David Narrator, the power of all the pears and durians Brad had consumed fuses with his being, with the double helix of his DNA. Now, nothing can separate him from the magic of the Library. NOTHING.

Not just the Skills of his Quality and the General Skills, even the Author one which can make words become reality. They are his even beyond the bounds of Library Incarnations. And, damn, he didn't even need a Guardian's permission to do it.

“Now introducing… Brad the Narrator!”

Location: Somewhere indeterminate in the USA, Time: After the Library Incarnation switched and Brad took a Portal out of there

Having learned that being a Chosen was no longer possible, but being a magical Narrator in even his own time WAS, Brad returns to his timeline, armed with all the magicks he had gained plus an idea of how to spread magical knowledge further. As a magical being himself, he could now pass on some of that power to people and objects of his choosing.

On Featurebook a new shop announces its grand opening. Many people join the business' group, if only because the name and claim of the store is especially intriguing.

Sands Supernatural Shenanigans

Have you always wanted a bit of magic in YOUR life? The ability to heal your child's scraped knee or cite the year Hitler went missing somewhere in South America?

OF COURSE YOU HAVE. Sands and Co. realise the importance of knowledge, especially in this day and age. An age where we struggle discerning fact from fiction. An age of fake news and alternate lifestyles.

Underneath this image is a picture of Brad and the boys – Dick and Matt, wearing outfits from different historical periods while pulling what looks like the Heart of the Sea from the hit movie Titanic out of a DVD. If it is a trick of the eye and a feat of marvellous sleight of hand, it is a damned good one!

Eventually Sands Supernatural Shenanigans grew into Sands Bureau of Magical Fixations, to the resounding applause and international support of UNESCO, the World Health Organization, the World Trade Federation, hell, even the World Bank couldn't deny the allure of Brad Sands. He had become a charismatic, globally-recognised figure, one who was generous as much as he was ambitious, gifting people with instant knowledge that would have required decades or even a lifetime to learn otherwise.

No one understood how important Sands would become until the unthinkable happened. The world was thrust into a global pandemic. One the likes of which they had not seen. Not for generations.

Covid-19.

But, Sands Bureau of Magical Fixations was there. There to make sure people in need got the PPE, the test kits, and, yes, the vaccine doses they required, and more. Brad and Co. were too few to make it all happen, but Brad had by now gifted many trusted confidants with the means to research, to write, to create the cure for the world's ills. And such advancements would not end with this modern pandemic.

Yes, when the world needed him most… Brad was there. And would continue to be there, until he retired at the ripe old age of 91, and, as he left the Bureau for the final time, he was greeted by a strange yet familiar figure cloaked in pure, white light.

“Hey Brad, it's David. Are you ready to narrate for a new timeline?”