This is the short story of a fan character from the Prismaris Universe from the talented and amazing FreijaFoxy ! Here, and also there, you can learn more about the world of Prismaris.
James Lawrence never wanted to change the world.
He just wanted to get people across it.
He was born in Silver City to a leopard mother and an antelope father, inheriting the powerful build of one and the horns and ears of the other. He grew up riding buses, trams, and subways with the ease of someone who understood routes better than addresses. Silver City made that easy. You could get anywhere without a car. Anywhere that mattered, anyway.
James noticed how strange that was on a school trip to a distant city during his teens. The place was choked with traffic, roads layered over roads, cars roaring past like predators. Sidewalks vanished without warning. Crossing the street felt like a gamble with physics.
On the third day, James tried to walk to a café three blocks away and gave up halfway through.
"This city", he declared to his baffled classmates, "is actively mad at pedestrians".
When he returned home, the dream settled into place with quiet certainty. He didn’t want to be famous. Didn’t want powers. He wanted to be part of the system that let people live without fear of traffic.
He wanted to drive a bus.
Years later, James Lawrence drove Bus 18, south outskirts to downtown, six days a week. He knew every pothole, every light that stayed red a half-second too long, every alley that shaved three minutes off the schedule if you took it just right.
He also knew that "routine" was a dangerous word in Silver City.
"Uh, yeah, boss ?" James said one morning into the emergency line, headset tucked under one horn. "I’m gonna be late to the depot".
Pause.
"Yeah. Another fight. Road’s blown up".
Another pause.
"No, I don’t know which one. Big one".
He pulled the wheel gently to avoid a smoking crater. Passengers barely swayed.
"Alright", he continued, calm as ever. "I’ll take Fifth Avenue instead".
Being a bus driver in Silver City meant dealing with heroes and villains the way other cities dealt with weather. You didn’t argue with it. You adapted. Rowdy passengers were sometimes worse than explosions, especially if they had powers and opinions, but James had a way of handling things. He spoke calmly. He braked smoothly. And when things went wrong, his body seemed to know what to do before his brain caught up.
Uncanny reflexes, some called it. James called it "Tuesday".
One regular passenger on the 18 was an elderly turtle man named Mr. Calder. He always sat up front, always paid in exact change, and always commented on the driving.
"Little fast today", Mr. Calder said, gripping the railing as the bus turned.
"Within regulations", James replied cheerfully. "Regulations just don’t account for laser beams".
They shared a nod. Mutual understanding.
Then the sky lit up.
James didn’t know at the time that it was a coalition of villains clashing with some of the city’s most experienced heroes. What he knew was that a nearby building exploded outward, and suddenly physics was optional.
Concrete flew.
James swerved.
The bus lurched, but didn’t tip. His hands moved without conscious thought, threading between falling debris, accelerating just enough to outrun the shockwave without throwing anyone from their feet.
Passengers screamed, but James did not.
"Alright folks", he said into the intercom, voice steady, "minor reroute. Please remain seated, hold the rails, and ... yes, I know, I see it too."
A chunk of roadway vanished ahead of them.
Mr. Calder craned his neck. “That’s… new.”
James turned onto an adjacent street, only to find the chaos had followed them. Fires. Cracks spiderwebbing across the asphalt. No clear exit. Ahead : a gaping crevice torn straight through the road. Behind : collapsing buildings.
James assessed the situation in exactly half a second.
"Well", he said, surprising himself with a laugh, "that’s unfortunate".
Mr. Calder squinted. "You’re not thinking ..."
"I am", James said. "I don’t like it either".
He pushed the accelerator. The engine screamed. The bus surged forward, faster than it ever had on this route. Passengers clung to poles. Mr. Calder stared at the widening gap, eyes going round.
"James ?" the turtle asked politely.
"Yes ?"
"I’m going to retract now".
He pulled his head into his shell just as the bus launched.
For a brief, impossible moment, Bus 18 was airborne. James’s stomach attempted to escape his body. Muffled screaming came from inside Mr. Calder's shell.
They cleared the gap.
The landing was rough but controlled, suspension screaming in protest, but the bus stayed upright. No one fell. No one was hurt. Silence followed, thick, stunned, reverent. James pulled over two blocks later and shut off the engine.
He exhaled. Then he laughed. Loud. Uncontrolled.
"I cannot believe", he said, gripping the wheel, "that just worked".
Mr. Calder slowly extended his head from his shell. He looked around, then nodded once.
"Acceptable", he said. "But I would prefer we not do that again".
James wiped his face. "Oh, absolutely not. Once in a lifetime maneuver".
He picked up the emergency line again.
"Hey boss ?"
Pause.
"… Yeah. I cleared it".
Longer pause.
"… No, the bus is fine. So is everyone else".
Beat.
"… I’ll explain later."
He restarted the engine, eased back into traffic, and finished the route only eight minutes late.
James Lawrence went home that night, ate dinner, and lay awake replaying the jump over and over, heart racing anew each time.
He still didn’t want to change the world.
But tomorrow morning, Bus 18 would run again.
And he’d be there to drive it.