Jay and silent bob couples costume

Recommended.
Hitman: Contracts can be summed as "The Dark Hitman". The ambience of this game is oppressive, with dark environments and terrifying music. This is presented with improved mechanics and a better game flow. Contracts is not as epic as the last one but it has an identity of its own, shuffling from slow, dark moments, to action pieces.
This game was rushed and it shows, with an underdeveloped training section and weapons cache, weird graphics and glitched animations (especially the fiber wire ones). The game was also too short so Codename 47 missions were remade (not necessarily surpassing the originals). Contracts is noticiably easier than Hitman 2: Silent Assassin, as gameplay is more consistent, but the fun in this game is to try the many different approaches to missions.
The game starts with 47 dragging himself from a hit gone wrong, wounded by a gunshot. He falls on the floor and keeps fading in and out of conscience throughout the game, with actions taking him back to some of his previous missions; starting with the Asylum in Romania. You start from Dr. Ortmeyer's office and go through a place turned upside down, with patients running around, falling from ledges or dead on the ground - riddled with bullets - and SWAT teams running around looking for you. This game was heavily inspired by the classic "Léon: The Professional" and, because of this, SWAT teams are very present with 47 having many opportunities to slip past dressed as a SWAT commando. In one occasion you even take part in a SWAT assault in Rotterdam - which is very cool.
The sneak mode was fixed, with a more appropriate moving speed enabling the player to approach the enemy from behind. Enemy AI was improved, thus reducing random violence towards the player to the point of it being just an occasional nuisance rather than a constant source of frustration as in the previous game. Agent 47 can now run once in a while without being attacked and even 47's walking pace has been sped up, thus making gameplay more dynamic. The suspicion meter stopped being a slot-machine and is now actually useful.
The sniper rifle case was re-introduced (Thanks God!) stopping those awful missions were you had to slip by with a gigantic sniper rifle amid civilians in random paths. The Walther WA2000 Sniper has now a silencer and can be used with much more convenience.
The game introduces the options of poisoning (both lethal and non-lethal) that became a trending pattern in the series. Another refinament is the circular inventory system, that is really helpful. The system for replaying the missions is pretty bad, however.
Balcony jumps make a return and are used all the time. Changes in remade missions are made because "47 remembers them differently", like the balcony next to Frantz Fuchs room being on the opposite side, but like with nanomachines, this is also used as an excuse for lazyness and oversights.
Graphics took a dive and character models look more square and are noticeably uglier than in previous installments. The Rotterdam strippers are the worst examples, coupled with an awful voice that is far inferior to the original - Sandy deserved better. The guns are really weird, painted in silver and looking like toys.
Lei Ling, remembered as Mei Ling (a nod to the Metal Gear series), is now reimagined as a younger woman, with a teenage voice - not my cup of tea - but is more responsive in-game, keeping up with you instead of presenting those boring escorting tasks. The bartender doesn't want to speak with you because 47 is feeling stomach pain due to his bullet wound, but this surely impoverishes the game's dialog as devs were cutting corners. They even forgot to translate Lee Hong and Tzun/Zhun in the restaurant - and 47 never says he needs to use the bathroom!
The cinematics blend in the chaotic police build-up around 47 with transitions to the different mission settings. The soundtrack is dark with great immersion. In one mission you go deep into a dominatrix party in Romania, with people dressed in leather partying amid a butchery. Maps are also big and you can get lost. One of the most iconic missions in this game is The Beldingford Manor, where you have two separated buildings, the stable and the manor (which has lots of secret passages). Not only that, being tasked to rescue the son of a millionaire following the plot of Richard Connell's The Most Dangerous Game, you have to do it with a dark, gloomy soundtrack, presenting some phantasmagoric laughter in the back.
Every Hitman has "THAT" mission, which is the Bjarkhov Bomb (aka "The obligatory Russian mission") in Contracts; that while impressive, with snow falling and multiple NPCs walking around in different outfits (including hazmat suits), is too big for its own good and has some annoying tweaks like the first target having to be poisoned in order to be garroted in the bathroom; but if you mistime it, he sits there for an outrageous long time, forcing you to restart - why not simply use regular poison? Another problem is the distance from the submarine to the plane, which can cause an alarm (which can cause two alarms in one because of course it did...). Bjarkhov also suffers from incredibly lazy writing, with the first target being one of the Fuchs brothers for no reason at all. The flag of Chechnya appears in evidence in the mission, so why not make the arms dealer a Chechen or any other sympathizer for that matter?
The game is short, with half its missions being remakes. The Colombian missions weren't remade, since players hated them so much. This was a wasted opportunity, since all missions are remembered at night and under constant raining. A jungle infiltration under the cover of darkness and rain would really fit in here.
There are some interesting easter eggs and nods to the player, like the opium pipe in the Meat King's party having Lee Hong's Red Dragon triad symbol. The haunted part of the Budapest hotel, or the hidden stuff in Hong Kong; but the best one is Dr. Ortmeyer's card in Lee Hong's office.
Aside from technical problems, the veteran player will mostly just ace every mission and beat the game in one day (like I did), but it is fun to keep testing the new ways Contracts presents. The final mission, Hunter and Hunted, does not deliver the promised showdown the cinematic was hinting at but the ending sure pumped me up for the development of the story. I really wanted to run to the tv and watch The Professional again!

Guys, these past couple of days have been awful. One of my siblings (a teenager) is making a big life decision and our mother does not approve.
This past Sunday she was talking on the phone, somewhat badmouthing my sibling in her conversation. The thing is, her room was wide open and my sibling sleeps on the room right next door, so they overheard most of the conversation. My sibling went there to confront her and ask her to stop doing it. She then started to shout at my sibling, and since they had been going through an exhausting day (NMom knew about it), they started shouting back in defense. It was then that I went there to check what was going on and to attempt to stop the shouting.
I ended up siding with my sibling and said that "They're very tired and stressed out, and I know you are as well, but they need to rest."
NMom threw a tantrum and demanded that we leave the room. We were trying to leave the room but she stood up and kinda wouldn't let us go. She was still reprimanding my sibling and me. That scolding and shouting session dragged on to the living room. Nmom even got face to face with my sibling (like an inch of distance) pointing at them and saying how they were implying that she was horrible and that they just don't get it. She then cursed at us and "cursed" me: "one day you'll have a child just like them just so you can get fucked!".
My sibling was on the brink of having an anxiety attack, and they wanted to get out of the house. I (I'm an adult and the oldest child) told them to go, to just let me know where they were at and when they got there.
NMom got furious after my sibling left. While they were out, she started badmouthing them at me in my room. Then at one point she said that she was a horrible mother and that she was already dead. That I should not undermine her will to take her on life. That life is meaningless and that she was going to vanish for a while. She got out of my room.
NMom then came back and said that no, that she wasn't gonna vanish, but that I should fend off for myself. She demanded that I said something (I was silent for these two past conversations after my sibling was out of the house). I told her that "Anything that I say you're gonna use against me."
She then frowned and said that it was a good thing that I said that, just so I could confirm to her how much of a terrible person she was and that everybody hated her.
Today (Tuesday), Nmom messages me saying that she's going out, that she's not going to see anybody (from home) and that she doesn't want to see me or anyone at home, that she's gonna stay locked inside her room.
​
So that's my little venting session. I've been anxious all these days and my heart keeps racing. This all sucks :(

I am The Bard, who taught men their first magics, which to this day endure when all others have. It is written into the blood and bones of all you have built, and so I shall never die.
I did not teach you how to dream. I only taught how to tell a dream to another who you would never know.
The phone rang. Karna didn’t bother to pick it up. The message machine clicked for a moment, tape starting to turn backwards as new words were written onto it. It clicked again, stopping dead. Karna didn’t look up from his meal of leftover takeout. He finished his noodles, checked again to see if there was any shrimp left, and sighed as he threw the box at the bin. It bounced off the others already filling it up.
He sighed, rubbing his head and eyes. Healing magic could cure a hangover. It couldn’t do anything about dehydration. He needed to get up and get a drink. He went over to his cabinet and looked around for a glass. When he didn’t find a clean one, he grabbed a coffee mug instead. It was the last one. He was also out of coffee. Irritating. No matter how much of it he drank, he was still tired. It just meant he couldn’t sleep.
Sex helped, a bit, but when it didn’t, things were worse. Lying alone in his own bed, at least he could toss and turn and work his sheets into tangles trying to find some position that would let him finally fall asleep. He could slip out of bed for a nightcap, a strong one, to try and help. With another, there was nothing to do but lie there, still and silent, trying not to wake the man or woman next to him.
Trying not to think.
Impossible to sleep, then suddenly too much sleep. Blink and it was three-thirty in the afternoon. He stood at the sink, filling up the mug and draining it repeatedly. The call was probably from work. Worse, it might be his mother.
”Karna, what the fuck are you doing with your life you useless bastard. You’re not immortal, it’s all slipping away, one day, one minute at a time, and here you are doing nothing with it.” He said to himself. “Because you’re too tired to anything and still can’t sleep.” Of course, he knew why. His mind, treacherous as a serpent, betrayed him then, in the dark, in the solitude. Every wound he had suffered, every scar erased by healing magic, those were nothing. He was a paladin, the training had gotten him used to the sight of his own blood a long time ago.
”Practice for healing magic. Isn’t that what the old sister called it?” He wondered aloud. “Tch. She was kind of a bitch. Still is. I wonder if she’s calling me to yell at me too? Of course, I suppose I deserve it. I-“Then he stopped himself, and slammed the mug down, forcefully. It hit one of the plates in the sink, and it cracked. Karna swore and picked up the mess, picking the shards of metal out of his sink and throwing them in the boxes in the bin.
He sat back down in the one seat he used at his four-person table. It was covered in books, loose change, an unopened letter from some survey, a candle, a mug, miscellaneous bits of stationary, a comically large six sided die with red and black patterns, and off directly to his left a stick of deodorant and bottle of cologne. Those last two were the only things he’d used on this table in a while.
He sat back in his chair and sighed. “Yeah, you know exactly what you’re doing with your life. Nothing of any use to anyone. Well. Useless is better than detrimental, so hey, at least there’s that improvement.”
He hit the button to play back the latest message from his telephone, and picked it up, placing the receiver to his ear. At least he could listen to his messages. That would be something for the day.
”Hey, Karna. It’s Bas.” Karna’s head slumped forwards. He hadn’t expected him to be calling to call him an idiot. “I’ve tried coming by your place a couple of times to visit, seem to have missed you both times.” Or he was asleep, or drunk, or otherwise being a bad cousin. “So, I figured I’d give you a call and leave you a message. Just checking in to see how you’re doing. I know… things have been rough, for all of us, and I know you were taking things hard.” I know you’re weak. “I hope you’re doing well, and hope you understand, if you’re not, then, well, you’ve got my number, and you know where I live. Even though my apartment’s not exactly stellar.” I know you could reach out. But you won’t. You’ve been given everything, inherited power, your house, your money, and you still do nothing with it. I have nothing our society considers important, but I am still a better man than you. “Hope to talk to you soon. Adonai watch over you.”
That last bit was a bit odd. Adonai. The old invisible god, or God, as those that believed in such a thing insisted. Karna wasn’t entirely certain that this wasn’t just a clever way of disguising atheism, given that philosophy’s associations. Why in the world would Basil mention it now? As far as he knew… well he really actually didn’t know anything about Basil’s beliefs. He presumed, given his training, he was a follower of the western philosophies, which were philosophies more so than religions. They were fairly popular these days, a sort of secular spirituality, a substitute for the holes growing in Ordani religious life.
When you’ve fought and killed a god in living memory, it becomes harder to worship them. Beyond that, the old rites simply that, old rites. A series of rituals nobody really believed in anymore. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a cleric. He paused. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a cleric he hadn’t been fighting to the death with. The gods really didn’t seem to have much of a place in a modern society. It was probably arrogant, but part of the point of the gods was meant to be that they were something so much bigger than oneself, that there was nothing that could compare. They were monumental figures, but when the monuments can be torn down by mere men, was it a monument worth believing in?
It was that way then. Some people turned to the western philosophies, realizing that their religious needs, the desire for mystery, for reverence, for prayer, meditation, moral laws and sacred communities were met there, without gods. Some, Basil included, turned their gaze towards an invisible, supposedly omnipotent, God. Well, the gods were supposed to be omnipotent, but if nobody could even prove your God existed, well, then there wasn’t any fear that anyone could kill Him. And then, there was the other kind. The kind which were kind of a bad joke.
He remembered his days in the warm sun, under the abbot’s orchard in Hearthfire Abbey, amid the warm red walls, the golden light of the day filtering through the green leaves, the bright red apples highlighted against a blue sky. Quite literally simpler times. He remembered the grave beneath the tree. Senket Zarathustra. Of course, that wasn’t really where she was. She was a few miles up the road, in a chapel nobody paid any mind to, next to six other graves, two empty. How much a contrast that was, compared with what was in the abbey. Her image, glaring down from tapestry, immortalized in statuary, and everywhere revered. Saint, they called her, but what was the difference between a saint and a god, when you treated one like the other.
They had made gods for themselves, gods born of and midwives to, their own people. A god that was distant enough to be worshipped, but near enough to be known. Something understood, something relatable, and something that had bested other gods before. Gods borne of the people of godslayers, for what else could they be? Of course, every pantheon needed its devil, its fallen angel. And now here he stood, a useless bastard, but also the same kind of thing as their gods and their devil. What a bad joke.
But at the same time, a joke they had believed in. A joke he felt the obligation to make a truth. A joke he had failed to make true. Up on a pedestal, and down in the dirt. That was what paladin of Order Undivided meant now. A hero, until people had no more need of them. Good, he wasn’t even a hero in the first place.
He shook his head. It was going to be a few hours before any clubs opened. He was going back to bed until then. It didn’t do him any good to sit awake stewing.
Basil was getting worried. He’d tried paying visits and making calls, but there was no contact. He quietly sat through office hours, grading the first assignments of the year. He was starting to regret assigning an essay, particularly to his 101 class. Fortunately, it was early in the year, so he was able to work through his office hours without being further disturbed. He finished his last paper, capped the red pen, and stood up. It wasn’t that far out of his way to visit Karna again, and this time he wouldn’t be ignored.
He made his way through the city, until he came to the Red Street. It had another name, but people remembered not what was given, but what was done. Fifty years ago, the blood of black and red lions flowed, as Elsior faced down her old mentor during the height of the black rebellion. The street’s architecture was eclectic, a mix of the old buildings which had survived the battle, and newer designs built up out of the ruins left from a clash of titans.
There were alleys off the street where you could still see the gashes left in the ground by arcane blades. It was a street where history lay heavy in the mortar and the air. It was also a decently affordable neighborhood, as the old houses, while historical, were also old, small, and lacked modern amenities. He was still never going to afford any of them on a teacher’s salary, even with his stipend as a paladin. Of course, Karna would have had a bitch of a time paying for his house as well, but he had simply inherited it.
Basil shook his head, as if to throw the jealous thought out of his mind. “You’re a grey-eyed monster already. Let’s not add green to the mix.” He growled at himself, as he kept walking up to Karna’s door and knocked. No response. He sighed, looking through the door. Only two of his eyes saw the normal spectrum of light. The others varied from arcane, ultraviolet, infrared, and a curious ability to see electrical signals. The end result was an overlapping view of information, an in-depth view of the world that saw the surface and the depths of everything. It had been a bit of a rude surprise for his parents to find out their son saw their brains at the same time he saw their faces. The practical upshot of this at the moment was that he saw Karna was clearly not at home, and had left a trail of lingering celestial energy behind him.
Well, Karna or another aasimar, but they were fairly rare. Even with the increasing numbers of extraplanar citizens in the union, there weren’t many descended from angels. Basil wryly considered that it might be the former keeping out the later. Baatorites weren’t strictly speaking enemies with most angels, but the distaste between the two species was deep, ancient, and mutual. As such, there was only one trail to follow.
Basil sighed when he found the end of the trail. It was a club, and of a particular sort. He didn’t need his enhanced vision to tell that. Technically speaking, strip clubs and even prostitution were legal. Practically speaking, everyone in any of them used pseudonyms. He sighed and headed for the entrance. The bouncer at the door, a towering ogre, raised a hand. “If you’re carrying, head around to the side entrance. They’ll check your swords there. No weapons in the club.”
”Not planning on starting a fight. Just looking to meet someone.”
”Yeah, well check em anyway. We’ve had boyfriends throwing hands with one another because they were looking at the guy on stage a little too hard, we don’t want em doing it with swords. That’s the kind of domestic dispute that doesn’t just get the cops involved, it’s also a bitch to get out of the floors.”
”Well, I’ll keep that in mind.” Basil replied, and headed around the side. He stepped in, greeted by another bouncer, a dragonborn. He always found it amusing how it was always one of the larger races as a bouncer. Given their job, it made a certain degree of sense, but it occurred to him he’d never seen a gnome as a bouncer. Then again, he didn’t go to many clubs. He checked his sword in, and left a pseudonym.
The dragonborn looked down at the paper, and narrowed his eyes slightly. “What’s the T.D. stand for, Mr. Law?” He asked curiously.
Basil shrugged. “Hells if I know, it’s an alias, same as everyone else is using here. I mean, look at the guy above me on that list, when was the last time you ever met somebody actually named Flamingo?”
”The guy kinda looked like a flamingo. Aasimar type, maybe his wings are pink.” The bouncer replied.
”If he’s the person I’m thinking of, no. Let’s hope they don’t start changing.” Basil replied.
”Ah, ex-boyfriend?”
”Cousin, and why’d you assume ex?”
”The only people I’ve seen who’ve been drinking that much and going home with that many different blokes are the ones going through breakups, and you’re the only person I’ve seen go looking for him, so I know he’s not a whore.”
”Nah, just a dumbass. Thanks for the info. Here’s hoping you have a quiet night.”
”Yeah, try to keep it that way for me.”
”I’ll do my best. Believe it or not, I hate fighting.” Basil replied, and headed past the dragonborn into the club proper.
To give the club some credit, they had a pretty decent band going. A small number, playing as much with style as they did skill. That was to say, a decent if unspectacular amount. The rolling tones of the lead singer washed over an atmosphere of casual conversation and lewd humor. Basil cocked an ear at the sound. He would have sworn he’d heard the woman on the radio at least once. He watched her closely for a moment, along with the rest of the band, but didn’t recognize them. Then again, he didn’t go to many concerts.
As the double bass thrummed, the piano crooned, and the saxophone danced center stage, he made his way through smoke and other scents towards the bar. A teifling danced a lurid show in the center of the building, sweat glistening on blue skin from the lights. One of Basil’s eyes kept a lock on the man, tracing the electrical signals running under his skin to enact their sensual motions. It wasn’t exactly something he was looking to copy, but it was an interesting interplay to watch. Dancing wasn’t something often done alone, done for the show. It was interesting to compare the flow of signals of this to more traditional forms.
He kept most of his eyes forwards through. He had a job to do, and he preferred white to blue anyways. A brief thought entertained his mind of what Zeal might look like in such an outfit. He snapped it off immediately, jaw snapping shut in anger at himself. That was wrong, and a bad place to go. He couldn’t allow himself to think of her, think of anyone, that way, but especially her.
He focused himself. He had a job to do, and he was going to die alone. The only thing anyone would ever love of him would be an illusion. Any intimacy would have to be built on lies. Throw those thoughts out of his mind. They would only bring distraction, and disappointment.
He centered himself, and took a seat next to Karna, as the aasimar knocked back what was looking like probably the sixth shot tonight. How the hell was he even paying for all this? He rapped the bar twice with his knuckles. “First time here, got mezcal?” He asked.
”Mezcal coming up, though I can’t say it’s gonna be quite as good as home’s.” The barkeep replied.
”I am home, just grew up away from it.” Basil replied. For all his illusions, he always forgot to cover his chultan accent. Then again, recognizing his voice was part of the point for the man next to him.
”Basil?” Karna asked, turning slightly. “You’re straight, well, nearest to it, the fuck are you doing here?”
”Checking on you, and about to drink a theoretically decent mezcal.” Basil replied. “I’m worried about you.”
”Well fuck off, you don’t need to be.” Karna replied. “Another.” He requested. Another shot of strong absinthe filled his cup.
”Might want to slow down there hoss.” The barkeep warned. “The kind you’ve been having is a hundred thirty proof.”
”That so? Huh. Would have thought it was about a hundred twenty. Guess I’m getting better at drinking. Stands to reason, it’s all I’m good at or good for.” Karna replied, clearly about as drunk as someone on their seventh shot of one hundred thirty proof absinthe should be.
”Politely, bullshit.” Basil replied. “Though you are going to manage to be the first paladin to ever give yourself liver cirrhosis at the rate you’re going.”
”Paladin. What a bad joke.” Karna spat. “Paladins are heroes, we, we’re not fucking heroes. You got closer, and you’re, well, you. Me. I’m just a fool. So what if I ruin my liver. I’ve ruined everything else.”
Karna went for his glass, but Basil put his hand over it, stopping him. He looked his cousin in the eye, gentle, pitying, but firm. “Karna, we should go. Let’s find somewhere, a park or something, and talk.”
”We should, as in you should get your hand off my drink, and then pull that pole out of your ass. Dancer might need a spare.” Karna spat back. “I don’t need to talk, I need a damn drink.”
Basil didn’t move. “Cut the crap and calm down. You’re drunk already, and clearly not in a good place. If you’re going to be this way, at least we can do it at a safe distance from anyone else.”
”Oh fuck right off.” Karna replied. “What, am I embarrassing you? More so that I already have? I know I’m a fucking disgrace okay. I saw it with my own two eyes and can’t stop seeing it. The least you could let me do is drink myself to death in peace so I stop being a bother for all of you.”
The bartender was steadily shifting away, looking towards the bouncer who sighed and began to approach. He briefly made eye contact with Basil, who tried to give him an apologetic smile and flicked his eyes back towards Karna. The bouncer nodded. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen this.
Karna continued. “But no, you can’t do that. Can’t just let me be a failure in peace. You’re not content just being the better man than me, being better in every way but looks than me. You have to prove it, have to rub it in. I already you’re better, okay, don’t need to slam my nose in it with this stupid pity schtick.”
”When did I say anything about that? I’m the weakest member of our party!” Basil protested. “And what the hells does that have to do with any of that. You’re my cousin, my family, and beyond that my friend. You clearly need help, so of course I’m going to try and help you.”
”I don’t need help.” Karna snarled back, green eyes glinting red with a dangerous, gleaming light. “LEAST OF ALL FROM YOU!” He roared. The red light flared. Basil flinched, covering his eyes as the roar slammed into his mind and ears at the same time. He focused, piercing through the growing crimson fog.
The music kept playing, a hidden tape rolling, but the band pretending to sing had stopped. The club had gone silent, save for that. The patron’s idle gossip and chatter was muted. The bar was silent, patrons slumped over on their chairs, the bartender and bouncer were on the ground, foaming at the mouth. Karna and Basil were the only two people conscious in that building.
Karna stared in stunned silence, quiet horror at the scene. Some part of him processed exactly what he had just done, rationality quietly ticking away behind a fog of alcohol and badly managed emotional issues. It only intensified the later, a combination of terror and guilt forming into a blossoming rage. Then he saw Basil’s face, saw realization peeling back and something shifting in how he looked at him, saw a cold fury, a hatred, spreading across his face.
Basil looked himself, horrified at what had just occurred, and mind flashing to the street in front of Zeal’s home. This was the exact same scene. The same power as Alexander, but now being used instinctually. He had no idea what had actually happened to these people, if Karna had meant it or not. One thing he did know for certain. He had to stop this. If Karna was out of control there was no telling how many people could be hurt so he had to end this now.
Karna opened his mouth, but it was too late. Basil whirled, placing a palm on the bar to leverage himself from a sitting position into a whirling kick. His heel hit Karna squarely in the face, with every ounce of strength he could muster. A sucker punch, meant to be a knockout blow so he could take the aasimar down, end this spell, and get him out of here before anything else went wrong.
Karna snapped back out of his chair, it tumbled to the ground, and the back of his head hit the floor hard. His headache roared, but he rolled over coming back up to his feet, coming to a ready stance. He might have been depressed and drunk, but he was still a paladin, better trained than most and tougher than pretty much everybody. It was going to take more than that to knock him out.
Basil kicked him squarely in the nuts.
Karna doubled over in pain, and Basil kicked him in the face again. Basil had trained under paladins and monks alike. His skill with his own limbs was on par with his swordsmanship. His training under the paladins in the tradition of Jort made him an expert at sneak attacks, sucker punches, and practical, dirty fighting. In other words, he was effectively an expert at kicking people in the nuts. He went for a chop to the throat, trying to finish the fight right then and there.
Karna caught his hand, and broke it by squeezing his fingers. He looked up, bloody eyed and berserk. “Ah. Fuck.” Basil swore. Then Karna threw him. Basil went flying, arm broken, and hit the wall shelves, covered in a hundred forms of expensive booze. The impact shattered his collar bone, and he kept going until he hit the solid wall on the other side of the bar. He landed hard on his face, shirt torn to ribbons and bleeding freely.
His hand and shoulder reset themselves, and shirt tore entirely as he burst his extra limbs out of it, and slammed them down to pick himself up. He drew in a breath, and Karna threw a chair at him. Basil dodged upwards, onto the ceiling as the chair smashed a hole in the wall behind him. He rushed his cousin, gathering shards of broken glass with his spare limbs and a bottle into either hand. He flung the glass before him, forcing Karna to cover his face. Then he hit him on top of the head with both bottles, dropped them, and hit him on both sides of the throat with a chop.
Karna struggled to breathe, nearly blacking out from the impact, and but threw a wild, blind punch. Basil evaded most of hit, but even a glancing hit was enough to send him flying. He caught his momentum on a support pillar, swinging around it with his tendrils. His ankle hit the side of a table and shattered. He wheezed in pain, falling to a knee on top of the table to mend it.
Karna roared and charged like a bull, giving Basil scant time. He palmed a lighter from one of the unconscious men lying next to him, and jumped clear. Karna smashed the table into splinters beneath his fists, tearing skin and breaking bone, but healing them just as quickly as he damaged them. Basil flicked the lighter open, and threw it. The expensive alcohol covering Karna caught light, stunning and blinding him as Basil set him ablaze!
He hit the flaming angel with everything he had before the fire burned away. Fists, feet, elbows, knees, tendrils. A devastating combination of every move he knew to put a man on the ground flew out of him. He hadn’t really trained to get into a bar fight, but damn if it wasn’t coming in handy. He finished with a powerful drop kick in the aasimar’s solar plexus, sending him staggering back against the bar, breath torn from his lungs.
Basil breathed heavily, as his cousin slumped, then swore as Karna got his feet under him, and pulled his head up still more than ready to go. He swore louder as Karna gripped the sides of the bar, and tore the granite countertop off of it, swinging it at Basil like an improvised weapon.
Basil leapt, running along the side of the countertop as it smashed through everything it came across. Fortunately, it was swung high, missing the unconscious clubgoers, and shattered when it hit a load bearing column, though that cracked ominously. Basil landed on his cousin, spines biting into him and wrapping around bones to anchor the assassin. He’d seen a similar technique used by velociraptors when they hunted, using their massive claws to hook onto larger dinosaurs. Once attached, the smaller reptiles would begin to eat their prey alive. He wasn’t planning on biting Karna though, instead he raised up his boot and began to stomp his cousin’s face, over and over and over again, desperately trying to bring the berserk paladin down before he brought down the building!
Karna flared his wings and soared upwards, slamming both himself and Basil into the ceiling. Basil fell off, and Karna grabbed him by the face. He slammed them both down into the floor, smashing Basil’s head into the ground once, twice, three times, then threw him with enough force to scatter blood across the entire club and snap the assassin’s neck. He watched as Basil hit the pole the dancer had been, ahem, performing with, and his illusion vanished.
Horror overtook him as he saw Basil’s true form break in two, snaped apart by the force of the impact, and fall like so much meat onto the stage. He rushed forwards, hands shaking as he realized what he’d just done. He reached for Basil’s head, bloodied and broken. But his hands went through him. His emotional pain was then matched by physical pain, as he felt a steel stripper pole strike him directly between the legs.
Basil didn’t let up, as he dropped the illusion and his invisibility, and beat his cousin into the ground with the broken pole. He went for joints, broke ribs, hit below the belt with every opportunity and he did not stop. He didn’t know what it was going to take to put Karna down but he did know that if Karna got back up, he was actually going to die. It was nothing but the good fortune of his unusual anatomy that had kept him breathing with a broken neck, and his healing magic to allow him to ever get up again. He wasn’t going to get another chance, and so he beat down his cousin until the pole was bent beyond all recognition and the stage was slick with golden blood.
When he finally stopped, Karna was finally, mercifully, down. Basil knelt by his side, mending him enough to make sure he could be moved safely, though not enough to bring him back into consciousness. The patrons were beginning to stir to consciousness. With a grunt, he picked up his friend, hoisting him over his shoulder, and covered both of them with a spell of invisibility.
Slowly, shakily, he retrieved his and Karna’s weapons, erased both their names from the registry, and slipped away as people began to regain consciousness and the police arrived. Then, he began the slow, tired business of carrying Karna back to his house. He grumbled as he went. “You are far too skinny to be this heavy, and put up way too much of a fight for me to need the extra weight of lugging your ass out of here. You stupid overpowered twink.”
Karna woke up with a splitting headache, and a slightly less splitting everything-else-ache. Paladin healing factors worked wonders, but if you took a beating that was going to make you ache for a week, you were going to ache for a week. He remembered what happened, and started to wish he didn’t. “Oh fuck. I nearly killed Bas. And… yeah, the rest of the club. I’m not going to be allowed back there.”
He rolled off his couch and got a drink, of water this time. He looked at his liquor cabinet, walked over, opened it, and grabbed a bottle. He emptied it into the sink. Then he emptied the rest. He looked down at the drain, drew in a deep breath, and focused himself. “I need to apologize. I need to talk. I need help. And I need to get my life back on track.” He resolved. “I can’t let that happen again.”
He clenched his fists, and opened them again, hands still shaking. There was a knock at the door. His first thought was that it might be Basil checking on him. The next though was that it was the police. His third thought was that it was Basil, and the police. Well, either way. Apologies would be made, he might just also need to call a really, really good lawyer, and probably a bank to take out a loan to pay all that property damage.
He opened it, and saw another aasimar looking back at him.
”Hello Karna.” Alexander replied. “I heard you had something of a rough night, powers going out of control, a rather ugly bar fight, that sort of thing?”
”Yes. How long am I going to be in jail for?” Karna asked.
”Not at all, I’ve covered the damages and fortunately, nobody has any memory of last evening. Dominion Flare has that useful side effect.”
”Dominion Flare? What I did has a name?”
”Of course. It is your inheritance after all.” Alexander mused. “Though, you might be the first one to awaken it while drunk, though you’re not the first to cause some degree of damage with it. These things happen, it simply requires training.” He looked Karna squarely in the eye. “And beyond that, I strongly suspect you may be looking for some help getting yourself back on track.”

Toxic Rats: Geoff, Scott, Leshawna, Sammy, Trent
Mutant Maggots: Anne Maria, Katie, Molly, Scarlett, Dave, DJ
Episode 04: Finders Creepers
"Last time, on Total Drama Revenge of the Island!" Chris opened over a stock shot of the camp, the recap montage starting off with a clip of the contestants racing off towards the side of Mt. Looming Tragedy. "Twelve bumbling buffoons battled it out in a brutal buffet of bombastica," Chef was shown gleefully dropping ice blocks on the climbing campers, catching Geoff and Scott but narrowly missing Molly and almost catching Anne Maria.
"Why all the 'B' words?" B was shown demonstrating his couch invention created from junk, "Because, B proved he was a brave and brilliant improviser who scored big time for his team!" B used an ice pick to poke holes onto a shard of ice and placed it on top of the castle, directing the sun beam towards the Maggots' base and melting it effectively. "Until his bitter teammate Scott allowed brainy Molly to botch it on purpose and B got the boot," Molly threw a snowball onto the shard, melting the castle and B was shown being flung into the night.
"And now," Chris said, popping up in front of a shot of the full moon in a cloudy sky with a lit candle in his hand, marking the end of the recap montage, "tonight's challenge is about fear." He made a devilish look. "And everyone knows fear is a dish best served, in the dark!" he said in an exaggeratedly spooky manner, an eerie sound playing as he laughed evilly. "Huh?" he stopped suddenly, the camera pulling back to reveal Chef standing next to him...dressed like a showgirl with lots of peacock feathers. "Chef!" the host said in annoyance.
"Wardrobe was all out of vampire costumes," Chef explained as the series's capstone then began to play.
"It's all scary!" Chris said, walking off to the left. "Other than that," he scowled and gestured back toward his off-screen assistant. "Right here! Right now!" he resumed his usual demeanor. "On Total! Drama! Revenge, of the Island!" He adopted his spooky tone as he finished the title, and ended with another evil laugh.
XXXXX
Frogs and crickets chirped and croaked, joined by an owl's hoots as the episode opened on a shot of the full moon. The camera panned down to the cabins as the sound of snoring was added to the nighttime mix, and the scene cut inside to the girls' side of the Maggots' cabin where Anne Maria and Katie were sleeping peacefully in the bunk they shared. Dave and DJ were also shown sound asleep on the boys' side, and the scene cut to the Rat boys to show Geoff also sound asleep.
The camera cut next to show Sammy waking up with a yawn. She stretched her arms out for a few good seconds and fell right back to sleep...until the sudden shrill wail of a blow horn pierced the air.
"RUN! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!" Chris hollered from off-screen as the scene cut back outside, the blowhorn continuing even over the panicked shouts of the campers.
The camera briefly cut to a close-up of the blowhorn still blowing, then over to the Maggots' cabin as they ran outside fully dressed – first Katie screaming "What's happening?!"; then DJ just screaming; then Scarlett yelling out "This is unethical!"; then Anne Maria just hollering; and then finally Dave coming out, calling out "I'm wide awake!"
The Rats were shown next, Scott grunting "Me first!" as he shoved Geoff down the stairs and slid down the railing; Leshawna quickly running after him; Sammy screaming at the top of her lungs; and Trent coming out last at around the same time while screaming.
They assembled nervously in the common area between cabins, where Chris – wearing a pair of heavy earmuffs – finally eased up on the blowhorn. "Glad you all could make it," he grinned as he took off his headgear.
Molly soon arrived later. "Is there an attack or what?" she asked her teammates.
Katie shot her a quick glare. "Of course not, but why would you care about anything but yourself?"
Confessional: Molly
"Olay, yes," Molly moaned. "I left my teammates behind, but that was because I wanted to win the challenge first. I was always taught to focus on one thing before moving on to the next, and that's what I did." She grew concerned. "I don't see any problems with that."
Confessional Ends
"I hope you're all ready," Chris continued, "'cause it's challenge time!" He stepped to the side as Chef rolled up a large widescreen television on a wheeled cart. It was currently displaying an aerial map of the island with several additional colored icons – six bright green skulls scattered around the island; three yellowish envelopes over the campfire pit, the western edge of the campgrounds, and deeper into the forest; and a large purple spider in the middle of it all.
"We're gonna do a challenge?" Anne Maria wondered. "In the middle of the woods? At night?"
Confessional: Anne Maria
"Doesn't Chris know that we need our hours of sleep?" Anne Maria criticized. "I haven't even done my hair."
Confessional Ends
"Your challenge," Chris continued as though there'd been no interruption, "a scavenger hunt for three creepy souvenirs. Your locations? A haunted forest," he walked across to the other side of the television, "a scaaary pet cemetery, and an extra spooktastic cave. First team to each location gets a special clue," he said, the camera zooming in as he pointed towards the westernmost letter icon on the screen. "But watch out for booby traps," he added jovially as he moved his finger to one of the skulls, "I really went to town with them, heheh." The campers were shown watching warily.
"So move fast," the host added, "and stick together. You'll be penalized for each player you lose!"
"Umm, what's with the giant spider?" Sammy asked.
"Oh yeah," Chris answered as the shot zoomed in on the icon in question, "there's some kinda gigantic mutated spider sorta running around loose on the island."
The cast immediately started to voice their fears and protests.
"A huge, humongous spider is on the loose?!" DJ hugged Katie out of fear.
"I guess so," Katie said frightfully, but was secretly enjoying DJ hugging her.
The shot zoomed in on Dave in particular as he looked around, moaning "Oh no..." in annoyance.
Confessional: Dave
"Ever since I was a kid, I've never been a huge fan of spiders," Dave admitted. "They leave messy webs everywhere they go, and it takes me a long time to clean them up in places like my uncle's attic or my aunt's basement." A spider soon crawled down on a string. "This is gonna be unpopular, but I'm not a huge fan of Spider-Man because of my dislike of spiders." The spider hissed after hearing the criticism, making Dave flinch.
Confessional: Leshawna
"I may seem fearless on the outside, but spiders are one of the few things I'm terrified of," Leshawna said nervously. "Anything with eight legs is frightening enough."
Confessional Ends
"And since I want to keep things fair for both teams," Chris continued, "I decided to bring back an eliminated contestant for the Rats."
"It's so good to be back here!" the familiar voice of Sierra was heard, becoming more recognizable when she ran next to Chris.
"Sierra! I haven't introduced you yet!" Chris snapped at her.
"If I waited any longer, the episode would've been past the usual 22-minute runtime," Sierra explained. "I'll just go join the Toxic Rats and save you the trouble of doing so since I've rejoined."
Chris watched the fangirl run up to the contestants in annoyance. "Long story short, Sierra is the returnee." Chris regained his smile, and the dramatic and almost heroic tune started playing again. "There's nothing to fear but mortal terror itself! Talk soon," he added impishly, sounding his blowhorn once again.
The twelve campers ran off towards the woods.
\
The footage flashed ahead to another shot of the full moon over the forested hills of Wawanakwa, an owl hooting as the scene cut down to ground level. The logo of the Toxic Rats appeared in the corner of the screen just before the team itself did, running up and stopping in front of a tree with a loudspeaker set up in its branches.
"We're in first place! Sweet!" Geoff cheered just before the loudspeaker whined into activity.
"Welcome to the Haunted Forest!" Chris announced over it, the shot panning downward to show the six Rats gathering around a small crack in the ground. "Your clue can be found at the base of this tree!" Sierra reached into the hole...and screamed in pain as something metallic snapped inside the hole.
"Inside a bear trap," Chris finished his announcement with a laugh.
Sierra withdrew her hand from the hole, the trap clamped down firmly on her arm – though she was at least clutching a note in her hand. "Here! Read the clue," she said, passing it to a mildly shocked Sammy. Just as she was about to read it, the sound of approaching footsteps distracted her and her teammates.
"Bad news guys," Anne Maria commented from the six Maggots. "They have the clue."
"Even with a team advantage they still managed to beat us," Katie reminded them.
"We can let the opposing team have their clue," Scarlett said, looking back towards her teammates. "I have another plan," she said, running ahead with her teammates in tow.
\
The shot cut to the Maggots as they stopped at a clearing further along the trail. "So what's the plan?" Katie asked the girl in front.
"Find a place to hide so we can follow the Rats and their clue to our first souvenir," Scarlett answered. "Into that bush!"
The Maggots dived and painfully tried to hide in a thorn bush.
"Be quiet," Dave hissed, "They're coming."
"Inside a knot is a nest," Sammy read as the scene cut to the Rats. "Your souvenir lives with a pest. Find Polaris to travel northwest? Polaris is the North Star."
"The North Star is right there, so this way's northwest! There's a path!" Trent declared. He ran off, the rest of his teammates following suit.
"Now we follow!" Scarlett declared as the rest of her teammates came out of the bush.
\
The Rats' logo reappeared as the footage skipped ahead again to them running along through the woods.
"Inside a knot is a nest," Geoff muttered to himself as the shot zoomed in on him. "Hey Sammy, what was the rest of that poem again?" he called back without taking his eyes off the path ahead.
When he didn't get an answer he immediately skidded to a stop. "Sammy?!" he yelled in rising panic, and looked back to see nobody behind him.
The shot cut back to show that the rest of the Rats had stopped in their tracks. "What? Did we lose the mouse?" Scott asked.
Geoff gulped. "We get a penalty for each player we lose, right?" he asked nervously.
"And there's a spider crawling around, right?!" Leshawna said in panic. The shot cut outward as he did so, showing a large purple spider crawling down through the shadows of the forest trees.
"We're looking for a knot with a nest, right?" Scott looked off to the right; the camera quick-panned over to a large tree with a noticeable hollow knot in the trunk with the hints of a nest inside; a few green and red marks had been spray-painted on the bark under it.
"There it is!" Leshawna said, immediately rushing towards it.
"But what about Sammy?" Trent asked his team.
"We'll look for her after we get the souvenir," Sierra assured him.
Leshawna started climbing up the trunk as the rest of her team ran up to join her, and soon began to root through the tree hollow with one arm.
Suddenly, a large eye opened up inside the hollow and stared directly at Leshawna. She screamed, and several squid-like tentacles reached out of the tree's other hollows. One quickly grabbed her around the neck and held her up, while another gave her a few wet slaps then poked her in the eye.
"My eye!" Leshawna yelped in pain and terror. In response the tentacle tightened its grip, and Leshawna began to choke.
"What do we do!?" Sierra yelled in panic.
Geoff looked around, then bent down and picked up a handful of small rocks. "We can throw these stones at the octo guy!"
"Good idea!" Scott said as he and his team picked up rocks of their own and began throwing them at the creature, but they seemed to be hitting Leshawna more than the mutant squid-tree monster. Eventually, the thing just raised its captive up even higher, then slammed her down onto the ground and hissed at the others.
"RUN!" Geoff shouted, turning to flee as a tentacle shot towards them, forcing them to scatter.
Unfortunately, Trent was unable to get away in time and was lifted up by the leg. Trent cried in pain as the mutant began to punch him in the stomach with a curled-up tentacle.
The sounds of pain and wet punches caused Leshawna to get frustrated. "No way am I gonna get pushed around or let a squid attack my teammates!" she declared, getting back on her feet and climbing up the tree-squid's trunk while it was distracted. "Quit buggin' us!" she cried as she punched the mutant in the eye.
The beast bellowed in pain, dropping Trent and retracting into its tree. As soon as he got back up, a strand of spider's webbing shot down from above, sticking on to his head and pulling him away from the floor.
Leshawna reached into the knot once again, quickly and triumphantly pulling out a brass key. "And that's how I roll!" she called down to her teammates.
She dropped down to the forest floor, and landed in front of Geoff, who grinned when he saw it. "We got the key, Trent." Geoff received no response as Scott rejoined.
"Trent?!" Leshawna yelled out in concern. "Where are you?!"
As she panicked, the shot changed to a perspective further away, and the footage switched to an infrared shot of the four Rats.
"Guess he's gone," Sierra sighed sadly. "On the plus side, we found the key."
"We lost two players!" Leshawna said. "Shouldn't we go and look for them?"
"Knowing Chris, he probably has them trapped someplace else, so I'm not too worried right now," Scott brushed it off.
"You've got a point there," Geoff agreed.
Just then, the six Maggots arrived on the scene.
Scott was the first to notice them. "No luck here," he quickly said with faux disappointment, "Do you want to see if Sammy and Trent saw anything better over there?" he looked back and asked Sierra, Leshawna, and Geoff.
"Absolutely. It's not just the three of us," Sierra caught on before they turned and ran off.
"I see something!" Katie pointed off to the camera's right – the direction of the squid-tree. "Team colors!" The camera briefly cut over to the knot in question, with a focus on the marks below it in the two teams' colors.
"Excellent eye, Katie," Scarlett complimented while DJ ran to the tree.
"I'm not just a phone addict, y'know," Katie laughed a bit.
"I got the key, everyone," the camera cut to DJ who was in the tree's hollow and holding out a key. He threw the key in front of Dave and Molly.
"Way to go, DJ!" Molly said.
"Now you want to support us," Dave snarked at her. "Where was that when I was frozen?"
"Are you still mad about that?" Molly groaned.
"Of course we are," Katie snorted.
"You don't just leave your teammates behind," Dave lectured.
"Whatever happened happened," Anne Maria got in between them. "Let's focus more on the challenge and less on squabbling right now."
Confessional: Anne Maria
"I'm here to start no fights," Anne Maria confessed. "What Molly did was messed up, but they can scold her after the challenge."
Confessional: Molly
"Thank you, Anne Maria," Molly let out a sigh of relief. "Finally, someone who won't ride on me for my choices!"
Confessionals End
"You're right, Anne Maria," Dave sighed. "We shouldn't waste anymore time fighting."
As Dave bent down to pick up the key, however, a line of spider silk shot down from the treetops, wrapped around Molly, and pulled her up out of sight.
DJ regrouped with his team. "They said they saw something far away, so maybe-" he paused and looked behind his teammates. "Wait, where's Molly?"
The other four looked behind them and gasped. "Oh no, Molly's got taken by the spider!" Dave cried out.
"What do we do now?" Anne Maria griped.
Scarlett sighed. "Not to sound apathetic, but I think we're gonna have to continue on without her."
"Are you sure about that?" Katie questioned.
"I'm sure we can catch up to wherever she's being taken to," Scarlett waved off her concern.
"Well, I hope so," Katie said as she and the team exchanged nervous looks.
Confessional: Dave
"I don't see Molly in the best light right now, but that doesn't mean that I want her to be taken away," Dave began to shudder. "Especially by a spider."
Confessional Ends
"Why are we running so slow when we're in a challenge?" Geoff said as the scene moved back to him, Sierra, Scott, and Leshawna running through the forest. "We won't beat the other team at this rate."
"Relax, I know what I'm doing," Scott conversed with him.
Confessional: Scott
Scott was whittling another piece of wood with his shark tooth. "I'm heading us back into last place where we belong. Another elimination ceremony for the Rats and it's bye-bye Geoff! Or Sierra. I can't decide."
Confessional Ends
"C'mon, let's rock this! With years of exercise and partying, I've got energy to burn!" Geoff said, snatching the key from Leshawna and jogging ahead. The three followed him, but the camera kept its focus on Geoff as he passed a tree stump, then a rock; then stepped on a mysterious clump of dirt… which exploded and sent him flying.
Leshawna, Sierra, and Scott stopped immediately, the shot showing Sierra and Leshawna being shocked and Scott showing delight as Geoff got launched from one land mine to the next off-screen.
During this, however, a line of spider webbing was shot onto Sierra's leg. It quickly wrapped around it and tugged Sierra away from her team.
The camera finally cut back to Geoff, singed and groaning on the ground in an awkward but still holding the Rats' key. The Maggots approached him moments later. "Sorry that had to happen, doll!" Anne Maria comforted as she ran past Geoff.
Scott and Leshawna came to Geoff's need. "You gonna be alright?" Leshawna helped him up.
"I'll walk it off," Geoff tried to remain cool headed.
"Thanks, focus boy," Scott said.
"I don't want to strain my calves," Geoff added.
"We should leave in a few minutes just to make sure we catch up to the other team," Leshawna said. "Sierra just got captured, and I don't want us sticking around here."
\
The scene cut to the lantern-lit cemetery. The camera panned left across its headstones and crosses, several of which were pet-themed, to the entrance as the five remaining Mutant Maggots arrived, huffing and puffing from their run.
"Welcome to the Wawanakwa Pet Cemetery!" Chris greeted them over the loudspeaker.
"We're first. Nice!" Dave said.
"What's the clue?" Anne Maria asked Scarlett.
The camera cut in close as she opened the lid to a small coffin in an open grave, revealing a ragged piece of paper within bearing a list of numbers: 5 in the first row; 5 in the second; 5 in the third. Notably, while most of the numbers were plain black there were three 6s and the 18 were all an eye-catching red. "Three 6's is normally not a good indication of luck," Scarlett said with a nervous look.
"Let's fan out and look for numbers!" DJ said as the perspective cut back to its usual sideview.
"By ourselves?" Anne Maria asked.
\
"I'm in a creepy cemetery in the middle of the woods looking for three 6s. It's no big deal," Anne Maria said warily as she backed through the graveyard. "Good news is, there aren't any owls hooting around. I think I'm safe," she told herself, pausing to smile. "Now, let's see if I can find any numbers..."
She turned around and started examining the nearest headstone, and the shot cut to a view from afar, the footage switching back to infrared. The monster serving as the camera's viewpoint blinked, and when it opened its eyes it had gotten much closer to the jersey girl, and had extended four sharp limbs with tiny claws on the end towards her...
Anne Maria's scream echoed through the cemetery, quickly catching the attention of Katie, DJ, Scarlett, and Dave as they looked up in shock. "Anne Maria?" Dave asked out in concern, the footage quickly skipping ahead to show all four arriving at the location the tanned young lady had been snatched from.
"I could've sworn she was just here," Dave said in confusion.
They all gasped. "Where'd she go?" Katie asked in mild terror.
"I'm just as concerned as you all are," Scarlett started, "but like what happened with Molly, we should move along and hope to catch up with them."
"I know you're trying to be reasonable," DJ said, "but you're rubbing me off the wrong way."
"Yeah, it's like you don't care about what could happen to our teammates," Dave told her.
"I'm just used to not expressing my emotions on occasion," Scarlett told her team members. "Thank you very much."
\
The scene flashed to the Rats, where Scott and Leshawna were next to grimy coffins propped upright against a couple statues.
"Find the souvenir, hide the souvenir, lose the game…" Scott went in to unlock the coffin, but was interrupted by Fang bursting out of the coffin with a menacing grin.
"AAAAHHHHH!" The devious ran away screaming when Fang moved to chase after him.
Geoff was looking at a grave that was open. "This grave smells like french fries. Weird, but I'm not complaining." He got shoved in thanks to Scott running away from Fang.
The camera followed Scott as he ran past two open graves, one of which with a mound of dirt in front of it.
The mutant shark followed his quarry, but when Scott leapt over the mound of dirt, Fang tripped over it. The shark fell into the open grave and growled.
"Why does this graveyard smell like fries?" Katie wondered aloud, following a scent as she walked through the cemetery. She soon came to the pit Geoff was in. "Maybe it's coming from there."
"Hello? Anybody? I need someone to help me down here!" Geoff called out.
Katie backed away a bit. "Did that hole just talk?"
"It's me. Geoff!" Geoff tried to denounce her belief.
"Oh right," Katie sighed in relief. "You're the guy with the cowboy hat."
"That's right," Geoff confirmed her statement. "I fell down this hole, and I'm covered in grease right now."
"So that explains the smell," Katie realized.
"Can you get me out of here?" Geoff begged her. "Grease doesn't mesh well with my shirt."
"I would, but I have to help my team right now," Katie declined. "One of your teammates could get you out. Bye," she left the scene.
"This sucks," Geoff whined, unaware of four maggots coming by the grave. As soon as they saw the grease and Geoff, they jumped in and attacked him, making him howl in agony.
\
The scene cut to Chris, who was watching feeds of both teams on a trio of monitors and laughing hysterically. "Will anyone make it to the spooky cave?" he turned and asked the camera, holding a covered cup with a straw in it. "And if so, how can they possibly make it all the way to the finish line? Less brain, more pain, when we return!" he said, finishing with a sip of his drink.
\
(Commercial Break)
\

I've been to one small Renaissance Faire, twice. The second time I was in full armor kit (https://www.reddit.com/renfaire/comments/12yg084/this_past_weekend_was_my_second_ever_renaissance/), and I got a lot of attention, and many people wanted pics of/with me. I'm a pretty private and camera-shy person, but because my face was covered I was OK with (and flattered by) all the photos.
But there were a couple of situations where it seems the people interacting with me assumed I would be in character. The first time was when a family (dad, mom, and 3 little girls all in princess costumes) wanted pics with me, and the dad prompted the girls (5-9? years old) to ask me questions. They asked me my name, where I was from, etc. I gave real-world answers before I realized, "Oh, they're expecting 'Sir Someone from Something Kingdom'." Then I looked at the dad and said, "I guess I need some character lore." He laughed, thanked me, and the family moved on.
The next time was a brief interaction with another fully dressed person (whom I suspect was probably a performer of some kind), who tried to engage me in character, but I just politely waved and nodded. (I appreciate him recognizing that I wasn't an actor and bowing and moving on.)
Also, I've recently seen some short video clips of costumed people acting as a character, and/or being asked to introduce themselves or shake hands in character. (Maybe the recorded interactions were staged with actual performers?)
Anyway, these situations prompt me to ask (because I'll be going to the major and much larger faire for my first time in a few months): How much expectation is there that someone in full costume/gear will be "in character"? Do you attend RenFaires in character? I am in no way an actor or performer, so I'll probably just stick to waving in silence, but the idea does intrigue me.

Many praises to u/SpacePaladin15 for this universe.
Credit again to u/TheManwithaNoPlan for helping edit!
[First]-[Prev]-[Next]
Memory transcript: Rolem, High Magister of Dawn Creek. Date: [Standardized human time] October 3rd, 2136
When Vulen first sent his proposal to the Magister of Land and Housing, it had almost immediately been sent on to me for full consideration. It was very intriguing. Enough so that I set up an actual meeting with him to discuss. He had some legal issues he wished to deal with through this proposal. All the more reason for me to talk in person.
Which resulted in both him and Tarlim’s lawyer sitting across from me in my office. Venric’s wool had been freshly groomed, apparent by the clean lines running across his body. Vulen…less so. It’s clear that the stresses of dealing with his former partners has taken a toll on him, but yet I could still see a determination in him. I doubted even the pressure of Venlil Prime’s core could break it. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, High Magister Rolem.”
I bowed to him respectfully. “The pleasure is mine, Vulen. I presume the ‘legal troubles’ you spoke of in our correspondence is why Venric is accompanying you today?”
Vulen looked like he wanted to spit. “My previous… ‘partners’ were much too used to my abilities of controlling and filing paperwork.”
“Your name was still on Tarlim’s employment contract,” Venric stated. “Thus you are still legally responsible for the illegal firing.”
“Yes,” the landlord bared his teeth, “and realizing that, my ‘partners’ decided to do the business equivalent of dragging my name through the mud before I got all the contracts fully broken. I left internal maintenance services and employment in the paws of Darula when we drafted our contract. You can see how that’s coming back to bite me now.”
I flicked my ears in polite sympathy. “Still, may you two explain Venric’s presence?”
The landlord glares at the lawyer. “Part of my proposal includes a… settlement to get me off the lawsuit.”
“And my client has given me a minimum settlement,” Venric adds, “with open field for me to agree to a settlement that exceeds on their behalf.” He bowed to me. “They felt it prudent to avoid coming here in person after the last… incident here.”
Ah yes, that was truly a regrettable circumstance, especially with the hindsight I had acquired since. I flicked my ears in the affirmative. “That is completely understandable. So long as all the correct forms are filed, that shouldn’t be an issue. Now, shall we discuss your proposal?”
Vulen’s mood visibly brightened when I said that. I would certainly be looking through the entirety of this document. “Certainly. We can begin with Section 1, paragraph 1.” With that, I started reading through the proposal. What I found ranged from reasonable to absurd, and I would certainly be making my thoughts on the latter clear to Vulen in due time. Once I had made it through in a little under a quarter claw, I cleared my throat to speak.
“Okay, let’s be clear first,” I pulled up a copy of his proposal on my data pad. “You say that you have 350 empty units that you are willing to set aside as housing for Gojid refugees.”
“Yes, and please note the specifics,” he responded. “That comes out to 150 single bedrooms, 75 double bedrooms, 75 triple bedrooms, and 50 flats. With two occupants per bedroom, that’s 1,450 Gojid that can be accommodated. And if you stretch it to three per bedroom, that’s 2,175 Gojid refugees who would then have roofs over their heads.”
“Indeed. A good range,” I tapped on my pad, “and in exchange for this, you would have this district pay you one-and-a-half rotations rent for all the units up front.”
I heard Venric whistle as they did the math in their head. It appeared that Vulen’s greed hadn’t abated even a bit since we last met. And going by the lawyers wagging tail, neither had theirs. Considering the settlement he got in Glowhallow with the human, even I would have thought his lust for credits would have been satisfied for the moment.
I leaned forward on my desk. “Can you please tell me how you can justify such a payment?”
“Well, your honor,” Vulen bowed, “for one thing, our economy has been in a rather sharp downturn. For the government themselves to purchase that number of houses, it would give a baseline for rent to stabilize around. A cap on the leak, if you will. As well as allowing me to use the influx of credits to construct and maintain even more houses and apartments.”
“Really?” I give my ears a skeptical flick. “You will actually use the money to build more?”
“It’s in section four of the proposal.” He stated, “as part of the five-rotation plan.”
That was correct. Which means he actually wrote much of this out himself instead of just tossing it to his own lawyer. Perhaps I was too harsh on his character. “Indeed it is. You must understand, though, that the sum you’re asking for is no small amount.”
“Oh, I’m fully aware, High Magister,” Vulen said, “But if I remember correctly, the Exterminators Office recently underwent some severe budget cuts, did it not?”
Venric seemed equally as enthused about the prospect of a payout, as per stated in Section 5, the settlement to get Vulen’s name off of the lawsuit would be going almost exclusively to him and his client. “I’ve run the numbers, your honor, and the costs should be zero-sum in the matter of as little as three Herds of Paws.”
The lawyer stood from his seat, standing to the side of the table. “It will be an investment, certainly, but if I may speak as a salesman for a moment, the PR potential for this is nothing less than monumental. Dawn Creek, as an industrial district, has little in the way of tourism aside from the A-Grav Arcade. With this, you could kickstart an entire sub-community, complete with the economic prosperity that is sure to follow!”
It was an impressive sales pitch, I had to admit. Of course, I wasn’t about to be distracted by the absurd parts. “Yes, an impressive sales pitch, Venric. However,” I turned to look at Vulen, “I can’t help but question the logic behind your decision on what the refugees will have to pay at the conclusion of the contract.”
Vulen, seemingly prepared for this, simply flicked his ears. “And what of it? Are you referring to the 50% increase over standard rent prices? Because there is an explanation for that.”
That was one of the absurdities to be explained, but I was interested to see how he rephrased that he wants money. “By all means, explain away.”
Vulen cleared his throat before proceeding. “We’ve already discussed that Tarlim’s wrongful termination was an attempt to drag my name through the mud, but that isn’t all that the other two have done. As mentioned, employment of the internal maintenance force was left to Darula, in one of my more questionable decisions. I figured that would be one of the first things to go after I severed the contract, so I already got around to hiring a third party to replace the jobs I knew I’d be losing. Sure enough, once the contract was severed, all of the maintenance workers stopped servicing my building. It was lucky that I had the foresight to plan ahead, but it left me at a substantial financial loss. The price hike is to pay for the more-expensive, but still necessary, external maintenance services once the sum granted by this deal has dried up.”
A good justification. Well thought out, well reasoned, almost seemed to be reasonable.
Too bad for him I saw the flaw. “And if this charge is to cover the new maintenance people, how are they being paid during the contract?”
Vulen couldn’t hide the grimace. It was subtle. A slight fall of his ears, a lip curl, a tail sag, just realizing I had caught him. “Well,” he began to try and justify again, “they are being… I am…” he fell silent under my stare. It was a telling stare. Reminding him that I already had read and would reread every word of the contract. He met my eye with one of his own for a few seconds before he signed acquiescence. “Fine. It’s to increase my profit margin.” He gestured exasperatedly. “This is still a massive risk for me. People could move because of the refugees! Brahk, I guarantee there will be people who will move because of them! “Tainted this, Humans that,” I know you’ve seen the consequences of that firstpaw. Despite the credit influx, I will still have to take loans for the new buildings, and they’ll take time to build! I need proof of future income to look good for what creditors I have left.”
“Really?” I asked, “then is that future profit the reason for the proviso that these refugees would not be able to live elsewhere for the duration of the contract plus a half rotation afterwards?”
He gave a huff before composing himself back to a professional position. “Only for the half rotation. I will be honest, the main reason for the proviso is to hedge against people like him.” He very obviously gestured to Venric.
The lawyer, on the other paw, seemed rather amused by the act. “Really? May I ask, out of curiosity?”
“I am entering into a contract with the Magistratta,” Vulen stated, “I am not about to have lawyers claiming I’m not holding up my end because some Gojid decides to abandon the housing I’m offering because of…because of Tarlim and his human friend.” He massaged his snout for a moment before continuing. “If I am to offer my rooms to refugees and humans, this upfront cost is all but necessary. You can’t expect me to take on such an undertaking without a safety net to fall back on. It’s just bad business. And besides, I’m already paying a portion of that back up front to the upfront payment in the form of my settlement. That has to count for something, right?”
I stare at him, unimpressed by his attempt to use my feelings around Tarlim to his benefit. “Your dealings with him have no relation to dealings with the Magistratta, Vulen. As for your safety net, you are correct. I cannot expect you to take such a risk without one.” I watched as his ears raised in confidence. “But a safety net, this is not.” His ears satisfyingly fall again. “The numbers you have given me would result in likely twice the profit you made as your own share in the last rotation just from the simple fact you would be filling every unit you owned. That is not a ‘safety net’ to fall back on. That is exploitation of disadvantaged peoples for your own gain, and you know it.
The landlord huffed in frustration. “Fine. I can drop the half rotation binding for after the contract is done.” I squint at him. “Don’t look at me like that! I have guaranteed in that contract that every unit could be filled! I will not be accused of breaching a contract because one of the residents decided to leave early, mark my words!”
I heard Venric whistle in amusement. “The possible payout would certainly be tempting.”
Of course he would say that. I suddenly get the feeling Vulen brought Venric here for more than just the settlement.
I shake my head to focus. “That would be acceptable, however,” I swipe my pad so it showed the rent hike, “this is also to be completely dropped. If the refugees decide to continue living in your units, it shall be considered a continuation of living rather than a new contract. Therefore, any rent increase would be done at the legally mandated rate of maximum 5% already set by the Magister of Land and Housing. There will be no negotiation on this account.” I recognize the need for changing rent. At least this way the refugees should be able to afford it after the contract is up. “Of course, you will continue to have control of the rent on the new buildings when those are built. So even without that rent hike, you will still be making a profit into the future.”
Vulen looked to be about to protest, but Vernic quickly pulled him aside and started whispering in his ear. I could hear some soft exclamations from Vulen every now and again until the two finally separated from their convenience. Vulen, with a defeated look in his eyes, addressed me. “That modification is…acceptable. On One Condition.”
I leaned back in my seat and raised my ears in interest. “You’re not really in the position to be drafting terms, but I suppose I’ll humor you. What is your condition?”
“You, and the Magistratta at large, must sign a separate, legally binding contract promising compensation for the construction of the new buildings. That was already part of my proposal, but I want a separate contract for that now, unbound by any of the terms of this current agreement.” He flicked his ears uncomfortably. I could tell that he still wasn’t happy about his profit margins being skimmed down. “If I agree to your amendment, you agree to mine. Fairs fair. Do we have a deal?”
I hold firm with my gaze. “I will have to actually read this amendment to agree. But for now, state your terms.”
“I will want to be funded 50% of total estimated building costs as gauged by a neutral third party, with another half of estimated maintenance costs for the first rotation of operations, also gauged by a neutral third party.”
I quickly thought over his proposal. “Add in a clause that you will have to pay for material overages, and in return we will allow a clause that we will pay for time overages. If that’s acceptable, we will have an agreement.”
Vulen’s face showed hopefulness once again as he bowed respectfully. “That is acceptable. You have a deal!”
I give him a professional bow as I delete and edit the appropriate sections on my copy of the contract. I then sent a quick request to the magister of Land and Housing to draw up the second contract. “Then let us reread our agreement to be sure there are no more disputes.”
Vulen sighed, seemingly annoyed that we were going through the contract once more. But it was for the best. By the end, the terms were found to be either mutually beneficial, or mutually neutral.
“Very good, Vulen,” I state, “the Magistratta approves of your proposal. Venric, if you would please also sign as a witness.”
With our paw signatures all set to the screens, the deal is done. Even though a couple thousand Gojid is only a fraction of the people rescued from the Cradle, that is still a couple thousand people who have a home once more. If other districts, or if Solgalick blesses it, other species see what we have done, perhaps they too shall follow suit.
Venric placed his pad in his lap and aimed an eye towards Vulen. “Now that that is done, there is the matter of your settlement.”
The landlord huffed as they began typing on their pad. I felt a slight amount of pity for him. It was due to the actions of his previous partners that caused him to be in this situation. But the results came for the best.
With a swipe of my paw, I saved the contract and sent off a copy for our Governor to review. The UN would work with her to find the appropriate amount of refugees to send, and we would get a message on when to receive them.
I pray to Solgalick that all goes well.
​
[First]-[Prev]-[Next]

Okay, this is a new one. My rating is pretty high for the time being which is bringing out the worst of them. This story is about my experience with a 68 year old woman who booked the latest No Intro/Free Conversation with me.
She's way too clever for conventional lessons. Reading, repeating, etc... That stuff doesn't work. She's been taking two Engoo lessons a day for three years and her English hasn't improved one bit and who is to blame for that? The lesson designers and tutors of Engoo have failed her. ESL, nay, pedagogy itself has failed her! She had no choice but to take it upon herself to invent the most efficient way possible to learn a new language.
VR? AI? Bah. This is the future of learning.
It all starts with one of these. That's right. It's a 1970's era device they called a "tape recorder" which I'm guessing some of the younger folks in this sub have never seen in real life. It's a simple device with a built in microphone that allows you to record things onto a cassette tape.
First, our forward thinking tech wizard records a news program from CNN. There's no direct input for this mind you - she simply holds the 40 years of dust encrusted microphone up to the the tv and presses record. One thing she's got going for her is that they really new how to build stuff back then - it plays back surprisingly loud and clear when the cat stays quiet. Anyway, she then proceeds to transcribe the whole recording. All of this happens on her own time, pre-lesson.
What she wants to spend her 25 minute lesson doing is playing the recording, reading her transcript along with the recording (I want to be very clear here: the recording is playing as she's speaking), and have the tutor type out any discrepancies they hear between the recording and her reading.
So the process for each and every correction goes like this:

1. The tutor interrupts to tell her there's a correction.
   
2. She stops the tape. CLACK! (these old fashioned buttons make a loud CLACK! sound when pressed)
   
3. The tutor types out the correction and explains - although she doesn't even bother to repeat the correction and has zero interest in the explanation. At best she says "okay" and proceeds to step 4. With every correction she mostly just seems annoyed that her process has been interrupted.
   
4. She tries to rewind to get back to where she left off. CLACK! (a few words) CLACK! (a few words) CLACK! (a few words) CLACK! (a few words) as she rewinds and fast forwards to find the right spot.
   
5. Repeat.
   

I've had students before who say they want corrections but really don't. They get annoyed every time you correct them and really just like to hear themselves ramble on uncorrected. I thought she might be one of these so I stayed silent and let her do her thing for a while. Well, that was a no-go. After a couple of minutes (CLACK!) she stopped the tape and asked incredulously: "No correcting?!"
So I went back to interrupting/correcting her.
It didn't take long to figure out that she was making exactly the same mistake over and over. Missing the articles. She says "the president made speech" and I stop her and she stops the tape so I can type "the president made A speech" she doesn't repeat the correction, continues with her tape and about a minute later says "he went to beach" I stop her and type "he went to THE beach" and on and on. Over and over and over.
After about the tenth time I stopped her and tried to explain that she keeps doing the same thing, leaving out the articles. I told her Engoo has grammar lessons that cover the use of articles and these might be very helpful.
Silence. Blank stare.
I told her it might even be helpful to do some reading and repeating to get used to speaking articles properly.
Silence. Blank stare.
I suggested that if she doesn't want to do any of that, it might be a good idea to at least repeat the corrections she has the tutors type out.
Silence. Blank stare.
Everything I said went in one ear and out the other. After my little soliloquy she calmly returned to playing her tape and reading her no articles transcript. I calmly returned to stopping her and typing new sentences with articles.
I only went through the whole 25 minute lesson with her once. She caught me at the end of the month at 3.99% and unable to cancel no matter what. I got a random 4* later that day but I'm not sure it came from her. Luckily, she stopped coming back after I canceled on her a few times.
Well, that's all. I just wanted to warn everyone. If you sign into a lesson and see this lady, run! Imma go figure out how to connect ChatGPT to my tape recorder so I can make my first billion and put you all out of work. Cheers!

Daniel Keyes’ 1966 sci-fi novel tells the story of Charlie Gordon. Charlie is 32, has an IQ of 68, works a menial job in a bakery, gets teased by his co-workers. In a stroke of luck, Charlie is approached by two scientists, undergoes an experiment–already successfully performed on a mouse named Algernon–that slowly takes his IQ from 68 to a whopping 185.
During this period of enlightenment, Charlie experiences the highs of intellectual curiosity. But, just as everything is going well, Algernon gets ill and–spoiler alert–dies.
This foreshadows Charlie’s regression back to his original state. And, just before he loses his enlightenment for good, Charlie asks someone to put flowers on Algernon’s grave.
It’s a great novel, but a sad story. And it’s a story that has parallels with the goings-on at Celtic of late.
Seatbelts on? Then let’s cast our minds back to 2020…

The Botching of the Ten

2020/21 was going to be the year of years. That was when we’d secure ten league title wins on the trot, and gain bragging rights in perpetuity.
The only stumbling block, it seemed, was the raging worldwide pandemic. Coronavirus had cut short the previous season, and in order to keep the games going, clubs were forced into an eerie closed-doors environment - football a capella, without the cheers and jeers of crowds.
Some teams reacted well to the new normal. Some teams didn’t. In the year of years, Celtic looked sluggish on the pitch, and quickly fell behind Rangers in the most important of title races. Why so bad? Rumours of the board reneging on gentlemen’s agreements swirled; the virus created a growing injury list; the compounding effect of poor results drained confidence.
As the weeks went by– and the tenth title slipped further and further away– a defiant manager doubled down on his position. If the results kept going poorly, the manager would resign. He said so himself. The results kept going down. The manager didn’t resign.
Instead, he was ‘bitterly disappointed’ in post-match interview after post-match interview after dropping more points. His refrain echoed that of a doomed predecessor: Tony Mowbray–after a run of bad defeats of his own–said we would all just have to ‘take it on the chin’. But, as Tony found out, there are only so many punches you can take before your chin collapses. Things weren’t looking good.

Purses in fridges CSC

In the middle of all the chaos on the pitch, the board stayed mostly silent off it. When it did speak, it was only to back a beleaguered boss. Angry crowds gathered outside Celtic Park in ugly scenes. The gap between board and fans widened. The chasm hadn’t been this big since the ousting of the Kellys almost thirty years prior.
It got worse. While watching the ten melt away in real time, the manager was putting all our purses in the fridge and telling us we’d stuck them there ourselves. ‘The ten isn’t that important,’ he said. ‘You guys are too entitled.’ What?

Lennon resigns

Eventually, things reached a singularity. Lennon resigned, but it was way too late. We wouldn’t have eternal bragging rights after all. We’d have a summer to chew on the what-ifs, a couple of months to figure out how we were going to climb out of a right mess.
While we were still reeling from a triple-whammy of Dubaigate, Lennogate, Ten-was-never-that-important-anyway-gate, we’d convinced ourselves Eddie Howe was the right man for the job.
Fan speculation fed media conjecture which strengthened fan speculation, and the whole thing gathered a tail-eating momentum that sustained itself for an entire summer, without any confirmation from the club.
We’d also convinced ourselves we’d be getting a shiny new director of football, too, something we all nodded and agreed was a necessity; a safeguard against the sort of shitshow we’d just endured and were still slithering out of.
Fergal Harkin, a City Group guy, was floated as a potential candidate. Then it was somebody else. Actually, it could be this young Man City up-and-comer. At any rate, negotiations with Eddie were going pretty well behind the scenes. There was just the small quibble over his backroom staff, all of whom Eddie would be taking up the road. No bother Edward, you bring your mum if it helps; we need you now more than ever.

Howe no?

As the summer dragged on, however, Eddie (nor his mum) were anywhere to be seen. He certainly wasn’t draped in a green-n-white scarf on the steps at Celtic Park, giving a motivational maiden speech à la Martin or Brendan.
On 28 May 2021, the club released this statement:
‘Following very positive and detailed discussions with Eddie Howe, with the belief that he would be an excellent candidate for the position of Celtic Manager, we allowed time for the process, given he’d previously made it clear he was not looking to return to management until this summer at the earliest.
We can now confirm that Eddie will not be joining the Club, for reasons outwith both his and Celtic’s control. We wish Eddie success for the future.’
Instead, we learned, the board would be appointing *checks notes* Ange Postecoglu as manager.
This appointment–coupled with the failed acquisition of Eddie Howe–seemed on-brand. Were the club custodians actually saboteurs? As fans, what other conclusion could we draw?

The Experiment begins

In the wake of the managerial announcement, fans fired up their internet machines and looked to Japan for the first time since Naka left. Just who was this Ange fellow? Apparently he had managed a number of Australian clubs, guided the national team to the 2014 World Cup, and won the Japanese league with Yokohama F. Marinos.
FollowFollow and Rangers Twitter rubbed its hands with glee. Get ready for 56, they gloated.
They had a point. We needed a marquee signing to help us get over a disastrous season, and the board have cheaped out with some random Aussie.
Soon after his arrival, Ange’s compatriots flooded fan forums to pour water on the flames of indignation. I know it doesn’t seem like it now, they said, but you’ve caught a winner in Ange. Honestly, they said. Give him a while to settle in, and you’ll see, you’ll all see.
They promised even more riches in season two. That’s when Ange really gets going, they said.
Year two? It’s only day fucking two, lads. We’ve got a bunch of players who want to leave, and nobody has any faith this board can tie their shoelaces, never mind appoint a good coach. Cheers for the words of encouragement, but let’s suspend judgement.

The Enlightenment

The Ange experiment didn’t start well. We lost the first three league games, still had those wantaway players at the club, and were looking at the prospect of another long season ahead.
Footage of Ange directing training sessions appeared online. He told the players ‘we never stop’. It sounded like faux-motivational twaddle.
But then. Wantaway players got their moves. A Japanese contingent arrived to take their place, and it turned out they were all class at football. Games destined for draws became last-gasp wins.
The Aussies were right. Things were changing for the better. We never stop wasn’t just empty rhetoric. It was a philosophy stamped into a team playing their hearts out for a man whose system had transformed our fortunes in a short space of time.
In a blink, we’d won the league cup and regained a title. We never stop appeared on hoardings, on Twitter, on t-shirts. If the Aussies were right about Ange, then his second season in charge would be even better. All this seemed scarcely believable, just one year out from the worst season in living memory.

Today

Not even a week on from recording a world-record 8 domestic trebles, Ange’s second season in charge was better than the first. However, instead of enjoying unalloyed celebrations, we're mourning the loss of our manager.

The Regression?

Now Ange has left, thoughts will immediately turn to his successor. Who will we get? The longer it takes to announce his replacement, the more time there’ll be for the type of speculation that fans and media generated around Eddie Howe in the vacuum of concrete knowledge.
For me, the most pressing question is whether or not the board got lucky with Ange. Did they know he was a success story just waiting to happen? Or was he a third-choice gamble that paid off without their involvement?
Who knows. But if the board hasn’t learned from the disastrous 2020/21 campaign, then we’ll be in the same situation now as we were back then. The only difference is we'll be starting from a position of strength heading into the unknown.
In a way that’s much scarier than the 2020/21 season. That’s because 2020/21 was an outlier, albeit a painful one. It was a sliver of doom bookended by great success.

More than a club

In any event, now Ange has left we’ll do what we always do when heroes leave the club: we’ll continue supporting it. When Larsson left, it seemed like we’d never recover. When the 1967 European Cup-winning team dissolved gradually over time, it was heartbreak for the fans who watched it happen.
And now, as another hero leaves, it’s a sore one. But remember, no matter how much a player or coach professes to love Celtic–with a couple of rare exceptions–they’ll never love Celtic as much as I do or you do.
When you keep that in mind, it’s easy not to get swept away in the idea of everlasting players or managers.
Let’s just hope, no matter what happens, we don’t regress.

When somebody suggests you commit arson together, your reaction is most likely to differ based on the identity of that person. If anyone else had asked me to come along to burn down a building, I would have assumed it was a joke. However, being aware of Frankie Preston’s barely suppressed murderous tendencies made me take his request quite seriously. Of course, three main questions presented themselves upon first consideration.
“What building?”
“A small developmental factory owned by FunFlair.”
“Do you plan on burning it while there are still people inside?”
“Only one, and that one deserves to burn alive.”
Shelving my thoughts on that answer for the moment, I inquired as to when he was hoping to go about this endeavor.
“The sooner the better. My sister—you haven’t met her—found out that they’re going to move sites in the near future, so if I want to take revenge on my old boss easily, I need to do it now. It won’t be too difficult. I know the layout of the place really well, they can’t have changed much these last three years. It’s small, hidden but unprotected. A bunch of containers in some woods a couple hours from here. The human I hate most in the entire world is there, every night, working all alone.” His shoulders twitched. “I drove by the place a couple times, and I kept thinking about doing it, but I was too scared. Having you there would make all the difference.”
“It would?” I echoed.
“Yes! Sunshine, you’re strong. Amazingly so. I don’t want you to feel like I’m using you, but the thing is, I can’t do this on my own. If you tell me to go away and never mention this again, I will. That I swear to God. Or whatever sadistic omnipotent being has put me on this world to suffer.” He briefly glanced heavenward, or rather at the ceiling, then back at me. “I can’t hurt anybody, remember?”
I nodded along slowly. “This person, your old boss… what did they do to you?”
“Simply put, she’s why I hate everything.” He spoke with an uncanny intensity, staring past me like he was miles away.
“Who is she?”
“Her name is Philomena Wallis. She’s the one who keeps sending people after me. She wants me back to do fuck knows what to me because she's still pissed I screwed her over." He paused. "She did—does horrible things. You'd want her dead, too."
"Why isn't she in prison?"
"Nobody gets taken to prison if they're rich enough. Either way, what she does isn't technically illegal… and no one knows about it either. It's a tricky situation."
I took a deep breath. “Do you have a plan?”
“I do. We’ll go there at night, I’ll slip in and make sure the door to Phil’s workspace is locked, and then we’ll douse the whole thing in gasoline.”
“Are you sure you’ll need me for that? It doesn’t sound like you’d be inflicting hurt directly. I mean, you wouldn’t have to actually raise a hand to your boss, not physically. Or can you not do that either?”
“The risk lies rather within what could happen if she finds me.” He rubbed his arm, a look of uncertainty crossing his features. “I’m different when I’m around her. I can’t help it, she… she can just walk all over me. She made me be this way. There’s nothing to be done about it, except to get rid of her once and for all.”
“I’m not following. She made you be this way? What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said!” he snapped, only to shrink back and raise his hands. “Sorry! I’m so sorry!”
I stared at him in silence for a beat. “You’re terrified,” I said.
He glanced at his chucks, then back at me, looking like he wanted to say something but didn’t know what.
“Sad, too,” I added. “Sometimes, I can’t tell what you think, so I apologize if I’m reading this wrong…”
“You shouldn’t have to guess what’s going on inside my head anyways,” he muttered. “I can’t believe what I’m trying to rope you into again. It’s like I didn’t hear myself talk for a minute there.”
“I’ll help you.”
He raised a skeptical brow. “I don’t want to force you. I swear I don’t. I will do this, and I’d feel so much better if you came with, but if this is something you’re gonna resent me for in the long run…”
“The long run?”
“I mean—” He started playing with his gum again. “Are we not doing this? You really like me, I think?”
“I think we shouldn’t be talking about this in the same breath as committing lethal arson.” I rubbed my nose before letting go of a long breath. “If I can’t stop you from doing this, I’ll at least make sure you come back out in one piece.” I wonder if this is how Nettie Peterson usually feels.
Frankie beamed. “You will? You’re absolutely sure?”
“Yes. Here’s the plan, I drop off what I bought for my savior human and then we can prepare; do what’s needed. I don’t want to put this off. The sooner it’s over, the better.”
“Definitely,” he agreed with an eager nod. “I’ll drive you right over.”
“Good. And Frankie… you know precisely how I feel about you.”
We got on our way the following morning. The car ride lasted several hours, most of which I spent fast asleep stretched out on the backseat. It was a wonderful nap; I hardly felt any of the vehicle’s movements, admittedly a credit to the server’s abilities as a driver. Eventually, the road was getting too bumpy to ignore, and I drowsily lifted my head to find us pulling onto heavily wooded terrain. Upon noticing I was awake, Fran gave me a fleeting, quite obviously forced smile. After a few more minutes, we came to a halt on a clearing. I got out and produced a canister of gasoline from the trunk, handing it to Fran after opening the door for him. He looked strangely absent, gazing off into the distance with a vacant look in his eyes. He grabbed the offered canister and clutched it to his chest, almost like he was hugging it.
“We’ll be going the rest of the way on foot, then?” I inquired.
He nodded wordlessly.
I couldn’t hide my frown. The air around us was warm and fragrant, the moonlight shining through between the branches that seemed to reach out for us as we began walking. There was not even a hint of a breeze, and yet, a chill ran down my spine. My companion’s demeanor was nothing short of uncomfortable; he seemed to suck the warmth out of the atmosphere around us, together with my initial confidence and the sweet scent of pine needles. His silence instilled in me a clammy sense of dread, and I couldn’t shake it no matter how hard I tried. Normally, I would have probably appreciated the perfect calm and serenity of the lush forest around us, but seeing him in such obvious, unspoken distress drove away all my idyllic thoughts.
“This seems like an odd place to hide a factory,” I remarked, trying to open a conversation once more.
“That’s the point. You wouldn’t go looking for a doll manufacturer in bum-fuck nowhere,” he replied.
“It’s strange to think about. What kind of shady stuff can a toy manufacturer even get up to? Don’t get me wrong, I trust you when you say they’re bad people, I just wish you’d give me a little more information. I feel like I’m not getting something here.”
He let out a low hum. “You… are really innocent.”
“No, I’m not,” I argued, affronted.
“Not in a bad way. I said innocent, not naive. I’ve been cagey again, I know that, but the thing is, you’ll see exactly what I was talking about when we get there. You’ll understand everything, and to be honest, I’m very afraid of what you’ll think once you do.”
We finally reached the building Fran had told me about. If it could indeed be called a building. It looked more like something that had been thrown together by a larva using Lego bricks. It was, as predicted, a bunch of containers lined up and stacked atop one another, small corridors and open metal staircases connecting them. It seemed to be almost entirely empty—all the lights were out, except for a single one. From behind a window on the upper floor, filtered through gray blinds, a cool, bright glow shone down upon us. It bathed Frankie in its surreal luminescence that seemed completely out of place given our raw, natural surroundings.
“You were right,” I stated, tearing him from his rigor. “Seems like there’s only one person in there.”
“That’s Phil,” he mumbled. “I’m certain.”
“Then let’s do this.”
Frankie detached himself from the canister, peeling it off his body like a piece of clothing. I took it from his hands while he walked over to the nearest door, reaching into his pocket to produce a set of shiny, slim tools. Despite the darkness, he set his fingers to work on the lock. It didn’t take long at all for him to let out a satisfied sound, straightening up as he held the now open door for me. “I’m very skilled at lockpicking,” he said lightly, by way of conversation.
I couldn’t hide the admiration in my gaze, and I gave him a proud smile that briefly caused his features to soften. I had not yet crossed the threshold when he grabbed me by the wrist, holding me back. “One more thing,” he whispered, his voice suddenly ringing desperate again, “you won’t like what we might see in there.”
“I know,” I answered. “It was implied.”
Stepping forth into the dark room, the smell of plastic and coffee instantly hit my nose. Fran fumbled for a lightswitch before thinking better of it and turning on the flashlight he’d brought. We were clearly in a breakroom; there was a table in the middle surrounded by chairs, an espresso machine in the corner and several calendars and posters taped to the walls. Unsuspecting. Frankie didn’t comment, immediately moving across the cube and towards the door on the other side. It led out into a small corridor, improvised using more corrugated iron elements, and into another larger container. There was a desk with a computer in one corner and an empty operating table in the center.
A large shelving unit occupied the entire left side of the room. A closer inspection revealed that it held all sorts of small parts, though what they were parts of was beyond me. Opening the plastic drawers at random, I glimpsed all sorts of metallic and silicone pieces, forming strange little… thingies.
“What is all this?” I asked Frankie.
He had been standing by the operating table, staring at it with unblinking eyes. His expression was once more perfectly vacant. Not even his jaw was moving around his bubble gum. He didn’t look up, and for a minute, I wondered if he’d heard me at all. “Doll parts,” he suddenly answered, his voice lacking any inflection.
I frowned, picking up one of the tiny metallic objects and inspecting it closely. I could see what he meant now—it appeared to be a very small joint, perhaps for a finger. “When you said FunFlair made dolls, I thought you meant these stiff little baby dolls. I didn’t know they made them this detailed.”
“Oh, they can be detailed alright.”
“Is this, like, a robotics thing? Can they move on their own, too?”
Frankie let out a sharp, mirthless laugh that was much too short. He fell completely silent again, and it felt as though the room had gotten colder. I bit my lip, placing the finger joint back in its box. I tentatively reached out to Fran and rested a hand on his upper arm, only for him to flinch, drawing away as if burned. “D-don’t touch me right now,” he pleaded.
“I’m sorry,” I breathed.
“No, I am. Don’t mind me, okay? Let’s—let’s just go on.”
So we did. Another makeshift corridor led us over into the next container. The beam of our flashlight cut through the darkness, revealing a sight that made me stop in my tracks. There were several bodies propped up in the corners of the room, bodies that I only realized on second glance were artificial. They were of roughly the same size as the average person, with fully formed arms, legs and everything. Their faces however were different. Most of them weren’t even fully complete, the skin-like material not fully covering their heads and leaving the mechanical structures underneath uncovered. Their eyeballs—sitting in hard plastic sockets and unframed by lids—stared out at us blankly, utterly void and expressionless.
Cold dread began to seep into my bones, paralyzing me for a second before I managed to break from my stillness. Taking a step towards one of the lifeless figures, I bent down to get a closer look. Keeping my distance, I reached out a single finger to trace along one of the countless delicate wires peeking out from the soft patches of facial material. It was cool to the touch, making my skin crawl. I pulled back, turning to Frankie in bewilderment. “Wh-what is all this?” I asked hesitantly.
“That’s them. That’s the dolls.”
“Well, yes, I can see that but this… this is really, really unnerving.”
He let out a strangled, mournful sound. “I guess it is,” he said eventually, his voice low and flat. He knelt down beside me, a little closer to the doll, and started fumbling around with the back of its neck, clearly looking for something. Finally, I heard a little click, followed by a whirring noise as the doll jerked up its arm. I squeaked, scrambling back on my hands and rear, only to find my back suddenly pressed up against the chest of another mannequin. I hadn’t done a thing, but it instantly sprang to life; robotic fingers clamping down around both sides of my nape. The painfully fierce touch wiped away every last bit of my composure, and I let out a shriek that seemed to tear apart the relative silence. Frankie spun around to fix me with the beam of his flashlight, causing me to squeeze my eyes shut. My heart was hammering against my ribcage, seemingly exploding when the hands started pulling me closer against the lifeless, yet animate body.
The next thing I knew was that Fran had leapt forward and removed me from the doll’s clutches with one swift, powerful yank. My chest was heaving and I couldn’t suppress a low whimper when I pressed myself to his side, frantically glancing about my surroundings. My fangs were bared, but my racing pulse was admittedly overtaxing me. I couldn’t seem to form any coherent thoughts. My flight-instinct was kicking in, further setting off my panicked response when I realized I might end up involuntarily jumping dimensions again.
Suddenly, I felt Frankie’s hand on my cheek, the gentle pressure tilting my head up to make me meet his gaze. “It’s alright,” he said, his voice equal parts firm and understanding. The fog in my head lifted just a little.
“They’re not going to hurt you,” he went on, his thumb stroking the curve of my outer ear. However he managed to convey such certainty when he himself had been so uneasy mere moments ago was beyond me, and yet, I found myself believing him. My breathing slowed and I hazarded a second glance at the doll I had bumped into.
It had stopped moving, its body having locked into an unnatural, almost feral-looking position. It was cowering on all fours, its torso lowered and its head up. Its neck was bent at such an extreme angle that it was approaching the comical.
“What the fuck was that?” I whispered, the curse word escaping me before I could stop myself.
“Some of them have to be activated manually, others can be turned on just by touch. I remember that,” Frankie replied. “There’s no need to be afraid of them, though. Even if it’s hard to believe considering… well.” He gestured at the oddly crouching doll at our feet.
“Something’s very wrong here,” I muttered, unable to tear my eyes off the lifeless, incomplete face. “I didn’t even know they made toys like that.”
“They’re not for children,” Frankie said, his eyes glazing over once more.
“Are they, like, robots? Do they know what they’re doing?”
“Not if they’re lucky, they don’t.” He paused. “They’re not made to think. Any awareness they might have would be unplanned for.”
“And you really used to work here? Did you help build them?”
“We can talk about that once we’re out of here.”
I swallowed. “Look, I’m freaking out. This can’t be a normal production site.”
“It’s not. I wish you didn’t have to see this. It… it only gets worse. And your instincts aren’t failing you, none of this is right. If you want to back out, I don’t blame you. This place shouldn’t exist.”
I took a deep breath. I wished I had insisted on knowing the full truth before coming here, but it couldn’t be helped now. Instead of prying further, I pointed at the canister of gasoline. “Then let’s remedy that.”
Despite himself, Frankie smiled.
Instead of mirroring the expression, I felt my own features suddenly derail. “Oh crap.”
“What is it?”
“Do you think she heard me scream?”
X
1
2: deadbeat roommate
3: creepy crush
4: relocation
5: beach concert
6: First date
7: Temp work
8: roommate talk
9: a dismal worldview
10: warehouse
11: staircase
12: explanation
13: hurt
14: hospital
15: ocean
16: diner
17: government work
18: something in the caves
19: shopping cart
20: olms and Jewels
21: long hair
22: recruitment
23: waitresses

In my family, it’s common for each of us to give each other money for their birthday about £30. I don’t live with my family anymore, but we’re all still close and we all still talk to each other and visit each other etc.
The family consists of me (eldest son), my mum and dad (still together) and my youngest sister. Both my sister and I have partners and my sister also has a young son. My sister and her son live a few streets away from our parents, but I and my partner both live a couple of hundred miles away.
I love my family, but without trying to sound too big headed i’ve definitely done better from a financial point of view. I’m certainly not rich, but we do well enough to afford a roof over our head and we have a small amount in savings. I’ve loaned my parents and sister money at times and have forgiven a lot of debt that they owe me. I distinctly remember having to loan my parents some of my student loan money so they could pay their rent, which left me short until they could pay me back.
By contrast, my dad is medically retired and my mum works in a supermarket. My dad worked as a chef in his career, but had to retire due to arthritis. Mum doesn’t bring that much home, and her wages can be under 1000 a month. Dad gets universal credit (welfare) to help until he can receive his state pension next year. My mum wasn’t very good with money in the past, and I have vivid memories of hiding from bailiffs in the past. She’s gotten better since then, and can afford to go on holiday at least once a year.
My sister also works in retail, but receives universal credit for her and her son to top up her wages. He has a very loving house and I would never want to make my nephew go without.
Usually, I try to send my families birthday money through on time. Sometimes I’m late, but I haven’t gone a year without making sure they get something for their birthday.
Unfortunately, it hasn’t been the same in return. Usually, I get my birthday money a few months after the actual day itself, with both my mum and sister saying that they’re short for one reason or another. There have been years when I don’t get money at all, just a card. To top it off, my parents can usually afford to go on holiday and my sisters weekend photos on social media of going out with friends.
It feels unfair to me. I don’t begrudge my parents having holidays or my sister going out at the weekend, they all work extremely hard and it always makes me happy to see how my nephew has a really loving home life and can go out to do the things we couldn’t always afford to do. But then again, I feel like a bit of an afterthought. Whenever I point this out, my mum gets defensive, my sister is silent and usually I just have to forget the whole thing until Christmas (which thankfully goes a bit smoother).
My birthday was a week ago.
Am I being an arsehole for wanting my birthday money? I feel like I’m being spoilt for asking but this has happened every year since I was 18.

<< FIRST
< PREVIOUS
Hello, spacers!
On this episode, the group takes a stab at historical reenactments, the author takes some… “subtle” comedic jabs at certain contemporary events, and we find out where they’ve been hoarding the post-apocalyptic Twinkies.™
As always, I hope you enjoy. :)
——
As the group exited the Air Force base and began heading towards their destination, Kate looked at the surroundings as they walked. The area looked relatively untouched by the chaos of the past few weeks. The only evidence of it was an enormous pillar of smoke in the distance.
As Jack noticed Kate and a few others in the group staring at it, he nodded in understanding.
“That’s downtown Saint Paul, or at least the remains of it. From what we’ve been able to gather, the nuke we couldn’t stop in time exploded almost directly above the Capitol building. We only managed to put out the last of the fires in what little remains of downtown earlier today.”
“…How many people-“
Anticipating the question, Jack cut her off.
“We don’t know. …We may never know. We can only speculate.”
Kate’s face fell.
“Yeah, I figured that’d be the answer…”
Kate remained morosely silent as they approached the fort. Jack turned to address the crowd.
“Welcome to historic Fort Snelling. …Well, historic to us humans, anyway. Having a fort two centuries old is probably chump change to all of you from a time perspective, eh?”
Kate’s brow furrowed in confusion as she looked up at the stone walls of the fort, its stone tower chock-full of early-1800’s firearm loopholes meant for muskets.
“Wait, what?! …When they said we were going to “Fort Snelling,” I figured it’d be an active military base. Why’re we using a historic site…?”
Jack chuckled.
“It wasn’t actually the military’s decision to do that. A couple days after the bombs fell, a group of survivors moved into the fort. When questioned, I believe the leader of the initial group was quoted as saying “EMPs can’t knock out a big damn wall.” She was right; the stone walls of the fort are a great deterrent to looters and other kinds of people looking for trouble, and it’s easily defensible. Given that we obviously had way bigger things to worry about at the time, we just let them be.
Then, as more and more people showed up to our Air Force base looking for help, we decided the fort would make a good site for a refugee camp. The original group didn’t object; they actually welcomed the security having others around brought, especially once we started the organized armed patrols a few days ago.”
Y’ggdrasog piped up from beside Kate, a bit of indignation in his tone.
<“That’s all well and good, but what about respecting its historic significance? …Preserving the past, and all that?”>
“Relax. The only truly historic things here are a few of the buildings. The vast majority of what was on display inside said buildings- antique-looking tin cups, butter churns, muskets, that sort of thing- were just modern-made replicas, to give visitors an idea of what the fort used to look like back when it was still in use.
…We’ve actually thrown the vast majority of that junk into those “assimilator” thingies you Collective types brought along with you. It was either that, or burn them to keep warm. …Way I figure it, we can always just make more fake “historic” tchotchkes when we’re not fighting for the survival of our species, eh?”
Y’ggdrasog crossed his arms, and while he was clearly still unhappy about it, relented.
<“…Alright, fair enough...”>
As the group finally passed through the fort’s front gate, Kate could see a veritable sea of tents in the center of the area. They had passed plenty of tents on the way there in parking lots, boulevards and so on, but not nearly to this level of density.
Kate marveled at the sight, leaning toward Y’ggdrasog to murmur.
“People must have fought to get placed in here until there was literally no room left, and the tents were packed in like sardines.”
Y’ggdrasog gave her a quizzical look.
<“…What’s a “sardine?””>
“It's just a- …nevermind, it’s not important…”
Migtryl began to speak as the rest of the group filed through the gate.
<“Here and a few spots outside the fort are where you’ll be working for the most part. We reserved several tents for you to use both in and outside the fort, customized with your biologies in mind. I’ll start by giving you all a tour of the premises, so you can familiarize yourself with the different areas you might be needed.
…Starting off, over there you’ll see the impromptu medical center we’ve constructed. If you have any prior medical experience in your work history, you will be placed there. Next, we’ll be moving to…”>
Migtryl began walking off, talking and occasionally pointing with a wing or leg as they went and the group trailed behind them. As Kate tried her best to keep pace with Y’ggdrasog’s long strides, she could see that the crowds of humans inside the fort were parting like a sea around them, just like they behaved at the runway. Many looked at them with fear in their eyes, others with disgusted sneers.
Kate’s shoulders slumped as she finally realized:
Almost no one trusts them yet.
She was so lost in thought over the implications of this that she bumped into Y’ggdrasog, who had abruptly stopped walking. She glanced up at him to see him staring toward a group of humans near the edge of the medical center. His glow was crimson, his eyes haunted. She followed his gaze to see-
Her eyes widened.
Oh no…
The man he was staring at lay on a cot under an improvised tarp-tent. They were being tended to by several medical personnel (both human and alien) that were changing the bandages covering their body, and little wonder; they were absolutely covered in burns.
Before Kate could think of what to do to help her friend, she saw J’Ffrane almost literally materialize between Y’ggdrasog and the bandaged burn victim. Their voice was warm and soothing as they spoke.
<“Feel this moment, accept it, then let it pass. Remember? …Don’t let yourself drown in it.”>
It was like Y’ggdrasog was awakened from a dream as he blinked a few times and glanced at J’Ffrane.
<“Y-yes, I- …I remember...”>
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, slowly letting it out in a shaky exhale as he turned to Kate, opening his eyes once more to meet her concerned gaze.
<“Come on, let’s not fall too far behind.”>
“…Are you alright?”
Y’ggdrasog gave her a weak smile, though the crimson of his stressful glow remained.
<“Of course I’m not. …But that’s not going to stop me from helping your people.”>
He took one last glance at the burn victim before turning and setting off once more towards the tour group.
J’Ffrane gave an approving nod as he walked away, leaning towards Kate and whispering.
<“He’s come so far... Half a cycle ago, he likely would have been nearly catatonic for the rest of the day.”>
Despite the encouraging words, Kate’s shoulders fell as she started walking after Y’ggdrasog.
“I should have thought of this... There have to be thousands- no, tens of thousands, maybe even six figures worth of burn victims from the bombs, in these two cities alone!”
<“And we will be with him to hold out a limb to grasp when he needs it. Just as he and I will be there for you, and you two for I, should the need arise.”>
Kate looked up at J’Ffrane, surprised.
“How would we help you?”
J’Ffrane smiled down at her.
<“You already have. Every person who asks for my assistance helps me immensely just by doing so. It helps me remember that I have a place in the world, and that place is giving the help they so desperately need. …Now then, let’s catch back up to the crowd and find out how we can best do that here, hm?”>
And with that, J’Ffrane’s dissipated as they flew forward towards Y’ggdrasog and the rest of the group trailing along behind Migtryl.
“Hey, wait up!”
——
Despite the brief interruption, Kate hadn’t missed much by the time she caught back up, and she was soon learning more and more of the facilities and service centers the Collective had constructed around the fort.
While the local military stationed in the fort were (rather fittingly) occupying the fort’s centuries-old barracks, they were actually the main supplier of the vast majority of the tents around the compound.
“More tents are being constructed every day for use in the surrounding area,” said Jack. “We ran our own supply of military-grade tents dry a few days ago, but we’ve been able to scavenge more from places like camping supply stores, alongside manufacturing our own from tarps and the like. Not exactly comfortable to live in, but we have to take what we can get.”
Kate put her good hand up to ask a question, shivering a bit as she did so in the crisp, late-autumn air.
“How well do they retain heat in all this cold?”
“A very good question. Normally it would be quite the problem, doubly so given just how damned cold Minnesota can get in fall weather alone. Luckily, however, the Collective came up with a solution. …Migtryl?”
<“We used a few of the fabricators we have at our disposal to create personal solar-powered heating units to heat each tent. …It’s a bit inefficient given the cloud cover, but on even the cloudiest of days they’re able to achieve over 150% of the solar exposure needed to get a full, week-long charge in a matter of hours.”>
Jack chimed in with a smile.
“It certainly beats the bonfires we filled with whatever we could lay our hands on to burn before you all got here, that’s for sure!”
From there, they moved on to the camp’s utilities.
As the water purification plants of the area had been rendered mostly inoperable by the EMPs and cyberwarfare attacks, the Collective had repurposed a few industrial sump pumps to direct water from the Mississippi River into an assimilator system. The assimilator broke it down and removed all the pollutants in the river water until all that remained was potable water, and distributed to locals to drink-
<“…or at least, to those who don’t refuse to drink it, that is.”> Migtryl said.
An alien of a species Kate didn’t recognize (one that almost resembled a snake if not for their arms and upright stature, who was strapped to a mechanical walker to get around the terrain) piped up, beating her to the punch.
<“Why wouldn’t they drink it?”>
Migtryl paused, glancing at Jack and weighing their words carefully before speaking.
<“…A small, but nonetheless very vocal portion of the local population seem to be under the mistaken impression we’re putting chemicals, nanites and so on in the water to do things such as influence their actions, up to and including controlling their sexuality, for some reason. …Anyway, such people often choose to simply boil and drink water taken directly from the river itself, instead of taking the purified water rations we offer.”>
In contrast to the shocked and horrified reactions of the aliens around her, Kate merely sighed and rolled her eyes.
Yeah, that sounds about right…
Another alien, this time a kentzaré, timidly raised one of their manipulation tendrils.
<“...Have many people gotten sick from doing that?”>
<“Unfortunately, yes. Even boiling the water sometimes wasn’t enough to prevent many such individuals from developing symptoms of several waterborne-based diseases, and that’s not even going into the possible long-term effects of the various pollutants in the water.
We also have individuals here and there who even refuse the fallout-proof masks we offer. …Something about “not using them before, not using them now” and “not living in fear”…?”>
As Kate facepalmed hard enough to leave a handprint mark on her forehead for a minute or two, Migtryl shook his head in frustration.
<“…We must make an effort to always remember that the majority of these people are hurt, scared, and in all likelihood grieving the death of at least one loved one, friend, or what have you. Most do not trust us. We must simply be patient with them, help those willing to receive it, and not give those who are unwilling any further cause for suspicion or hostility. …Now, come along; we have much more to look at.”>
With that, they both turned and began walking towards a long but narrow stone building. As they reached it, Jack turned to the group.
“This is the commissary. It’s where we keep the supplies we distribute to the civilians. It may look small, but looks can be deceiving. …C’mon, let’s step inside. Just remember to dust yourself off first!”
Y’ggdrasog glanced at the door clearly made for human proportions and shook his head, sighing as he turned to Kate.
<“You two go on ahead. I have no desire to work out the kink in my back later from having to be hunched over inside.”>
Kate smiled in amusement as several other taller species of aliens nodded, muttered their agreement and so on.
“Well, sorry on behalf of humanity for us being so short. …Anyway, see you in a bit, Yiggy!”
He winced.
<“…Kate, please, not in front of others…”>
Kate’s smile only widened as she turned and followed J’Ffrane with the rest of the group as they entered the building.
As they descended a set of stairs, Kate was surprised to see that despite its outer appearances, the building went several stories underground. As she descended down the first flight of stairs, a feeling of unease began to eat away at her. Her hairs began to stand on end, goosebumps rising despite the heaters inside the building.
Jack continued his explanation as they continued descending.
“The ground where this building stands was where they initially quarried out a lot of the stone necessary for building the majority of the fort’s walls and buildings back in the 1800’s. When they finished, the line of thinking was “well, we’ve made a really big hole, may as well use it for something.” So they built this commissary to act as a mega-cellar of sorts; it could store enough food to last the initial inhabitants of the fort an entire year.”
As they descended to the final level, Kate looked out across a sizable collection of boxes of various shapes and sizes stacked upon pallets. As she gazed at them, an eerie feeling of familiarity and something being inexplicably, terribly wrong settled onto her, and she only barely heard Jack continuing to speak.
“Most of the supplies that don’t belong to anyone in particular are either stored here, or wherever we can stuff them in what little free space there is left in the other buildings of the fort. Groups go out every day to scavenge for more food, general supplies, raw materials to put into your “assimilators” to make things like our filtered masks-“
150 spare air filters-
<“-as the assimilators and fabricators can only do so much at one time, we scavenge as much food as possible due to most of their time being taken up purifying the polluted water-“>
75 spare half-year water filters-
“It’s important to keep track of everything else we store here, so a lot of the work is just tallying everything up. It’s tedious, but very important; we need to know what we have to give those with very specific dietary needs-“
500 cans of spinach, 300 cans of olives, 700 cans of baked beans-
“Members of our species still have occasional issues with allergies, diabetes, that sort of thing. I’m told we likely will continue to have those for at least a decade or so before you Collective folks can develop those “immunity implants” necessary to sort them out. …Assuming the average Joe is willing to work with them, when the most advanced tech they had before was-“
3 spare radios, 50 packs of AAA batteries-
Kate only just barely managed to drag herself back to the present as she felt J’Ffrane metallic hand gently tugging at her sleeve. She turned to see them wordlessly gazing at her, a concerned expression on their face. Only after their intervention did she notice she had begun to start breathing erratically as Migtryl kept talking.
<“…Beyond moving the supplies where they need to go, the job’s not very physical. For the most part, it’s just counting how much of any one item we have and writing down the results. We usually give the job to people who are injured or otherwise not at their best, but still want to contribute.”>
Migtryl glanced over at Kate, who unbeknownst to him was having a desperate internal struggle to try and keep herself calm.
<“You’d be a perfect fit here, heh!”>
Kate sunk into herself a bit at his words, and found herself wishing she could turn invisible as the group turned to stare at her. Her voice was barely audible as she felt obligated to murmur out a response.
“…I, uh- pant …d-don’t think that- pant …would be a good idea…”
Not again, not again… Just stay cool, don’t keep hyperventilating, just move on, just- stop it. Stop stop STOP oh god why can’t I just breathe normally?! Just k-keep cool, just-
OH DON’T YOU START CRYING YOU WORTHLESS BI-
She felt the touch of J’Ffrane’s metallic hand on her shoulder, bringing her back to herself.
<“Come on, Stardust; let’s take a walk.”>
Kate hesitantly nodded and let herself be led away from the group and up the stairs by J’Ffrane’s gentle leading hand, wiping her tears away as she went. Migtryl glanced at Jack, who was staring after the pair, his expression worried.
<“…Was it something I said?”>

'The Pale Blue Eye', a murder mystery set in the early 1800s with a slight touch of horror, released on Netflix in January after a brief limited run in the cinemas.
​
Directed by Scott Cooper whose credits include 'Black Mass', 'Antlers', 'Hostiles' & 'Out of the Furnace', the movie features great talent across the board. The cast is stacked with Christian Bale & Henry Melling in the lead roles along with support from Timothy Spall, Robert Duvall, Simon McBurney, Toby Jones, Gillian Anderson & Lucy Boyton who are all good in their roles. Bale is great as usual but it is Henry Melling who shines the brightest as Edgar Allen Poe.
The film's greatest strength is the atmosphere it creates. It's been a while since I was so immersed in the world of a film. The film is set during winters at a military training centre, West Point, and the way the outdoor scenes are shot, the use of excellent production and costume design, the ominous music from the legendary Howard Shore (reminding you of his excellent work in Silence of the Lambs at times) and the pacing of the film all come together to create a very immersive experience.
The story of the film is well paced with a gradual buildup. It is a murder mystery where we follow a detective played by Bale & an ambitious cadet with germs of a budding detective played by Melling. The procedural detective work carried out is never too smart for its own good neither is it lousy. The story takes a couple of twists which arguably take a turn for the worse. The ideas were actually very good with introducing witch-hunting elements as well as switching the murderer at the end, however the execution was lazy and uninventive. This is a problem with Scott Cooper I feel. He is never able to really nail the third acts of his films, despite being a competent director.
The heart of the film is the relationship between Bale's & Melling's characters of Landor and Edgar Allan Poe. There is a mentor / surrogate son aspect to it and the resolution of their friendship is a beautiful, poignant moment towards the end.
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The cinematography is from Masanobu Takayanagi, a Scott Cooper frequent collaborator, and his work is marvellous. So many shots leave you in awe.
I am not normally a fan of overbearing music, but Howard Shore uses music to good effect to create a somber, foreboding and even a scary vibe to the film.
While it is no masterpiece, I did find TPBE to be one of Netflix's best movies in a while and is for now in my top 5 this year. I feel some slight tweaks and changes could have resulted in it being an actually great film. There is definitely lost potential in it but for detective-murder mystery fans, TPBE is a fresh new entry that should not disappoint.
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My rating: 7.5/10

I (f34) have been with my bf (m 38) for the past 3 years. He has a crazy ex, Jane. They have been together on and off since they were 15, last time they broke up, about 5 years ago he made a point to both families that it was final. Both his mom and dad consider her to be a family friend, she lives 5 min walk from their house.
From the first day, his mom made sure everyone, especially me, knew that she doesn’t approve. She has also invited Jane to every family gathering, despite him asking her not to. Together with Jane, his mom would make comments at my expense. I know he loves his mom, and I would never disrespect her in her home, so I always took the jabs silently. She would also give Jane a spare key to his place, and more than once he came home to find her in his bed, one of the reasons I insist on having my own place is, I’m not comfortable with his family (mom) having a spare key to a place I live in.
There have been numerous instances where both would drive me to the point of tears and on more than one occasion when I left the event early because of it, to his credit he always left with me, and his mom always blamed me for dragging him away.
My breaking point was last month, at his birthday dinner at his family home when his mom had one of his nephews bring me a cookie that had coffee in it. I’m allergic, severely. His family knows. I was lucky enough to notice before I swallowed the bit and spit it out, still, I had to use my epi-pen. His mom kept saying that I should go home and rest because I was dampening the mood, he said if I left so will he. I said that I can’t do it anymore, I can put up with comments, and Jane being pushed in his lap at every chance, but that I can’t deal with them essentially trying to poison me. His mom said it was an accident. I didn’t believe it and said that I can’t be with him as long as his family is part of his life, since they enabled the behavior. He said goodbye to them, and we left.
A couple of days later he told me his mom admitted that the cookie thing was deliberate, but that they didn’t think it was as severe as I claimed. That she and Jane just didn’t want me there.
His dad, brothers, and sister have all come to visit and apologized for their part. We agreed to start fresh. Last weekend we had a barbecue over at my place and we invited them all, his dad, and his sister both asked if his mom can come, my bf said he doesn’t want her there but as it was my house it was my call, I said I’m sorry but she just isn’t welcomed.
His family and friends have been divided some say I’m within my right, and others are saying I’m an AH because I’m not just making him choose between his mom and me but also all of them, I said I never asked them to chose and pointed out his mom still hasn’t apologized to me, but they say by inviting them and not her I’m essentially forcing a choice. So am I an AH?

With all the talk of Shadow Kingdom being Bob's final output, I think it's ridiculous.
It's a great album, magnificent reworking of some of his classics, but nowhere near his best works, as much as I love listening to it on repeat. One thing did strike me. As Watching the River Flow turned into It's All Over Now Baby Blue, I felt an odd long-forgotten sensation. It was only after few moments I realised, I feel like I'm in a church.
I am not religious, but was raised Catholic. And the transition between the two songs did feel like the part of Christian mass that I believe in English is called The Dismissal. It is where the priest gives the congregation the final blessing and imposses them to go and spread the word of god. From my experience, It often has this aura of suspension. You know the service is almost over, but you ought to stay for a couple of moments more. Intentionally, or more likely not, Shadow Kingdom arrangement of It's All Over Now.. has a very similiar feel. And the subject of saying goodbye only adds to it.
Listening to Sierra's Theme I cannot help but to feel as I am leaving a church after a service.
A very odd feeling for a person who has not attended a religious service for decades now.

Tell me if I’m overreacting.
I (31F) am an emotional person and my husband of 2 years - 6 years in total (34M) isn’t. His usual reaction would be anger and he’d need space and he’s just be silent.
A lot over the past couple years he doesn’t speak to me as nicely like he used to. We have had financial stressors and 2 kids in that time so I get not as much time for us and to debrief and connect etc. But when I try tell him he’s not being nice he gets frustrated. Even just his general reactions to things aren’t very nice and he’s angry when it should (to me anyway) be a simple answer and then move on.
For e.g. today I had a can of soft drink I left outside for a couple hours, I got distracted with one of the kids so went inside and left it ontop of the bbq then took one of the kids out of the house since they were just whinging and wanted to give them both 1 on 1 attention with one of us. It’s not a big deal but it was the last can and low key I really wanted it lol. Later when I remembered and went to get it, it wasn’t there and I asked ‘did you chuck out that can?’ And he said yes, and I said ‘aw I accidentally left it there earlier’ and it wasn’t in a mean way just a sweet ‘aw - sad face’ lol. And his response ‘well how the fuck was I supposed to know’ and he continued doing what he was doing.
This might not seem like much but these are his general responses to things and it’s hurtful. Especially when if roles were reversed I’d be like ‘aw I’m sorryyy’ and I’d feel bad and go get him another one from the shop if he seemed like he really wanted it. Later on when the kids weren’t around I said ‘hey when you said that, that was hurtful and I don’t get why you had to get angry like that’ and he was just annoyed and sarcastically said ‘yep no worries I’ll keep that in mind to be nicer’ and he hasn’t spoken to me since. It wasn’t a apology and a genuine way he said it. It just makes me think… why would you want to make someone feel like that?
I can only understand from my own mind and perspective but I’d feel bad if I made someone feel like that.. it seems little but it happens a lot and has me questioning if I’ve married the wrong person. I’m very emotional (which he puts everything down to but I don’t think it’s a bad thing) but I deserve to have that basic need met. We’ve had this conversation countless times and I thought if I called out the behaviour at the time or soon after politely and tell him what I need that he would get it. But he still doesn’t… even at times I’ve been upset and just need some reassurance he gets angry that I’m crying… when it doesn’t even need to be an argument. How hard is it to comfort someone?
tl;dr my husband doesn’t talk to me nicely

PART EIGHT HUNDRED AND FORTY-ONE
[Previous Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2]
Friday
It was the middle of a bright, sunny day, and Phillipa was jogging through Central Park, listening to whatever music her playlist threw at her. She was enjoying the rush of moving without puffing … without feeling lethargy at all. She paused and put her fingers on her throat like she’d seen all those fit people in the park do, but couldn’t find anything that even remotely felt like a pulse.
Well, in her mind, that had to mean she was so comfortable; her pulse wasn’t killing itself, which was awesome. Especially considering she’d been running …
She frowned and turned back the way she came. How many blocks had she run? And when did she actually start running? She wasn’t a runner, like at all, and she enjoyed chocolate and caffeine and worked too much.
Right on cue, an annoying water ripple which she used for her general ringtone (because it was quiet and wouldn’t disturb a meeting much if she were sitting in with Tucker) sounded, and she squeezed her right earpiece stem to accept the call.
Only it kept chiming in her ear.
Her frown deepened as she dug through her clothes, looking for her phone to connect the call manually, promising herself to replace the headset on her way to work. Except why wasn’t she at work now? It was daylight. Bright daylight. Why was she running during the day? Was it the weekend?
She found her phone in the front pocket of her business jacket, where it was always located during business hours, but when she lifted it to her face, the main screen wouldn’t wake up. It remained blank, no matter what she did to bring it online.
Plus, the music was still playing. The music should have cut out the second a call came through. She shook the phone and pressed the buttons along the side, hoping to reset it over and over again, harder with each pass, yet nothing worked.
What in the world…
Phillipa came awake with all the finesse of someone having a heart attack, her fingers biting into the hardened plastic edges of … her TV remote. The TV was still madly scrolling through whatever buttons Phillipa had been mashing in an effort to get it to work as a phone, but more importantly, her real phone was still dinging away on her bedside table.
“Phillipa Webber,” she said as soon as she connected the call, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed. It didn’t matter that she’d been sent home with the supposed promise/threat of a weekend off. Calls at five-thirty in the morning meant something was horribly wrong, and she used the adrenaline to clear away the cobwebs.
“Phillipa, it’s Michelle Winthrop. Tucker’s family is in trouble.”
It took Phillipa’s brain half a second to tie the woman’s name into one of the three senior partners of Pike and Hubble LLC, and from there, it was all systems go. “What do you need from me?”
Michelle outlined the security they wanted for both Tucker and the laptop he had in Pensacola. When Phillipa mentioned Helen, Michelle’s snort of disgust made her smile. “She’s commandeered Donald. That should be enough for her.”
Phillipa went into the living room/kitchen combo and slid into the bench chair that doubled as a workspace for her. She flipped open her personal computer and powered it up, going through layers upon layers of security protocols before accessing the business mainframe. With each one, she hoped and prayed Colton hadn’t followed through on his threat of having her clearances temporarily revoked.
Yesterday had been a wash as Martin’s driver dropped her outside her condo building and waited alongside the car while she walked to the main doors. It had annoyed her immensely when she turned to see why he was still standing there, filming her with his phone.
“Forgive me, Miss Webber,” he said, not lowering his hand in the least. “Mister Laurier has insisted on proof of you walking into your apartment building before I am permitted to leave.”
Phillipa had ground her teeth and eventually let out a long-suffering breath of annoyance, reminding herself she was too old to flip off Martin Laurier, as much as her sleep-deprived, caffeine-infused brain insisted on it being the greatest idea in the whole world.
She’d been polite to any neighbours she’d come across on her way to the apartment, but it wasn’t until she’d run herself a bath and sank beneath the warm bubbles with Samantha (her Burmese cat) perched by her head that she felt the first vestiges of anxiousness slip away. Samantha's meows had been so deep and so constant throughout the whole bath had been a non-stop tirade, no doubt a lecture for leaving her alone for a few days.
Not that she’d been completely left alone. Before she’d flown to Florida, Phillipa had arranged for an elderly neighbour who was the resident cat lady to pop in and feed Samantha and change her litter, but that wasn’t what her girl had a problem with. When Mrs Beaton came, she reeked of her own horde of cats, and Samantha hated all their smells in her space.
Thankfully, she wasn’t a boy cat and didn’t take to scent-marking her territory every time there was a threat, but for the next few days, Phillipa had known she’d need to air out the condo as much as possible.
Which was why she’d been dreaming about jogging when she’d never jogged a step in her life. For her, there were two speeds: a brisk walk or a flat-out run, with the latter only acceptable when someone or something murderous was chasing her. But with the bedroom window open and the smells of the city wafting through on the early morning breeze in waves, her dreams had interpreted that as movement.
A minute or so later, she was in.
Security teams were going to take time to assemble. Very few places would enable her to scramble a team with the necessary clearance levels, but putting one together from here and sending it down would take thousands of dollars and four hours of travel time.
She stroked her jaw, ending with a silent drum of her fingers against her cheek. “Boots on the ground … boots on the ground … someone with the right clearance…” Her brain was whirring as the options wound down on such short notice.
One was a super longshot, but given he had already passed the security checks and his history with the company was exemplary, Phillipa decided to risk it. She went into the HR listing of all staff members and clicked on the list of inactive personnel. Skimming down the list, she clicked on his name and quickly typed the personal number into her phone.
“C’mon …c’mon…”
* * *
Thomas was awake with his hand plunged under his pillow for the M3 trench knife kept there. It was a habit he picked up after his time in the sandbox, although back then, it had been a gun rather than a knife. (Nine years of rooming with Donald had him switching it out when he’d pointed the weapon at Donald before he was properly awake, and the other man had warned him that if he did that again, he’d be force-fed every bullet in the magazine.)
His phone sounded nearby, but the ringtone meant it wasn’t anyone he knew. If it’s a fuckin’ telemarketer, I’ll hunt them down and…he thought to himself, even as he crossed the room dressed in only his briefs and picked up the phone. It wasn’t like he had company. “Yeah?” The word was barely a question, more of a threat. It was intentional.
“Mister Cole?”
The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Walking over to the window, he pulled back the curtain to let in the early morning rays through the palm leaves of the trees that separated him from the beach. “I’m here.”
“Mister Cole, might I ask where you are at the moment?”
“Darlin’, until I know who you are, I’m not going to tell you anything except you’re messing with the wrong man.”
“It’s Phillipa Webber, Mister Cole. Tucker Portsmith’s EA.”
Thomas sucked in a sharp breath. He’d assumed walking away from the job and leaving the state soon after would be a big enough hint that there wasn’t enough money on the planet to have him going toe to toe with whatever it was protecting the Nascerdios family. Even now, his eyes dropped fearfully to the three-dimensional, circular brand on his chest of a snake that slithered around his flesh, hissing menacingly at him.
“Where are you, Mister Cole?”
“Nowhere near New York,” he answered evasively.
“Mister Cole, how close are you to Florida at this time?”
“I’m in the Bahamas. Why?” He had amassed a small fortune working around the clock for the Portsmiths with no vacation time for almost a decade, which was why he’d decided to grant himself an extravagant tropical holiday. Though every time he looked down in his swimmers and saw the living snake brand, he wondered if he shouldn’t have gone the other way and headed for the slopes.
“Mister Cole, would you be interested in temporarily coming back to work for us in Florida?”
Thomas couldn’t shake his head fast enough. “No.”
“Mister Cole, I wouldn’t be calling if it weren’t critical. You have the clearance to protect Portsmith Electronics’ interests, and if you’re in the Bahamas, you are our closest asset to our CEO.”
I’m not your asset anymore! “Where’s Donald?”
“He’ll be returning with Mrs Portsmith shortly. However, both the laptop and Mister Portsmith are in Florida, and the one bodyguard they took with them is spending more time with Mrs Portsmith than Mister Portsmith. I need a second set of eyes, and despite your sudden departure from the company, your loyalty to us prior to that was impeccable.”
“Where is Geraldine and … S-Sam?” God, he hated the slight tremor in his voice as he said that name, but damned if he could stop it. Going after Sam had put him into a torturous living nightmare that not even two tours in the sandbox had gone close to doing. At least once a night, he had woken up either trembling or screaming due to that inhuman voice and the way they’d imprinted the snake brand on his consciousness.
He knew it wasn’t really there because he’d asked several one-night stands what they saw on his chest, and they only described his regular tattoos and scars. He looked at his chest’s reflection in the door and shuddered when the snake turned to look at him in the reflection and opened its mouth wide to hiss at him.
“They’re in New York completing exams. Why?”
Thomas shuddered a second time if only to get it out of his system. “It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry, I don’t think I can help you…”
“Thomas, we’ll triple your hourly rate and cover the cost of rearranging your vacation once this is sorted. It should only be a day or two…”
Thomas reached over his head and hooked his fingers around the architrave of the sliding glass door, hanging his near-full weight off his fingertips to stretch out his arm and core.
“Thomas, please. You’re the only one with the clearance who can be on-site in a couple of hours. Even if I get things moving here, it’ll be at least five hours before I can have boots on the ground in Pensacola.”
Thomas released the door and dragged his fingers through his hair. He and Donald had already been paid triple the going rate for bodyguards, and to triple that again… “Miss Webber…”
“Thomas, name your price. At the moment, you have us over a barrel.”
“Full intel.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s my price, ma’am. If you want me in on this, I need to know what you know about the people you’re going up against. No more going in blind.”
“Thomas, I’m not sure…”
“You asked for my price! That’s it! I’m not about to walk into a situation blind again if can help it.” On an exhale, he added, “Never again.”
“Alright. Alright … I’m not entirely sure what you’re talking about, Mister Cole, but if it’s in my power to give you everything you think you need to complete this task, I’ll see to it personally.” Her voice dropped away, but not before Thomas heard her mutter, “It’s not like I’m doing anything else this weekend.”
“I can walk out of my bungalow in three minutes or seven if you need me showered and shaved.”
“Take the seven minutes, Mister Cole.”
“Yes, ma’am. Where do you need me to be after that?”
“I’ll text you the details.” She paused for a moment, then added, “Consider this your first piece of personal information you wouldn’t normally know. Tucker Portsmith and I went to college together, and I consider him my best friend. It’s why I want you down there, looking out for him.”
With that, Phillipa hung up on him, but Thomas was already moving.
* * *
((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I'd love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))
I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here
For more of my work including WPs: Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.
FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

A new game comes out and I'm out of it for a couple days a week sometimes about long enough to feel almost normal then like a ton of bricks on my head, everything feels like a waste of time I don't want to do things I enjoy its been consistent like this for about 3 or so years. In that time I stopped talking to my best friend which was only my friend out of necessity I guess, this guy constantly angry and edgy suicide jokes around the clock "it's not a joke" I really do wanna off myself thats 80% of his dialogue if I'm being honest i knew he wouldnt solely on the fact his gf is worse than he is with her he's a got a reason to keep breathing I understand that but me being his shoulder to cry on for years and he constantly putting me down in a jokes way along the way it stopped feeling like a joke sitting silently on discord for hours both us just watching videos not speaking to each other I'm not perfect friend but fuck I put everything into being there for him but not a sliver was he there for me I can't stand that feels like he betrayed me that feeling outweighs the pathetic feeling of purposely losing a friend that being him being my whole community and world it all revolved around him now everything feels empty I got a woman now too she's great a true angel but not a gamer tho. Side note gaming been the easiest way to keep my mind off everything else now I can't even escape into another world without feeling a longing for something for community its gets harder and harder to keep everything together I get overly anxious now which is pretty new for me and makes me feel pathetic and cowardly a far cry from me before being around my family is even worse i am undoubtedly the black sheep gamer nerd around my hunting fishing gearhead father and brother and the rest of the family same thing. My greatest fear was always being alone now it feels I am more than ever first gf in years and I can barely give the attention she deserves. The part thats starting to really worry me now and when I sleep it never feels like I've actually rested at all I think it's nightmares I might not remember waking up sweating almost freaking out like something just happened but not remembering them yet in the past nightmares have been pretty brutal mainly horrible horrible things happening to my first gf with zero control which real life nothing that should have caused trauma I don't think at least she's was a perfect girl who's family loved me the first time I ever felt like it's where I should be in life but her grandma's health was failing and her family reluctantly moved back to Kentucky it's fucking sad and pathetic that her memory has been torturing me for over 12 years now whole point is it feels the same way now that it did then no real sleep no real escape talking about it makes me break out in uncontrollable tears the two people I consider my friends aside from my current gf ofcourse I talk to maybe once or twice a month not long enough to speak my mind and get everything off my chest just long enough for me to open the door into the vault and I slam it shut before anything too damning gets out also I cant just unload on them then got their own shit to deal with Which is my fucking ethereal job before I've always being the listener the help they need I can't even help myself let alone the only people I care about it's been depressing and hard and I feel like the ice is getting thinner and thinner again that being said I'd never kill myself the pen-ultimate cowards move in my book. I guess any advice on coping or dealing with night terrors not diagnosed but being on edge 24 hours a day night terrors random depressing memories out of no where makes me think it's like a cptsd type thing but that's a my unprofessional opinion. I'm sorry for anyone reading this unorganized mess that is my life. Any advice would be greatly appreciated.

Intro:https://www.reddit.com/yandere/comments/142b5vq/irl_yandere_couple_experiences/
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I don’t know where to begin. I’m leaving out the six months of me stalking and the events that led up to our first date which are interesting. The IRL request was for our interactions. The date was not natural but orchestrated. This is our first "date." The date was setting him up on my behalf. He was under the impression that he was supporting the campus club we had been attending. I had been stalking him for six months and finally asked for some help.
Jenny and John were a couple and engaged to be married after graduation. They were Srs at Colo St Uni and they were leaders in IVCF, the large campus club Finnian and I attended. They were in charge of parties/activities and they had, with the help of other campuses, organized a St Valentine's Day dance. Jenny was an Education major who liked to play matchmaker and John was a Music major who played DJ in his spare time. Jenny and I were friends, not close, but she was more than willing to help me connect with Finnian. She didn't know I was his stalker and obsessed with him but she found out as our relationship progressed. She and I actually sat down, chatted and put together a plan. John and Finnian were casual friends because he and John shared music interests, specifically classical music. They would chat about all kinds of music. He had lunch with John one day and Jenny tagged along and turned the lunch into an interview and made Finnian promise to attend the dance. Finnian’s wingman, Brad bailed on him at the last moment. We all attended Colo St Uni, Fort Collins, and the dance was held at UNColo, Greeley. The group was carpooling and we met at a central parking lot on campus. Finnian volunteered to drive but Jenny insisted he was to ride with her and John. I had no car and was waiting in their backseat, this was a kind of double date. I believe in “Love at first sight” and “Divine appointments” and I feel we experienced both.
I remember waiting such a long time for Finnian to show and when Jenny saw him she signaled him and I felt my heart would climb out of my chest. I remember that he and Jenny bickered over the fact that he could drive people and she essentially pushed him into the back seat of their Honda Civic. After he sat down he said something to John in the driver's seat who remained silent. I leaned into Finnian and introduced myself. I was very assertive and scooted close to him, extending my hand to shake his and I awkwardly didn't let go of his hand. Finnian remembers that he felt backed up against the door and he was irritated at Brad, Jenny, John, the car, everything but as I leaned in I certainly gave him that uncanny stare because he forgot all about being irritated. He felt confused more than anything. He also remembers shifting me back so he could sit properly and that I just came forward again. So there we were in the back seat of a car on the way to Greeley with a half hour to kill. I was wearing a black Bohemian style dress with lace sleeves fitted at the top. He remembers that I wore amber jewelry because the jewelry accented my eyes which are green with an orange ring and my darker hair and dress made them glimmer. I remember he was nicely dressed, you know, a sports jacket and white shirt. He had this blue metallic tie on that made his eyes even bluer and hair blonder. I also remember at one point taking his arm and he was so tight and firm. He wasn't huge but he was toned. Like I said we had a 1/2 hr talk on the way to UNColo and the conversation happened immediately. We had too many things in common. In fact I'll talk about the set up to the date and conversation another time. The point is that we disappeared into conversation and barely acknowledged our hosts. Of course I continued to traditionally flirt with him by preening, touching him, leaning into him, complimenting him. Most of this was excitement on my part because I could tell we were meant for each other and in that little half an hour ride I was already confirming ideas in my head that we were going to take this to the next level. Remember, I said long term. I have the habit of elevating our relationship so what was a meeting turned into a date and a date turned into exclusive dating then girlfriend then wife. That ride was fantastic and we had a hard time not talking, both of us. I was absolutely floored that he knew conversational Spanish so we entered into bilingual territory on day one (we are now both bilingual).
Understand that we were not on a formal date and that I was just some woman he had met so when we arrived his assumption was, "thanks for the ride, John, I'll find my way around from here." I intercepted him and took him by his arm, I really wanted to walk into the venue with him. I desperately wanted us to be seen together, this has always been important to me. I still do this “I’m his” behavior. I began to completely monopolize his time. I was already starting to be seen as clingy and possessive and we weren’t officially together. He was tolerant and flattered and confused. Unfortunately, I don't remember why but we separated early on in the evening. I found him at a table chatting with a couple of guys he knew. He remembers that one of them was Eric. Eric had flirted with me months before and I clearly had shown no interest in him. I was already stalking Finnian by the time Eric had shown interest in me. I actually have no memory of it and my roommate Audrey later pointed it out to me. I learned my obsession caused me to actually block out people and events. I do not remember what Finnian was talking about or to who or why or any of that but he remembers me constantly interrupting them asking Finnian to dance. He remembers actually asking me if I needed to practice dance with him and that I reacted sorely. He remembers that I would alternate between sitting very very close to him and far away from Eric and me getting up to ask to dance for the next song. He also said that I started holding his hand and tugging on his wrist to get him to the dance floor. He clearly didn't want to dance but I won out when the music changed a little.
I got him to dance with me and he told me that he'll never forget how thrilled I looked and that we started to dance before getting all the way to the floor. He told me that the uncanny look I sometimes flash is often when I am thrilled. I remember that I turned him so he could only see me and not other dancers and not his little group of friends. This worked because we never saw them again until weeks later. This was 1999 and the music was a mixture of 80s and 90s with a mixture of pop, rock, alternative, Christian and rap. John had obviously influenced the DJ to play for this particular crowd. I remember that Finnian really tuned into the music we danced to and he later admitted that it was a "safe" place for him mentally. I do not intend on making him look like he was stupid or naiive it’s just that he had some bad experiences in the past and he was desperately trying to be “in control.” I was alternately smothering and backing off but from this point on I wouldn't let go until later. Neither one of us are great dancers but I was really turned on by how well we danced together. I loved touching him and he was trying so hard to be a gentleman. I also liked to direct his hands where I wanted them. This was me communicating and almost compulsively touching his hands. He remembered that his wrists were sore after that night which means that I was quite grabby. Some songs I wanted his hands on my waist and a few times I specifically directed him to put his hands on my hips. I wanted him to know that I was interested all around romantically in him. We slowed danced and fast danced for most of the night. The man typically leads while dancing but I would periodically resist going in a direction because I was trying to keep us isolated or uninterrupted from others. I do not remember what we talked about other than the songs playing and what to do while dancing. We were pretty much just being physical. At one point this song was played and I remember he said he liked it. It had a unique theme. This is important because I would use it later in a confession of sorts and it would become one of our songs. We found even more in common like our taste in music which leans towards alternative.
Eventually we both really needed the bathroom and a break so I told him I’d meet him at the punch bowl. He didn’t show and I started frantically searching for him. After a few minutes I saw him outside in a patio garden area. This was a student center. So I followed him outside and he greeted me warmly and he pointed out some stars. We stargazed a little while. He has an interest in astronomy. There were fire pits and somebody was lighting them and we could still hear the music softly. He pointed out the planet Mars and I pretended I couldn’t find it. This was intentional. I wanted him to put his arms around me and point so I could look down his arm and rub up into him. He did that and I responded and when he put his arm down I quickly turned around, pressed into him, stared straight into his eyes. Then I said, “don’t run from me, I love you, I will follow you anywhere under the Milky Way.” Then we leaned into each other and kissed for a very long time. I don’t remember how I actually said the words and neither did he because it was rather dreamlike. He heard what I said and he said the phrase didn’t bother him. The following part didn’t seem serious to him until a week later. I was serious about it. Months later he told me that he made the decision to date me on the patio when he was alone. He thought it through and he felt that there were too many things happening in favor of us. He also told me that the fire from the fire pits made my eyes flash and it was very surreal. We went back inside, slowly danced and found a lonely corner to quietly talk. Eventually, we met Jenny and John near the door and I remember that Finnian was holding my hand. Jenny said that since we are hitting it off so well that tomorrow we can double date and go see an indie band at Avogadro’s Number, a local club. I answered for both of us a little too eagerly. Jenny later told me that he and I were “electric” that night. She also met a friend from UNColo who asked how long we had been dating to which she replied, “first date.” Her friend responded as if Jenny was fibbing. We drove home and we got caught up and started kissing again but we stopped when we heard that Jenny and John noticed. I could barely sleep that night. I was high.

Observation log - Adrien Lopez
Day 93
Shapa Ratif, Chief Secretary of the Fighters branch
The past moons have been incredible. He was incredible. In just over ninety days he's fought in eight matches and won them all. Only a handful of fighters in recorded history have ever accomplished such a feat. With each battle, he gained a new scar and yet his gaze never wavered. He still has the same eyes.
Personal note: Over the past several weeks, Adrien and I have gotten more… intimate. Not in a sexual sense, I highly doubt he's physically and biologically capable of being my mate. But the way he looks at me and pets me and holds me close when I'm afraid. It makes me feel… good. He's not an animal like some would call him. He's compassionate and sometimes sad. He misses home even still. I do what I can to help him but I fear it will never be enough.
The news of his feats has gone beyond The Conglomerate's borders. Officials from the Nom'Klar Confederacy and Talkien Commonwealth have traveled to meet him in person. Some, including the Supreme Minister Galiban Klar of the Nom'Klar Confederacy, have offered great amounts of wealth and status to Director Coblo Kon'Bar in exchange for Adrien's services. One of the offers was rights to an entire moon in a border sector of the Commonwealth. All of these offers were rejected. Coblo stated that giving him away would squander a long-term investment for short-term gain and as a businessman he couldn't accept that.
As I stated before, Adrien had won eight matches so far, not including his first match against Kuldar the Breaker.
Note: I will be including additional descriptions of Adrien's opponents from his perspective to better understand his viewpoint.
The first was on day three of my recording. The opponent was Patonal Shipping once again. Director Galnam Bursin held a grudge against the Octon Corporation and demanded a rematch. His wager was one of Patonal Shipping's void ports. Their fighter was the Skelian Halzif Silvertooth. The fight was shorter than the one with Kuldar as Adrien ended up breaking Halzif's arms and then his spine over his knee.
The second match was on day seven against Luchin Security. Their fighter was a Kyslan, Malzar Blackclaw. Adrien described him as part man, part wolf. The fight was drawn out at Malzar peppered Adrien with cuts in the hopes that he would exhaust himself. Adrien however figured his plan out and attempted to corner Malzar. Despite the Kyslan's superior agility, Adrien got the better of him, pinning him to the ground and beating his teeth out. Malzar slashed him across his cheek but Adrien didn't waver as he grabbed his jaws and twisted them apart.
The third match was on day twenty-two against Agnus Plants. Their fighter was Petrin Stonefist, another Ba'Ok. Agnus believed that Adrien exhausted himself in his fight with Malzar. They were mistaken as he was not only ready to fight but also had experience fighting Ba'Ok. The match was over quickly as Petrin surrendered before Adrien could cave his head in.
The fourth match was on day thirty against Genyos Metals. Their fighter was an Avulan, Vulen Greatwind. Adrien described him as a bipedal griffin with clawed hands and a hunched back. He was taller than Adrien and his wing span made him look even bigger. However, his overall stature wasn't as thick and bulky as the human's. During their fight, Vulen leaped into the air and tried to rip Adrien apart on his way down. But Adrien grabbed his arms and threw him onto the ground, damaging his wing in the process. After more back-and-forth slashing and punching, Vulen managed to grab Adrien and lift him high into the air, pushing through the pain in his wing. But before he could let go, Adrien grabbed him, climbed onto his back, and proceeded to break his wing completely. As they plummeted down, Adrien used Vulen's body as a shield to cushion his fall. The height combined with Adrien's weight shattered Vulen's bones but Adrien was also hurt in the process.
Note: When I asked Adrien how he felt during the match he said he wasn't scared. Vulen might have been big but his bones were brittle just like with any other bird.
The fifth match was on day forty-seven against Urilon Mining. Their fighter was a Rulan, Venro the Mighty Steed. Adrien said he looked like a centaur with long lanky arms. Upon further research, I discovered that centaurs were mythical creatures that resembled the Rulans in almost every way. As soon as the match started Adrien went on the defensive. Venro was much larger and faster than him and just one good strike of his hooves could spell the end. Venro hit him several times with his arms, which Adrien described as whips with the way they struck. But every time the Rulan would bring his legs up to pummel him, the Goliath would show his agility and roll out of the way. This went on for a while until Adrien finally got an opening, jumped on Venro's back, and locked his neck between his arms. Venro tried to shake him off, even biting his forearm. But Adrien wouldn't let go and with a quick motion, he snapped the Rulan's neck.
The sixth match was on day sixty-three against Halzafar Metals.
Note: My relationship with Halzafar Metals didn't impede my documentation.
Their fighter was a female Hastan, Gaela the White Reaper. Adrien described her as being a hybrid of a mountain lion or a leopard and a human. An apt description. She was undoubtedly the most agile opponent Adrien had ever faced. That was evident at the very beginning of the match when she rushed past his defense and slashed his chest and belly. She licked her fingers in a taunt and it made Adrien angry. For a while, all Geala did was slash at him and run. Adrien couldn't land a hit on her and he was getting noticeably exhausted. Or at least that's how it seemed. After another slash on his back, Adrien knelt with his fist on the ground. Gaela taunted him more, calling him a stupid ape and an upstart high on his beginner's luck. She charged at him again and in a split second Adrien grabbed her arm and throat and used her momentum to slam her into the ground. He then lifted her by her throat and slammed her again and then again into a wall. Lifting her with one hand Adrien started choking her. She fought desperately until her body went limp and fell to the ground.
The seventh match was on day seventy-seven against Ken’Dal Arms. Their fighter was a Filnaran, Inac the Grey Mist. Adrien was most surprised by him so far. Not only were the two of them of similar height and build but their features resembled one another’s very closely. The main differences were in their skin color and facial anatomy. Filnarans had light grey skin with small noses and eyes as well as no hair and ears that looked more like holes in the side of their heads. Their eyes were also very dark with bright white pupils which made them unnerving to look at. Adrien didn’t seem to be scared though as the two men stood in front of each other. It looked like it was going to be an equal match. Some said it wasn’t considering that Adrien killed opponents bigger than him. And indeed it wasn’t. Inac made the first move and Adrien was immediately taken aback by his fighting skills. He was agile and strong, carefully aiming for the weak spots in Adrien’s defense. Inac even beat him down to the ground a couple of times but let him get back up. He was enjoying this despite his face showing almost no emotion. Adrien on the other hand was mad. This wasn’t a fight he could win with brute force and relying on the opponent to make a mistake. Inoc knew exactly what he was fighting and Adrien needed to adapt quickly. Inac attacked again and again, breaking Adrien’s guard and beating him down. But the human kept getting back up. Inac seemingly respected this as he complimented Adrien on his willpower. But Goliath didn’t care. Instead, he stood perfectly still and upright. He calmly breathed in and out and relaxed his body. Everyone looked puzzled and some were angry because he seemingly refused to fight. Even Inoc was taken aback. He tilted his head to the side and slowly walked over to Adrien. When he got close he stood still as well. Then he suddenly went to strike Adrien who deflected his attack. Inoc struck, again and again, the attack was deflected. Attack after attack was thrown at the human, who took little heed of their impact. After a while, Inoc got angry and finally formed an expression on his face. He threw a barrage of punches and kicks at Adrien, who pushed him to the side and used the opportunity to deliver a devastating hit to Inoc's torso. He then grabbed Inoc’s arm, threw him on the ground, and broke his elbow. It was the first time anyone heard the Filnaran scream. Adrien pinned him down and threw punch after punch at Inoc’s face until the Grey Mist finally raised his good arm and mumbled out a surrender. This was the toughest fight in Adrien’s career thus far.
The eighth match was on day ninety-two against Kizmoc Engineering. Their fighter was a Kyslan, Cartha Whitefang. The fight didn’t last long as Adrien broke one of her legs and she surrendered.
Note: He seemed to have shown no emotion during the match. Perhaps a psychological side effect caused by the number of fights he’s endured. A prolonged physical and mental recuperation period is necessary.
This concludes the noteworthy events.
—
I don’t want to do that again.
Goodness, this work was tiring. I never thought being a secretary for a fighter would be this much work. I mean, it's not like they get any calls or anything. Well, whatever. At least I could rest. But I remembered I still had to check on Adrien to see if he was alright. His mood and demeanor changed much after his fifth fight. Before that, he was more lively. Not exactly cheerful given the circumstances but not depressed either. He used to pet me more and he even offered to train me. Me? Of all people he chose me. It made me laugh but the bonding was nice. His methods on the other hand were not. Apart from the seemingly endless running sessions, which I had no problem with, his training left me exhausted more times than I could count. Hundreds of pushups, pullups, and squats as he called them, and a position named the plant that really made my stomach sore. And after that he wanted me to practice striking and kicking.
The first several days were hell. I felt like I was going to die.
But after a while, I got the hang of it. I even started to enjoy it. And I've gotten stronger and faster. My musculature improved greatly and my body and mind adapted to the routine. I couldn't help but feel proud of myself as I looked in the mirror to see how much I had changed. I felt accomplished. But Adrien said this was only the beginning and that life is about constantly improving. Stagnation is a killer, one that we can let catch up to us.
I walked down the hall to Adrien’s room but when I went inside he wasn’t there. He couldn’t have. I told him he needed to rest. As I ran to the other side of the hallway I could hear grunts behind the door of the training area. When I opened it I saw Adrien hanging down from a rod and a Ba’Ok hitting him in the abdomen.
“Tarton!”, I shouted, “What are you doing?!”
Tarton was a Ba’Ok privateer Coblo assigned to help Adrien train for his fights. With his bulky body and strong arms, he was a perfect candidate to prepare the human against strong opponents. But this made no sense to me. Why was he punching him in the stomach?
“I asked what are you doing.”
“He wanted me to do it.”, Tarton replied in his usual deep voice. I looked at Adrien who barely took notice of my presence.
“It's true. I don’t know why though. He’s gotta be psycho.”, another voice spoke, this time from my left. A Hastan male was sitting on a crate and eating what looked like meat out of a can. Gizmic. Another privateer Coblo hired. Unlike Tarton however, he was there to test and improve Adrien’s agility and reflexes. As a Hastan he was naturally superior in those areas. Even still, he was a pain in the ass. Acting like a child and going out of his way to annoy me. One time I punched him in the face and he fell backward. It was the first time I felt glad Adrien taught me how to fight.
“And you didn’t think to stop this?”
“I prefer to live.”, he said nonchalantly and kept eating, “You’re welcome to try, pencil pusher.”
I ignored his idiotic insult and walked over to Tarton. He stopped hitting Adrien, who jumped down from the pole. His belly was bare and I could see the bruises running from his chest down to his lower abdomen. But he still stood tall and firm, seemingly ignorant of his injuries.
“What do you think you’re doing?”, I asked him angrily, “You’re supposed to be resting. You might have a match soon. What’s wrong with you?”
“He doesn’t look that-”, Tarton spoke but I cut him off.
“Shut up! You’re supposed to know better! I’m not surprised that idiot over there didn’t do anything.”
“Hey!”, Gizmic shouted.
“But I thought you were smarter.”
Tarton didn’t say anything and I glanced over to Adrien, who started walking away. I grabbed his arm and pulled him back.
“You’re not listening to me. I’m trying to help you.”
He backhanded me and hit me in the jaw. I fell back and rubbed my face, feeling the pain and hissing back at Adrien who stood there and looked at me dumbfounded. I quickly got up and I don’t know if it was adrenaline or anger but I hit him in the gut as hard as I could and then in the face. His nose was bleeding and he took a few steps back but I could tell I didn’t do much. My fists hurt and I stormed off.
“Do whatever you want!”, I shouted as I left the room. I just kept walking. Where? I don’t know. Far away, I guess. Why was he like this? Why can’t he just-
“This is outrageous!”, I heard a yell from Coblo’s office, “You can’t expect me to agree to this!”
“And why not?”, a hissing voice asked him over a holo-call. I couldn’t make out who it was but Coblo certainly didn’t like them.
“I’m not letting you get ahold of someone like Lopez. He’s unique.”
“You misunderstand, Coblo. I don’t want your fighter. I want those like him. I want to know his planer of origin.”
“Are you mad, Gulvin?! If you go there you will inevitably attract the other leaders. Not to mention the Confederacy and the Commonwealth. And if that happens the results would be–”
“So is that a no?”, Gulvin asked.
“Of course, it’s a no. Having one of them here is hard enough already. Have you any idea how hard it is to keep his origin a secret? And thank God for the current border conflict because I’m sure that otherwise, entire fleets would swarm that planet.”
Gulvin seemed to have paused for a moment before continuing, “If you don’t give me the location I will expose this.”
Neither of them spoke for a minute. Coblo eventually broke the silence, “How? How do you have this? I burned it all!”
“Not quite.”, Gulvin smugly replied, “You seem to have forgotten that I too was involved. Luckily, any traces of that were deleted. But yours were not. I don’t think I need to explain what this will do if it were to, I don't know, slip into a publication house?”
Coblo’s voice turned angry, “You slimy, slippery, son of a bitch! You dare do this to me!? To me! If it weren’t for my money you’d still be scrounging for scrap in some slum in the outer moons! I brought you into the council and now you backstab me like this?!”
“I learned from the best. Now, I will give you three days. That should be enough to gather the information. I trust we have an understanding, Director Kon’Bar. I wish you the best.”
The transmission cut off and Coblo went furious. He banged his fists on his table and threw his objects and decorations in all directions. Then the room went silent. I couldn't tell what was happening. Soon enough I heard the distinct sound of another transmission being played.
“Maltaran, are you there?”, Coblo asked in exhaustion.
“Yes, Director. How can I help?”, a low voice replied.
“Do you remember the favor you owe me from Tarius Beta?”
End of Chapter 6
---
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None of this is gonna make much sense if you’re not familiar with the concept of a furry, so here’s a quick summary:
A furry is an enthusiast for animal characters with human characteristics, in particular a person who dresses up in costume as such a character or uses one as an avatar online.
With that out of the way, let’s get on with the story…
Last year, my boss sent me to Vegas for the CES tech conference and—inadvertently—booked me into the Bellagio the same weekend it hosted FURCATION. After checking-in, still drowsy from the 10-hour flight, I stepped onto the elevator just as two men dressed in full-body wolf costumes stepped out.
My pulse got set racing.
Despite the jetlag, I dumped my suitcase in the room, hurried back downstairs, and followed more furries into a convention hall crammed with anthropomorphic animal characters of all shapes and sizes: tall, short, ginger, grey.
Friends, for the first time in my thirty-two years on this earth, I was alive. Truly alive. I didn’t even realize I’d missed the ‘Bold Solutions for a Changing world’ keynote speech until the Bellagio staff started stacking up chairs, long after midnight.
Back home, I supressed this newly discovered part of myself. My engagement with the community remained confined to browsing fan art and the occasional Discord roleplay, all while my wife was asleep. But little by little, Andrew McCann receded into the gloom, and my fursona, Darkwind Summerpaws, stepped into the light.
To her eternal credit, my wife made every effort to accommodate this new lifestyle. But finding me—or, more specifically, Darkwind—in bed with another woman—again, a fursona—all but pushed her out the door, leaving me in the small house with a big mortgage.
At first, I sought comfort within the community. I neglected my family, my friends, and yes, even my health. Empty whiskey bottles piled up around the lounge while the written warnings piled up at work.
However, this was merely background noise. A hiss of static. Because Darkwind dogged my every step, unshakable. Unstoppable.
Yet still I felt constrained. Like a caged beast. I wanted more more more. Complete and total immersion.
Unfortunately, even my furiends couldn’t placate these inexhaustible appetites, and any complaints about their lack of furmitment fell on deaf ears. After a group member broke character mid-session by removing her mask because of a measly asthma attack, I got ousted from the group over my ‘volatile’ reaction.
This plunged me into a deep depression. Stuck without a release, I ended my engagement with the furmunity. Poor Darkwind got crammed into an old hamper and stuffed inside the attic.
Over the next six weeks, without my outlet, I became a balloon inflated to bursting point. Would this deep longing simply swell and swell until I popped?
But then, at the post office, a bulletin board flyer caught my attention. It said:
Attention all wolfkin! Are you struggling? Feeling alone? Does nobody understand your pain? Don’t fret! Join a group of like-minded individuals as we explore ways to celebrate our primal urges.
For more information, call Jacob on XXXXXX.
These folks sure sounded serious about roleplay. Finally, a place where I could unleash my true self.
Over the phone, Jacob gave me the details. Their clan gathered once a month, and wouldn’t you know it, their next meeting was scheduled for later that very same day, just before sundown. The leader passed on the location and said they couldn’t wait for “a new member to join the pack.”
Following his directions, I drove West out of town and along a dirt trail that broke from the highway,. It spat me out in a remote clearing in the middle of the forest.
Beyond the wall of trees, a grassy mound sloped upward. Pinched between the boughs there was a flickering, orange light.
A small group, twenty or so members strong, sat around a firepit on downed logs, not a fursuit in sight. My heart sunk.
There was no reason to panic, though. Not yet. Maybe, just maybe, rather than break immersion once the fun began, they gathered out of costume for refreshments? Either way, I’d travelled too far to turn back now, so I slipped off my costume, folded it into my pack, and then pushed through a nestle of ferns.
Several individuals roasted marshmallows while others conversed in groups of two or three. One man even strummed a soulful rendition of Moonage Daydream on an acoustic guitar.
“Andrew, I presume?” said a deep voice from behind me.
The first thing I noticed about Jacob was his immense height; he stood nearly seven feet tall, and thicker than a barge pole. “We spoke on the phone.” My hand looked like a child’s encased within his, and that powerful grip was tighter like vice.
“You’ve arrived just in time, we’re about to get started.” He guided me forward by placing a hand against the small of my back. “So, is this your first time?”
“Oh no, I’ve been to tons of these things.”
Those green eyes cut a quizzical glance in my direction. “Really? What clans?”
Clan? Did he mean convention? “Well, there was DragonCon over the summer. And last month I flew down to Furry Fiesta.”
“I’ve never heard of—”
An approaching elderly lady said, “Sorry to interrupt Jacob, but we should really get started.” She jabbed a thumb at the sky, barely visible above the canopy. The chief acknowledged her with a nod.
“Glad to have you with us,” he said to me, and then went and stood before the campfire.
“Good evening, everyone,” he said, drowning out the gentle murmur.
A chorus of, “Good evening, Jacob,” went up.
“I hope everybody’s doing well. I’m delighted to see such a great turn out tonight. Now before we get started, I have a couple of announcements. First, congratulations to Paul”—he gestured at a red-haired man in a denim jacket—“and his wife Donna on the birth of their first child, Damian.”
The group applauded as the new father received several hearty pats on the back.
Once the fanfare tapered off, Jacob added, “Paul told me the new baby has been a blessing…paternity leave means he’s been able to sneak in a few long sessions on the PlayStation while Donna does all the work.”
He waited until the chuckles died off. “And secondly, can everyone please give a warm welcome to Andrew.” He nodded in my direction. “Tonight’s Andrew’s first time with the clan, so I want to see plenty of butt sniffing.”
I laughed, realized nobody else joined in, and then cleared my throat and stared at the ground.
“So let’s make sure—”
“It’s starting.” The elderly lady interrupted, pointing at the sky. High above us, the full moon drifted out from behind a wisp of cloud.
Jacob said, “Here we go everyone, get ready.”
Around me, belts were unhitched, shirts unbuttoned. Finally! Delighted we could now change into our fursuits, I grabbed mine from my pack, stepped into the leg holes, and shimmied it up past my ankles, over the shoulders.
As I hopped around on one foot, negoating the suit on, Jacob shouted, “Andrew, what the hell are you doing? You’re gonna tear right through that thing.”
I paused and looked up.
Bare flesh surrounded me on all sides; large and thin, male and female. Everybody was naked except me.
Before I could ask what was going on, all that exposed skin got illuminated by a stray beam of moonlight that pierced the canopy, bright and shining.
Jacob coughed harshly, a desperate growl, while others snarled. Beside me, the elderly lady contorted her limbs, her head jerking from side to side. She moved in an awkward, staggered manner, almost despite herself. Was this a stroke?
Her neck arced forward, her top half bending at an extreme angle until she dropped onto all fours. Her chest and arms expanded rapidly as coarse, grey hairs grew all over her body. Her ribcage got teased to breaking point, her face now hideously elongated, capped by a long snout. Bones cracked in her hands as the nails shot out and became long, curved claws, same with her feet.
Paralyzed by fear, I could only look on, my feet rooted to the tangled ground. Snarls and barks went up around me. I ripped my eyes away from the lady and saw more limbs swell while knotted hairs engulfed every inch of skin. Mouths snapped open and closed, each now crammed with razor-sharp teeth.
My heart pounded so violently it almost made me pass out.
At last, the beast that had been a lady moments earlier threw its head back and howled. That lone voice soon became a symphony. Then, one by one, the creature’s turned their attention towards me. The only human within in the vicinity.
With my wolf mask tucked under my arm, I backstepped on unsteady legs, my free hand raised in a submissive gesture. Nice and slow, no sudden movements or startling noises. Countless wildlife documentaries taught me that’s how you survived those deadly encounters.
Out of nowhere, a black furred wolf snarled, which made David Attenborough’s calm voice completely melt out of my head. I spun on my heels and bolted off into the forest.
Low, criss-crossed branches sliced my legs and arms as I barrelled along, all but blind. In the narrow gaps between skeletal trunks, bestial blurs cut through the shadows, appearing and disappearing amidst the thick undergrowth.
Just as I reached the slope, half-running half-falling, a cavernous mouth filled with sharp teeth burst from the gloom, on a collision course with my throat.
Without meaning to, I stepped into the loop of an exposed tree root, bent my right leg at a painful angle, and performed an unplanned somersault.
As my back collided with the ground, hard, all air fled my lungs. The head of my fursuit fell alongside me.
A ferocious werewolf whizzed by overhead, snapping at my skull on its way past, and then collided with another that had mounted a surprise attack from behind.
Still dazed, I stagged to my feet while the two beasts righted themselves and then growled at one another, fangs beared.
Blood dripped from a deep cut beneath my chin and a labyrinth of gashes along my forearms. It was like ringing the dinner bell. Soon bright eyes emerged from the gloom and surrounded me on every side.
Werewolves circled my position, drawing closer with every rotation, gradually strangling any hope of escape until I had only a few metres of space to move around in. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
But then a roar cut through the forest, so low and so resonate that the ground itself shook. Those other werewolves lowered their heads, their ears pinned back.
Silhouetted against the moonlight, a single wolf—almost double the height of the rest with intense green eyes—stepped forward. Unlike the others, this one carried itself with unquestionable authority.
I choked out a feeble, “Jacob?”
Six slow strides brought the leader so close that its repulsive carrion breaths blasted my face in hot waves. Thick, white foam dripped from blackened gums, getting gobbled up by the dry, hungry dirt. Whichever direction I looked more wolves stood ready to feast on my grizzled remains, to do battle over the leftovers. This was the end.
But there, by my feet, lay the wolf mask. Out of nowhere a strange calm filled my veins. My inhales became steady. Controlled. And suddenly I knew what I needed to do.
With my free hand facing outward, I reached forward and picked up the mask. Although Jacob growled, he did not attack. Not yet.
In one smooth motion, I slipped the wolf head on. Goodbye Andrew McCann, hello Darkwind Summerpaws.
Jacob’s jaw opened and his back arched up, ready to pounce. Before the attack came, however, I growled. It sounded raw and visceral, issued from a place deep inside me. A place I didn’t even realize existed.
My aggressor and I stood nose to nose, face to face, man to man. No, scratch that last one—wolf to wolf.
Jacob hesitated. As I snarled again, tendons in my jaw creaked. I dropped onto all fours and pressed my shoulder blades together as though pinching an apple between them. For good measure, I even belted out another growl, so fierce my vocal cords became vibrating guitar strings tuned too far.
At first, Jacob only stared. Then, slowly, his head lowered, and he fell into line with the group, whimpering.
For a moment, the wolves only stared. Guided by pure instinct, I threw my head back and howled. Jacob followed, then the others, and within seconds the pack sang in perfect harmony. Afterwards, they all looked on, awaiting my next move.
In a playful manner, I rolled onto my back and kicked both legs in the air. Straight away the group rushed forward to lick my face and sniff my crotch, the tension now gone.
Back at the campsite, some wolves slept, others ate, and several fornicated. It wasn’t entirely dissimilar to the after-parties at a regular convention. And once the festivities ended and the group became exhausted, we curled up by the fire and slept in one giant mound.
I woke surrounded by a ring of human flesh, the sun creeping over the horizon. I sat up and ripped off my mask.
Jacob stepped forward, crouched low, and then offered me his hand.
He hauled me up by the arm, turned to face the group, and said, “Three cheers for Andrew, the new leader of the clan!”
The guild whooped and cheered and punched the air. Two burly men, still bollock naked, even grabbed me by the waist and hoisted me up onto their shoulders for a victory lap.
And at that moment, as I basked in their adulation, I knew my life had changed forever. I no longer needed to squander my wages flying to conventions and commissioning personalized fan art in a futile attempt to satisfy my desires. That was a world I could leave behind. Forever.
But don’t fret my friends. Because my journey into furdom wasn’t coming to an end. Oh no.
It was just getting started…