OOC: co-written with NotTooSunny
It was an ordinary day at the New York City Library. People wandered in and out of the building, unaware of the monster that lurked among them.
The only people who seemed to know the danger these mortals were in were Harper and Amon, who entered the building with glowing bronze swords at their hips. The bulky weapons seemed to have escaped the notice of the other library patrons, which was a good thing. The job description had made it clear that they were meant to remain inconspicuous in completing their task.
Harper had traded her usual bright orange camp shirt for a more discrete cropped black t-shirt and pleated pants. She had been insistent on coming up with a persona for them on the train ride from Montauk Station into New York City. They were meant to act as high school students researching for a World History paper on Ancient Greece. Now that they were inside the library, she had stopped her incessant rambling to peruse a riddle book, in what she had insisted was preparation for their job.
As they wandered through the bookshelves, she remained absorbed in the dog-eared children’s book, thumbing through the pages to find a riddle that would be fitting of a sphinx.
“Here’s one, Amon,” she said, narrowly avoiding a collision with another library patron as she read, “What is something that runs but never walks, has a mouth but never talks, has a head but never weeps, has a bed but never sleeps?”
The dark-haired son of Apollo glanced over from a shelf of dusty atlases, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “That is an easy one,” he replied simply. "River. Try me with something more challenging next time around." He adjusted the collar of his striped button down, which he had layered with a navy blue sweater in preparation for the chill of the air-conditioned interior.
“The real riddle is where we can find this sphinx,” Amon glanced around the spacious reading area, eyeing the dark wooden staircase with its ornate railings. “The boyfriend and girlfriend who tried this last time, they found her by a bookcase.”
“A bookcase,” Harper repeated derisively, closing her book to theatrically scan their surroundings. “That narrows it down.”
Ignoring Harper’s mockery, the son of Apollo paused suddenly, his dark eyes glazing over with concentration. His hearing dulled, the surrounding footsteps and rustling pages fading into the background as if muffled by a thick curtain. Amon searched for the energy signature of the monster he knew lurked among the mortals. It was a subtle shift, like trying to discern a whisper in a crowded room, but he felt a faint, abnormal energy hanging somewhere up above.
“I say we try the second floor,” he said as he snapped out of the tracking trance, offering no other explanation to Harper.
“We could do that, sure,” Harper said, words laced with blatant doubt at his sudden certainty. “I say we try asking the Visitor’s Center. I know she's supposed to be disguised by the Mist, but the librarians have to have noticed something.”
“You can go ahead and do that.” The small smirk from earlier was now spreading across his face. “But you can’t be upset if I find the sphinx and solve her riddle before you even get there.”
Harper rolled her eyes, but she made no attempt to stop Amon from walking towards the staircase. After a moment she set off after him, footsteps even against the wooden steps.
Up on the second floor, Amon moved quietly, his dark eyes scanning the hallway for anything out of the ordinary.
I know you’re up here.
He stopped at every heavy-looking mahogany door, peering through each muted glass insert. He felt the air grow thicker with ominous energy at every step, so he knew the monster must be near.
One of the doors was slightly ajar, a suspiciously open invitation. Or a trap. The dark-haired boy caught sight of a cat-shaped figure on the other side before ducking down and motioning sharply for Harper’s attention. He unsheathed his kopis from his belt, bracing himself for confrontation.
Harper crouched against the wall, hand on the hilt of her sword as she tried to peek through the frosted glass pane. She held her breath, ready to move at Amon’s signal. He held out three fingers and then put them down one by one. When he hit zero, they stood in unison, flinging the door open together.
When Amon and Harper stepped inside, the body of the sphinx lay motionless on the floor.
The rest of the room was in disarray, littered with disheveled chairs and broken bits of chalk. A window on the other side of the room had been forced open, the curtain fluttering in the wind.
“No way,” Harper said. The door clicked shut behind her as she pushed past Amon into the room and kneeled to study the monster’s limp figure.
The sphinx had the large body of a lion and the eerily human face of a middle-aged woman, hair tied back in a severe bun and foundation caked onto her high cheekbones. Fangs jutted out of her red-painted lips, and eagle wings sprouted out of the space between her shoulder blades, folded tight against her back.
“Monsters dissolve into dust when they die,” Amon remarked, keeping his distance as he watched the subtle rise and fall of the monster’s ribs. “She must have been knocked unconscious.”
“Right,” Harper agreed, “The real question is who. And why.”
She hovered a hand over the cat's shoulder, set on rousing her. Before she made contact, the sphinx's eyes snapped open, round irises surrounded by shocking yellow sclera.
"Slain!" she wailed. Harper staggered backwards. Amon’s arms instinctively reached out to catch her, but she didn’t stumble near enough to make contact. "I am slain!"
With feline grace, the sphinx rose to her feet. A white tape outline marked the placement of her previously prone body on the floor. The muscles in her legs rippled as she paced in front of Harper and Amon, massive velvet paws silent against the carpet.
"And you, my dear heroes," she roared, eyes narrowed in an accusatory glare, "were too late to save me!"
The sphinx sniffed, composing herself. She leapt onto a wooden table. The table legs creaked underneath her weight. "Fear not," she tutted, "Fear not. For you can still avenge me. If you are able to determine the murderer and their weapon, then I will obtain justice, and all will be right with the world.”
“Your riddle is a murder mystery,” Harper said, confusion written across her face. Amon raised an eyebrow. The sphinx chuffed, a low rumbling sound reminiscent of laughter.
“You sought that hackneyed question about man? The Sphinx that the storytellers remember is far less adaptive than I am. I am not interested in your ability to regurgitate the information you have read. Nor am I interested in taking advantage of the nonsensical rules of your English language.”
“I am here to satisfy my own curiosity: does modern mankind still possess the ability to engage in deductive reasoning, or do they only seek to make themselves appear intelligent? Do not speak,” the sphinx said, a pointed look at Harper, who had opened her mouth to interject, “You will answer my questions when you play my game.”
“The potential murder weapons are scattered throughout this room,” she continued, leaping off the table. “And the suspects have already provided their testimonies for your review. Rest assured, I have made certain that their statements contain no lies.”
A shimmering, translucent energy began to swirl around Harper and Amon’s feet, beginning to take shape as holograms with a flickering, ephemeral quality.
A projection of Cerberus materialized first, his three massive heads snarling and snapping in unison. A ribbon of text appeared by his paws to translate his growling: "I was guarding the entrance, my duty unbroken."
Next came the Minotaur, his towering form pacing within the labyrinth on Crete. He snorted and pawed at the ground, the holographic maze shifting behind him in the background. The translation text appeared: "Confined within these walls, no escape for me."
Lamia's projection flickered into view, her serpentine lower half coiled around her as she wept in her cave. She glanced mournfully at the holographic images of her lost children: "My grief consumes me, innocent of this crime."
A shimmering Hydra emerged next, its nine heads snapping at invisible foes. Each one moved independently, showcasing its ability to act on its own. The translation for the hissing head at the center read: "Engaged in battle, I could not have killed."
Typhon materialized with a thunderous roar, his colossal form fighting against restraints under Mount Etna. His immense size and power were palpable, even in scaled down holographic form: "Bound by chains of the earth, I could not have roamed free."
Echidna’s hologram appeared last, her form a mix of human and serpent, lounging in a dimly lit cave. She looked directly at the viewers, her expression both defiant and amused. The translation text by her side read: “I dwell in my lair, uninvolved in such petty affairs.”
The sphinx swiped at the last projection as it faded, deeming her handiwork satisfactory. “There is not enough information to deduce the killer using evidence alone. Because I am fair, I will provide you with three hints before your final guess. Be forewarned: if you fail to provide a correct answer, you will both perish. Is this understood?”
Harper spoke. “If we answer correctly, you will leave this library for good.”
“If you answer correctly, I will permanently relocate. It is a preferable option in comparison to another death. Now, do you agree to the terms and conditions?” the sphinx said primly, regarding Harper and Amon with casual disdain. The pair nodded. “Very well.”
The sphinx dropped onto the floor and let her head loll back, pretending to be dead once more.
Hint #1

Suspects	Weapons
Cerberus	The Shirt of Nessus
The Minotaur	Siren Song
Lamia	Harpy Talon
The Hydra	Celestial Bronze Sword
Typhon	A-C Encyclopedia
Echidna	Cerberus Fang

Soon after the Sphinx had laid back down, Harper and Amon began to scour the room. A small pile of prospective murder weapons formed on a nearby table.
“We can easily eliminate the siren song,” Amon rushed to speak over Harper, eyeing the small glass vial of swirling gray matter that they had found nestled behind a row of books on metalworking. “It is a luring mechanism, not a murder weapon.”
“We could rule out Cerberus’ fang too,” he pointed at the enormous yellowing tooth, about the size of the small baseball bat Amon used to have when he played in the little league. “If we take the hologram as ground truth, all of his teeth were intact there.”
Harper used her kopis to prod at the stained tunic that had been hidden in a desk drawer, being careful not to touch it with bare skin. “The Shirt of Nessus is a viable option. It would be easy for any of the suspects to lay it down and wait for the hydra venom to kick in.”
“I am not ready to rule out the bronze sword either,” Amon noted. “Monsters have access to heroes and the weapons they leave behind.”
“Most of these monsters don’t even have opposable thumbs,” Harper argued, running a hand over the sword they had found by a power outlet. ”They don’t have the dexterity to wield a sword.”
“I do not imagine that the technicality would be that granular.”
Harper laughed. “Oh, the number of teeth in the Cerberus hologram tell all, but we’re drawing the line at opposable thumbs.”
“I suppose that that logic would also rule out the harpy talon and the encyclopedia easily as well,” Amon admitted. “Which would be too easy.”
“I’m just that good at logical deduction.” Harper said proudly. “If my assumption is correct, then the poisoned shirt is the only one that makes sense.”
Amon scoffed, folding his arms across his chest as his dark eyes bored into Harper. “It would not necessarily matter what our first guess would be anyway.”
“Can you provide an argument for any other weapon? Or are you intent on purposely making an illogical guess?” she countered cooly.
“Fine,” Amon acquiesced. “Since you are so adamant about the shirt, we can guess the shirt, and be incorrect. It does not matter. What about the suspects themselves?” He clasped his hands behind his back, his steps measured as he started to pace across the plush red carpet of the room.
Harper smiled, smugly accepting her victory. She strode towards a chalkboard at the side of the study room, inscribing the list of weapons and suspects with a fresh piece of white chalk.
“All of them have alibis,“ she began. “I think that-”
“Some make more sense than others,” Amon spoke over Harper, irritated by her minor triumph. “Cerberus, for example, is under the service of Hades. He says he did not leave his post, and he could not have done so without permission or dire consequences on the process of the dead.”
Harper silently seethed as Amon spoke, meeting his rationale with reluctant acceptance before starting again in a louder, exaggerated tone. “I think that the ones with the shakiest alibis are Lamia, the Minotaur, Typhon, and Echidna. No witnesses can confirm their locations. In fact, Lamia provides no location at all.” Harper circled those names. She looked at Amon with a forced smile, allowing him a moment to provide more commentary.
“Lamia? Well,” there was a hint of mockery in the sneer that tugged on the corner of Amon’s lips. “I would imagine her emotions rendered her… Too fragile and unstable to carry out such an act.”
“You’re kidding,” Harper scoffed, searching Amon's face for the slightest hint that he was joking. “Her grief is what moved her to kill children in the first place. I doubt it would suddenly be incapacitating. She’s just appealing to your sense of superiority, and I can’t believe that you’re falling for it.”
"It is not about superiority. It is about logic," Amon retorted, bristling in defense. “You cannot deny that emotions cloud judgment. Maybe the sphinx wants us to leverage our knowledge about her past crimes to reason that she was not thinking clearly in this case either.” Amon had no other evidence that pointed towards Lamia as the top suspect, but he had dug deep enough where he was now ready to stand firm in his reasoning.
“Murder,” Harper countered, eyes narrowed in a venomous stare, “-does not require you to think clearly. Haven’t you heard of a crime of passion? If anyone’s judgment is clouded right now, Amon, it’s yours.”
The son of Apollo squared his shoulders, his expression hardening. "I understand the concept of crimes of passion, thank you.” His dark-eyed stare returned Harper's gaze, unflinching at the intensity. “But our investigation must be rooted in facts, not assumptions based on emotions. And the facts are,” he resumed his pacing once more, “that Lamia cannot be the culprit, as she is the only suspect that openly admits to being innocent of this crime.”
Amon had considered this from the very start, but provoking Harper like this had proved to be far more amusing.
Harper crossed Lamia’s name off of the board. She swallowed down her anger, fighting the urge to continue pressing the issue in favor of returning to their list of suspects. She pointed her piece of chalk at the next names on the list. “The Minotaur and Typhon are trapped, or so they say. How could they have done anything?”
“Their alibis revolve around their inability to escape,” Amon pointed out. “Not that they were unable to commit murder. The Labyrinth, in fact,” he raised a dramatic finger, “has several moving passages that could have permitted the Minotaur to move and commit murder without an official escape.”
Harper considered his words for a long moment, trying to find the flaw in his reasoning. Seeing none, she placed a dot next to the Minotaurs's name.
“Typhon escaped his prison in the Second Titanomachy. He could do it again,” Harper said thoughtfully. “Though I don’t understand why he would do something like this. He’s the Sphinx's father. The same goes for Echidna.”
Amon, who had been nodding at Harper’s assessment of Typhon’s abilities, pursed his lips at her observation of parentage. “I do not see how this could possibly be relevant to the logical puzzle at hand.”
Harper spoke slowly, as if the answer was obvious. “What motive would they have to kill their own daughter?”
“Harper,” Amon began curtly, folding his arms across his chest. “Half of the Greek myths revolve around immortals killing their own children.”
“Then we should pick one of them,” Harper declared, pivoting her argument instead of admitting her logical blunder. “They would have more of a motive than the rest of the suspects, if anything.”
“The Minotaur can escape much more easily than Typhon can. Motive aside, it is the most logical guess,” Amon concluded, adjusting his collar haughtily. “I will remind you that we picked your choice of weapon. It is only fair that I select the monster.”
“Fine.” Harper agreed, her gaze stormy as she turned back towards the sphinx. “We accuse the Minotaur of killing the sphinx with the Shirt of Nessus.”
The sphinx opened one eye. “None of these are correct!”
Hint #2

Suspects	Weapons
Cerberus	The Shirt of Nessus
The Minotaur	Siren Song
Lamia	Harpy Talon
The Hydra	Celestial Bronze Sword
Typhon	A-C Encyclopedia
Echidna	Cerberus Fang

“Two more hints left.” Harper announced, crossing off the Minotaur’s name and the poisoned shirt on the chalkboard with a flourish. It was not ideal that her initial logical deductions had been incorrect, but at least Amon had also been wrong. She couldn't resist a snide comment. “I knew it wasn’t the Minotaur.”
“So you still think it’s Typhon.” Choosing to ignore Harper’s taunting, Amon rested his hand on a nearby desk, studying the lists on the chalkboard before him. He had taken the Minotaur error as a personal failure, and was determined to get the suspect right this time.
“I do.”
“Why not Echidna?”
“She’s too emotional to kill someone, obviously.” Harper said sarcastically. “Her frail female arms are probably too weak to even hold a weapon.”
The dark-haired boy rolled his eyes. “Objectively,” he began, ignoring her quip once more, “Typhon could not have lied about his inability to roam free. A natural disaster freed him from Mount Etna during the Second Titanomachy, but he could not recreate those conditions on his own.” Though his tone remained aloof, it was clear that Amon was relishing in the opportunity to flaunt his mythology knowledge.
“Maybe,” Harper argued, stubborn. “But Echidna’s statement was less ambiguous than his. Typhon just explains his predicament; he doesn't provide a real claim. Echidna explicitly says she was not involved.” She thought for a few more moments, rolling the piece of chalk in her hands. “Echidna could have released him? They would be accomplices.”
Amon shook his head. “There was a single murderer. Not two. The sphinx would not lie about the premise of the game.”
Harper stared at him coldly, but could offer no rebuttal. She turned her attention to the board. “Typhon is a giant. He’s capable of using the sword.”
“But the specificity of Echidna’s denial is still incredibly suspicious. ‘Petty affairs’ is a strange way to phrase a murder. But,” Amon added reluctantly, “I understand the logic behind Typhon. I suppose it is your turn to choose the monster, and we will still have another guess to work with.”
“As for the weapon,” he continued, “I still think the sword is the most viable option, given that the siren song and the fang can be ruled out and the shirt with the venom was, well,” Amon pursed his lips, fighting the urge to smile, “incorrect.”
Before Harper could interject, Amon turned towards the sphinx at the front of the room. “We accuse Typhon of killing the sphinx with a Celestial Bronze Sword.”
“One of these is correct!”
Hint #3

Suspects	Weapons
Cerberus	The Shirt of Nessus
The Minotaur	Siren Song
Lamia	Harpy Talon
The Hydra	Celestial Bronze Sword
Typhon	A-C Encyclopedia
Echidna	Cerberus Fang

“Aha!” Amon raised a triumphant finger before pointing it at Harper. “I told you,” he gloated, “Typhon had no escape route.”
“You were right,” Harper admitted, staring down at the carpet so that she would not have to look at his smug expression.
“Let’s get this over with,” she muttered, and turned back towards the lioness with crossed arms. “We accuse Echidna of killing the sphinx with a Celestial Bronze Sword”
“One of these is correct,” the sphinx announced. Her mouth twisted in amusement, fangs bared in a menacing smile.
READ PART 2 HERE

Hey reddit! I'm a 38 year old latin guy from Washington DC. Honesty is the best policy so I'll make it known now that I'm not looking for platonic friends, I'm looking for a romantic partner. Buckle up, because I'm about to unveil why I may or may not be the right partner for you in a classic listicle style that all you youngin's love.
About Me:
^{You'll never believe number 6!}

1. I'm a bit of a stoner. It's true, your boy loves himself some marijuana. (In fact, I just did a 20mg edible) I endeavor to never let it take over my life, but it aids a lot in #2 on this list. I'm also not a stranger to the very occasional mushroom trip.
2. I'm a true creative. Left to my own devices in an empty room, I would constantly create new things. Whether that be drawing, writings, photography, music or stoner ideas. It's my true nature to be a creative and to stifle that part of myself makes me pretty sad. Fortunately, I get to create on a daily basis. which brings me to..
3. I have the kindest heart. I see life through rose colored glasses, some may say. I just believe in the good in people. I think most people are good and those that are bad are redeemable. Whether someone is ultra religious, a different political affiliation, good, bad, ugly, whatever...I believe in getting to know them for myself and making my own decision of them. As a friend I always stick by my friends, no matter what. Friends in my life are friends for life, even if we lose touch. There is a downside to all this...it's that sometimes people take advantage of me. I don't care. When confronted with the choice to be loving or to be cruel or apathetic, I will always choose loving.
4. I make people laugh. Comedy and jokes have always been a part of me. Maybe it's the fact that I'm a middle child and craved attention or the fact that I grew up in a city where I had to be quick on my feet, but I love to make people laugh. This is best done in person but there can be humor over the internet too. :)
5. I don't take myself too seriously. I'm a talented person in my field and it's important for me to let go of my ego. There isn't a single person that I can't learn from and at my best I'm always open to listen to people's opinions of me or my creative work.
6. I see beauty in everyone, including you. If you hadn't guessed by now, I'm a photographer. I'm into portraits and I value my connection with people one-on-one and I think that's what makes me a talented portrait photographer. I often hear people talk about the things they hate about themselves but try to reflect to them their true beauty. The beauty that was always there and that they need to be reconnected to.
7. I'm culturally Latino. My parents are from El Salvador, but I was born and raised in DC. I have the experience of being born into a family of immigrants and understand the duality of living in two different worlds. While Spanish was my first language, it is not what I consider to be my native tongue. While I understand all Spanish, all my Spanish is food related.
8. I've done the self work. It's true. I'm not a man that punches walls, gets drunk and cries, will cheat on you, lie to you or a myriad of other things that toxic people do. I am not without faults, of course, but I have worked my demons out for the most part. I'm very self-aware and open to criticism and change.
9. I'm honest 99.5% of the time. Anyone professing to be honest 100% of the time is a liar. Ask me directly and I'll tell you my last big lie.
10. I know where I want to be in life. I'm close to getting there too. I've been at it for 13 years now and I feel that success is imminent. Will you be a part of it?

So what are you waiting for? Dust off that old keyboard, pound away at a few keys, and get ready to embark on an unforgettable adventure brought to you by (as they said in my day) the world wide web.
P.S - I'm 6'2. I should've started with that.

As the title says, I'm pretty devastated about the Kamvas 19. It's essentially exactly what I wanted in a screen tablet down to things like the size, pens, resolution, and especially the touch. I was so excited and hyped myself up so hard but I definitely didn't take people's warnings about the blurriness seriously enough! Coming from a Surface Pro 8, sharp pixels were what I was used to and after a few hours of trying, I just don't think my brain works with the softer pixels of the 19. I just don't know how they decided it was a good idea! Everything else about the tablet is literally perfect, why essentially put the 4k screen through a filter for the sake of slightly different anti-glare? I'm probably going to return it, if anybody has suggestions for the 19 or similar products with a better screen and hopefully touch then let me know, thank you! Are all similar tablets blurry like this? Should I just start getting used to it?

Cease-fire (noun) a temporary pause during hostilities where peace is discussed and fresh troops are tactically deployed to gain the upper hand when hostilities resume.
"Does she have a sister?"
The human body, in a fight-or-flight situation, will send signals to increase oxygen resulting in the widening of the blood vessels to allow a greater flow of blood indicated by the reddening of Robert's face. This wasn't the first time someone asked either. Derrick was the first person to notice that Robert had not returned to his bunk and, spurred on by curiosity mixed with a touch of fear, a search party was organized. Robert had been observed exiting Sorcha's quarters, receiving a passionate kiss as he left, and entered the bay to a round of cheering and lewd comments.
"It just sort of.... happened." Robert replied under his breath.
"Calm down Rob im just picking at you, nobody expected you to move so fast is all." Jacob commented.
"I didn't... She... its kind of a blur. "Robert tried to explain.
"She... at you?" Hobbs asked. "Well... Now I really want to know."
"Get the men to chow," Robert ordered. "I need a shower."
"Cold showers are a myth Robert!" Hobbs called after him.
/////
"It will take a couple days at our fastest speed, but we will get you there." Captain Blanchard answered.
"I don't doubt you Captain," Robert replied, "I'm just curious how long we have aboard. Do you have a cargo bay we can use for training?"
"What kind of training did you have in mind Colonel?" Captain Blanchard inquired.
"Marksmanship and movement drills if possible, hip pocket training if not, and we could all use some exercise if anything." Robert replied.
"We do have access to the gym Rob," Thomas pointed out, "and a workout rotation has already been created."
"Thank you for reminding me," Robert replied, "and thank you for making that happen. I'll find an open time for myself after breakfast."
"Derrick made the schedule yesterday when we was at dinner." Jacob commented.
Robert raised an eyebrow at that. Derrick was good in a fight, he knocking out a diplomat before telling the parole board off if Robert remembered correctly, but it wasn't like him to take initiative.
"Another matter if I may." Captain Blanchard began. "I know all of you are very fond of Robert and would follow him to hell and back if he ordered it, but it would be best if you started addressing each other properly. For instance, Robert holds the rank of Colonel and should be addressed as 'Sir' or Colonel Grant. It's a common military practice with a millennium of tradition behind it. Lower officer ranks should also be addressed in the same fashion accordingly. Since you have time to train, military bearing should also be part of that."
"Good point Sir." Robert replied.
Captain Blanchard smiled a little at Robert. "You and I have an equivalent rank so rank and last name is all that would be required."
"So I'd be Captain Hobbs or sir?" Hobbs asked.
"Last name." Robert interjected.
"Hobbs is my last name sir." Hobbs replied.
"What's your first name?" Jacob asked.
"First names the reason I go by my last name." Hobbs replied.
"Which is..." Robert pressed.
Hobbs tried to melt into the dining room chair. "Any you laugh we gonna have words later." Hobbs said.
Nobody was impressed by the empty threat.
"My daddy liked to read a lot, old books mostly, stuff from way back. He'd even read them to me after I came along, and he told me he named me Cy after one of his favorite people."
"Captain Hobbs," Captain Blanchard said with a smile, "Cy is short for Cyrus, the name of several emperors in ancient Persia."
Hobbs nodded.
"I know that sir, and thanks for not laughing, but I wasn't named after a king, my full first name is Cyrano."
"How big was his..." Robert started to ask, but decided to change the subject due to the look on Hobbs' face.
"Can we use the gym for battle drills?" Robert asked instead.
"Yes, of course." Captain Blanchard replied a little too quickly.
The rest of Breakfast was finished in silence.
/////
"Like Cyrano De Bergerac?" Derrick asked quietly.
"Yeah." Robert replied.
"His nose ain't that big." Derrick commented.
"That's not what I wanted to talk about, I heard you made the schedule for the Gym rotation." Robert said, changing the subject.
"Yeah... yes sir." Derrick replied. "There's a space for you already written in."
"Thanks but I was curious as to why?" Robert asked.
"Seemed like a good idea, just like a lot of the other stuff I've been doing." Derrick said.
"Yeah, your name came up a few times about work rotation as well, and I wanted to make sure you were okay with handling that for me." Robert said.
"No problem Sir, it's just something I started doing." Derrick said offhandedly.
"Good to hear," Robert replied, handing him a small envelope.
"What's this Sir?" Derrick asked.
"You're compensation Captain." Robert replied with a smile.
Derrick's eyes widened in shock, just as Robert had expected. His days of pretending to slack off while making sure everyone was taken care of were over, and Derrick knew it.
"We need another Captain, you're it."

This is an update to a previous post I made that I can’t seem to link. I am a window & Gutters cleaner, whilst full time in my van. I recently offered an opportunity to people in this community to make money anytime in their own time. Now I almost have a 6 weekly window cleaning round that I am trying to push to an 8 weekly, now this involves door knocking and speaking to people to get more customers (it’s has always been this way, I’m 20 years in the trade) I’m now very comfortable with approaching people but I can only do so much whilst keeping my business going. So we offer you the full amount of any first clean carried out to whoever provides us the work, now I’m not surprised that this spooks a lot of people entering properties and speaking to householders, but this form of work I’m offering was mentioned alongside the likes of a Ponzi schemes. I’ll be honest now, the only catch in this form of what some would call “sales” is that you have to be HARD mentally, confident, consistent, positive and this comes and goes.. me and my co worker like to call it our “mojo”. Sometimes one of us hasn’t got our mojo but we keep going and we always guarantee to pick up the work, despite how we are feeling. So anyway for the ones who said this form of work isn’t “lucrative” for my fellow vanlifers, today having dropped my wife and son off at the airport at 2am i arrived into a familiar area in my home on wheels a little late in the morning, so I decided not to go out and clean windows, instead I said this afternoon would be dedicated to canvassing. 12pm - 8pm to be precise me and my coworker went to work, on a whim. So what did the 2 of us pick up? With myself running on 3 hours sleep and zero mojo? So we basically threw a dart at the map at this point and the first stranger we knocked was soon a new customer before we knew it we had a cuppa in both our hands and she had my Boston terrier running around her house
That’s £40 every 8 weeks guaranteed and booked in starting Monday, good start. Old brown mini estate in the drive, wont forget that one!
After some pottering around some lanes less than an hour later, another old MINI! In the drive! What are the chances? Another £60 booked in every 8 weeks starting Monday. Thats now £100 of new work. ( this householder here, very well off, paid for the actual equipment us windows cleaners use and the top of the range gutter vacuum that our cleaning industry use, £1000s in the best equipment and still booked in our 8 weekly service because none of this cleaning business is as straight forward as you think)
Now some more searching, knocking, soliciting went by before we found a chicken farm that employs 30 people. Cut a long story short £55 booked in on an 8 weekly basis, again…starting Monday.
Now at this point my mojo was taking a pounding, the mental barrier was strong on 3 hours sleep, why? Because the previous jobs were booked in by my co worker, he was on fire. What was I running on? About 5 “will let you know” jobs that gives your mojo a good kicking whilst it’s down.
But as always you do get there in the end, I got a bungalow booked in. His wife just recently told him this week that he needs to get a window cleaner but he told me himself “I wasn’t gonna go and find a window cleaner so I just thought I would wait until One comes to me” So what does that tell you? they’re expecting you to knock on the door and I did! £22 on the round booked in , 8 weekly. Monday. ladies and gentlemen!
So here we are four jobs deep into our notepads. My coworker can’t pass a pub so we had a break. But myself with my Mojo in tatters needed some extra reviving so I carried on alone. I took Blue, my Boston terrier with me and carried on knocking doors. (Rejection was definitely happening) so I came across this fabulous new build with Glass balconies galore, I had to try but all I could tell myself is “now this guy has already got a window cleaner”but no before you know it £80 job booked in 8 weekly. Starting when? You got it Monday. So I gave him my YouTube channel just to verify that I’m not just a stranger, but I’m actually very good at my job and take it seriously. Did I forget to mention I have a YouTube channel and TikTok to verify and back me up? I won’t promote it here but DM me if you have any questions.
But we are not finished yet after my coworker had a couple of pints we moved on did a little more but I don’t wanna make this too long so I’ll say we picked up another £15 House and an £18 house and called it a day and I didn’t even mention our fish and chips break.
I concede it was eight hours work, but it was a very chilled out eight hours work that involved a pub break, fish and chips and numerous dog walks. So just having conversations and driving. What does the total bring us to? Going off the top of my head I know the sum was £295 so I have missed £5 somewhere. But there you have it two people without even hardly trying picked up £295 worth of work. For you crazy, wonderful van lifers who are willing to give anything a go… that’s £142.50 each person in the bank. Is that lucrative? For a van lifer I’d say so but I’m out of touch with the real world is that even a wage these days? Anyway could be more not often less in our experience! I didn’t even mention the householders who pulled out the “I will let you know” card or “I’ll ask the other half” because IF they all called me back your looking at £150 again to be added. Lets see if they do
So what do you need to start? A voice, pen and paper.
I’m only saying this because I see many ask “what do you all do for money?”
Well, this is me personally offering you cash in the bank. I can tell you how you could just try it out for an hour a day a week a month it’s up to you. You don’t have to do anything at all. You don’t have to bother but I’m telling you, it’s worth your time to know about this so you can earn money on the road at any time.
I’ve got all the tricks to pick up new customers and I have the lingo and I am an introvert so don’t tell me it can’t be done. You can do it. Anyone can do it
I even pay £10 per gutter clean and they are even easier to pick up.
I totally understand the hesitation. But like I said, you can say what you like…This is a legitimate exchange for time and money. It would only take you one day to find out with nothing to lose. The only thing stopping you from making money this way is your attitude and approach to it and I know it seems I’m on my high horse about this.. but really I would like to help anyone who wants to know more and of course I get something out of it (growing my client base) but I will continue to push you where the money is if you ever need it. Like I said i have a YouTube you could take a look at you could see I’m busy cleaning windows and Gutters satisfying customers all day every day, don’t get much time to talk to people door-to-door but still do it every day no problem. I do it every day no problem just with what little time I have left to do it.
Thanks for taking time to read this. I am just offering you some way to earn cash and if you needed it I would train you and show you and pay you in person for a day a week or a month even I a few DM’s. It’s up to you.. It’s up to you. Simple!
Try me!
Here below is the old post with the nose up neysayers below. They don’t know any better, it’s fine!

At the world’s top college of magic and technology, every day brings a new discovery -and a new disaster. The advanced experiments of the college students tend to be both ambitious and apocalyptic, with the end of the world only prevented by a mysterious time loop, and a small handful of students who retain their memories.
Surviving the loops was hard enough, but now, in his senior year, Vell Harlan must take charge of them, and deal with the fact that the whole world now knows his secrets. Everyone knows about Vell’s death and resurrection, along with the divine game he is a part of. Now Vell must contend with overly curious scientists and evil billionaires hungry for divine power while the daily doomsday cycle bombards him with terrorists, talking elephants, and the Grim Reaper himself -but if he can endure it all, the Last Goddess’s game promises the ultimate prize: power over life itself.
[Previous Chapter][Patreon][Cover Art]
“Four years on and the headache still sucks,” Vell groaned to himself.
Though most of the loopers had managed to make it to midnight alive, they had nothing to show for it but headaches. They had not succeeded in digging Cane out of the rubble, or investigating his apparent ghost theory in any other way. That was a complication, but not a fatal one. They had some leads to work with, at least, and Vell knew where to get started on the ghost angle. Vell gladly made the call that would get them started.
“Goooooood morning Mr. Harlan,” Harley chimed. “What’s happening?”
“Frog invasions, among other problems,” Vell grumbled.
“Oh, that’s a time loop headache if I ever heard it,” Harley said. She’d run into that affliction more than a few times.
“Yeah, it’s not great,” Vell said. “Listen, do you still have Garrett’s number?”
“Ooh, ghost problems, eh?” Harley said. “I’ll text it to you.”
“Thanks. I kind of got to get right to it, so I’ll have to give you the details later, alright? Love you, Harley.”
“Love you too, bud,” Harley said. “Say hi to Garret for me.”
Vell hung up the first call and braced himself for the second. He liked Garret, but he could also be a lot to deal with -a fact well-demonstrated by the phone call beginning with Garret’s theme music blaring over the phone. Once the bombastic rock and roll stopped, Vell was disappointed to hear a mechanical beep indicate the start of an answering machine message.
“Hi, you’ve reached Garret Geist, Ghost Getter,” the message said, in Garrett’s usual southern california drawl. “I’m currently on a long-term submersible mission to exorcise the ghosts of shipwreck victims who’ve been trapped undersea for centuries.”
“What?”
Vell knew it was a recording, but needed to voice his offense anyway. It was hard to truly be mad knowing Garrett was doing something so incredibly heroic, though.
“I should be back to the surface and ready to help in a few days, so please leave a message and I’ll get to you as soon as I can!”
The automated message clicked again and fell silent. Vell hung up the phone and let out a low groan of despair.
“Okay, we’re not screwed yet,” Vell said. “Just need to wait a bit.”
Vell brushed his teeth and rushed through breakfast, and then, right on cue, heard a knock on his door. He whipped it open to find a bothersome scientist once again at his door.
“Hi, good morning,” Vell said, as he opened the door. “You here to bother me about Quenay?”
“I- uh, I have some very interesting theories.”
“I’m sure you do,” Vell said. “If you can just hold on one second…”
Vell paused and waited. The bothersome student also waited, at least for a few seconds.
“What exactly are we waiting for?”
“This.”
Cane grabbed the student by the collar and yanked them away from the door. Vell invited him in and slammed the door shut behind them to really drive the point home.
“Thank you for that,” Vell said. “Did you need something?”
“Just to talk to you,” Cane said. “I was trying to get people together to hang out tonight. Figured you’d want in, if you’re not too busy.”
“I could probably make it, I just have to…”
Vell froze. He really should’ve come up with these lies in advance.
“You good, Vell?”
“I, uh, sorry, just losing track of things, mentally,” Vell said. “I’ve had a lot of people, uh, ask me for help with things.”
“What kind of things?” Cane said. “You need a hand?”
“Maybe.”
Vell contemplated how to proceed for a moment, and then figured he’d probably built up enough good will with Cane over the past four years he could just dive right in.
“You ever heard about frog ghosts?”
“Yeah,” Cane said, without so much as blinking.
“Oh, cool,” Vell said. “What about them?”
“Well, hold on, are you talking about frog ghosts as in the ghost of frogs, or a ghost related to frogs?”
“Either or, I guess?”
“Okay, because I don’t know anything about any ghostly frogs,” Cane said. “There is supposedly the ghost of a guy obsessed with frogs on campus, though.”
“Interesting. Tell me about the frog guy.”
“I don’t know all the details, it was kind of an urban legend even when my brother came here about a decade back,” Cane said. “All he ever told me was the this frog-obsessed sophomore died while studying, and he haunts the basement of the sophomore dorms, I guess. ‘Some say you can still hear faint croaking in the basement’ and all that horror story shit.”
“Interesting,” Vell said, again. “Let me look into that and we’ll circle back later, alright? I gotta go, see you.”
“Vell-”
“Sorry, kind of in a hurry, bud,” Vell said, as he left and shut the door behind.
“This is your dorm, dude,” Cane said.
***
“You were not exaggerating about this headache,” Alex said.
“We warned you,” Kim said. “Man, it’s almost better to die.”
“How do you have a headache, you’re made of metal!”
“It’s complicated,” Kim said. Her synthetic body did not spare her from the time loop headache, no matter how she rebuilt herself.
“Good morning everyone,” Helena said, as she whacked the door open with a crutch. “What did I miss?”
“Quiet down a little, please” Hawke said.
“Why?”
“Do you not have a headache too?”
“No, I died pretty early,” Helena said. “Got a frog on me.”
“You died from a frog touching you? What condition do you have that causes that?”
“Well it was a poison dart frog, so I guess ‘being alive’,” Helena said. Samson pursed his lips and said nothing. “What did you all get up to while I was busy being dead?”
“Vell found out the frogs were summoned by a weird frog-obsessed ghost,” Hawke said. “He apparently knows a guy who might be able to help.”
The loopers then proceeded to relax and chat about frogs, ghosts, and other miscellaneous topics for about seven minutes, which made it a lot less dramatic when Vell barged in and announced Garret would be unable to help.
“Oh come on,” Kim snapped. “What’s the point of knowing a ghost hunter if he never helps hunt ghosts?”
“He’s on some undersea mission to rescue lost souls,” Vell said. “Which makes it really hard to be mad at him.”
“And yet I manage,” Kim said. She didn’t begrudge Garret personally, but she had been hoping for their first easy win of the year. All the apocalypses thus far had been a major pain in the ass.
“Aren’t you people supposed to be able to handle things like this?”
“Yes, Alex, and we will,” Vell said. “Just would’ve been nice to have a professional on the job.”
“I’ll get the ghostbusting stuff ready,” Hawke sighed. He would’ve loved a chance to outsource their daily nonsense.
“Keep it on standby for now,” Vell said. “Ghosts have unfinished business or regrets. If we can help our ghost deal with whatever frog-related business he’s got going on, maybe we can fix this without having to bust anyone.”
“That’s your plan?” Alex said. “Be nice to the ghost that crushed a building and hope it goes away?”
“Yes,” Vell said, with a completely straight face. “And busting is plan B.”
“Bustin’ makes me feel good,” Hawke sang, as he grabbed all their various ghostbusting gear.
“True professionals at work,” Alex scoffed. Everyone else rolled their eyes and got back to work.
“Vell is an old pro at being nice to people,” Kim said. “Just ask Helena’s sister.”
“Don’t pat yourself on the back, Joan’s incredibly susceptible to manipulation,” Helena said. It was disturbing she’d say that, and even more disturbing she knew that. “That said, anyone dumb enough to get stuck as a ghost for decades will probably buy into your routine just as easily.”
“Thanks for your input,” Vell said. “I’m just going to go ahead and get started.”
He said that both because it was important and because it was an excuse to get away from Alex and Helena faster.
“Need any backup?” Samson asked, for similar reasons.
“I’ll check it out solo first,” Vell said. Historically speaking, he was the best people-pleaser, a dubious honor at best, but one that came in handy when dealing with a frog-summoning ghost. “I’ll let you know if I need backup.”
“Or busting,” Hawke said.
“Or busting,” Vell agreed. “I have to find out where the ghost is, for starters. I’ll be in touch soon.”
***
Finding the lair of the ghost was the first hurdle. As it turned out, the sophomore dorms had a lot of basements. Every building on campus had a lot of basements, so Vell was not all that surprised. At least these basements didn’t have booby traps or old experiment equipment in them. They mostly just had a lot of junk. Vell kicked aside some old food wrappers and scanned the room.
“Why do people treat these empty rooms like dumping grounds?”
“People are usually different when they think no one is watching.”
Vell whipped around and saw a transparent head poking through one of the nearby walls. A ghost if Vell had ever seen one.
“Oh, hi,” Vell said. “Uh, weird question, how do you feel about frogs?”
“I’m ambivalent at best,” the ghost said. “Are you looking for the frog guy? Because he haunts two rooms over.”
The ghost pointed to the right, down the hall, and Vell looked that way.
“Thanks,” Vell said. He took a few steps towards the door before spinning around to face the other ghost again. “Uh, do you need any help like, moving on? Finishing unfinished business?”
“Nah, we get wifi down here, so I don’t mind just chilling,” the ghost said. “Thanks for offering though.”
The ghost drew back into the wall and vanished from sight. While Vell was painfully curious as to how a ghost accessed wifi, he decided it was time to move on. The frog ghost was apparently close by, after all.
Vell followed the wifi ghost’s directions and hopped two doors down, barging into a subterranean room that was uncomfortably moist and smelled of mud and rainwater. Condensation dripped from the ceiling and onto Vell’s back, sending an unpleasant shiver down his spine. Unlike other rooms, this one was completely free of any garbage, but Vell took no comfort in that.
“Hello? Anybody home?”
A chill ran down Vell’s spine that definitely was not another drop of water. He waited two seconds, took a deep breath, and turned around.
“Hello.”
Vell was just inches away from another transparent face. This one had a slight green tint, with wide set eyes and a broad, flat mouth. Vell wondered if the similarities to a frog had been there during this person’s life, or if they just liked frogs so much their ghost had slowly shifted to reflect their passion.
“Hey! Hi, uh, nice to meet you,” Vell mumbled. “I’m Vell.”
“I’m Raine.”
“Neat, nice name,” Vell said. If Raine noticed the awkward hesitation in the compliment, he didn’t show it. “So, uh, I was wondering, well, I heard you were the guy to ask about frogs.”
The already wide eyes of the ghost got even wider, and visible excitement trembled through their spectral form. Vell began to think he may have made a mistake.
***
“So even though it’s the biggest frog in the America’s, the helmeted water toad is still only half the size of the Goliath frog,” Raine said. “Which must be wild for the helmeted water toad. Could you imagine crossing an ocean and finding out the people who live there are literally twice your size?”
“Must be pretty mindblowing, yeah,” Vell said.
“And that’s not even going into the real extremes,” Raine said. “Do you remember our pal P. Amauensis?”
“How could I forget,” Vell said, about something he had definitely forgotten.
“Not just the world’s smallest frog, but maybe the world’s smallest vertebrate,” Raine said. “Only seven point seven millimeters long, a literal fraction of the Goliath frog! Could you imagine meeting someone who’s only as big as your toe?”
“I actually did, once,” Vell said. “Shrink ray.”
“Oh. Was...was it weird?”
“A little,” Vell said.
“Wow. You almost know what it’s like to be a Goliath frog meeting a P. Amauensis,” Raine said. “I’m so jealous.”
“Yeah, I’ve done a lot of interesting stuff,” Vell said. “What about you, what’d you get up to when you weren’t studying frogs?”
Raine tilted his spectral head and stared blankly at Vell.
“You did do things other than study frogs, right?”
“Not if I could help it,” Raine said.
“Okay, uh...what did you like to eat?”
“Oh, I just ate food whenever I was hungry,” Raine said. “What I really liked to do was gather samples of different bugs and other frog dietary staples, so I could try to get a sense of their diet for myself.”
“Like, cooked bugs, or just raw, living bugs,” Vell said. He’d eaten a few different varieties of cooked bugs, just for the experience, but couldn’t imagine eating raw insects.
“If I could find them, yeah, live ones,” Raine said. “It got pretty hard after I got banned from the entomology department.”
“That’d do it,” Vell said. “So, did you, uh, go swimming a lot?”
“Oh yeah, all the time,” Raine said. “Until I got banned from the pools too. Trying to swim like a frog doesn’t work very well, and they got sick of having to rescue me, I guess.”
“You could’ve just swam like a person.”
“Why would I do that?”
“To...I don’t know,” Vell said. He was starting to feel like Raine’s entire life and unlife revolved around frogs. “Did you ever do anything, I don’t know, human?”
“Oh, I studied frogs,” Raine said. “Frogs lack the self-awareness to understand frogs. It’s their only flaw, really.”
“I see. So what’s your favorite frog?”
As expected, this set off a long rant, as Raine found it hard to pick a favorite and had to start listing pros and cons of various frog species. It was not exactly scintillating conversation, but it kept Raine talking instead of somehow summoning frogs. Vell kept reminding himself that was the real goal. He was not here to have a pleasant chat, he was here to prevent the frogpocalypse. Anything that kept Raine ranting was good. He was saving the world.
As Raine started ranking every existing frog species by maximum jump distance, Vell kept repeating that to himself. Saving the world, one frog jump strength at a time.

Anyone here know when a touch up paint kit/pen will be availablae for the Earthy Brass Matte (Code YBM)? I have a small paint chip. I placed an order on My Hyundai Store but they responded they don't have the paint. Should I do anything to protect the area while I wait for paint?

Hey everyone! I back again with some more funny shenanigans with our good pals Lerson and Silversmith. Thank you all for the great feedback for the last chapter, it really made my day. I'm excited to hear what you all think about this next one. Hope you all enjoy!
And again a special thanks to SpacePaladin15 for the NoP universe! __________
[First] [Next] __________
Memory Transcription Subject: Lerson, Undercover Farsul Date [standardized human time]: October 24, 2136
How did I get here? Just yesterday I was running for my life through the forest on this backwater planet and now I am sitting in the back of a vehicle with a predator, who thinks that I am some kind of hunting beast. Well… what do I do now?
The first part of my plan went off without a hitch. The simple minded predators had not realized I was not one of their slave beasts, so they released me from their holding pens. However, I am now trapped in a car right alongside my new predatory master.
Maybe I could try to take it down. It doesn’t seem particularly dexterous at least compared to the other predators I have seen. It is not looking at me now, so I would have the upper hand, but it is nearly twice my size. I will probably have to hold out for a little bit longer before I make my move.
I am suddenly pulled from my thoughts when the predator in the front seat begins to growl, “Car, can you bring me to the pet store, please?”
‘Pet Store,’ what is that? My translator says that it is a place for the sale of animals. Is it going to sell me already? Maybe I am just being sent to my new prison. My heart races as I watch the vehicle begin to slow down and come to a stop in front of the building. The elderly predator gets out of the vehicle and walks around to the door next to me. Oh no! This isn’t part of the plan. I thought I was finally out of that place, but now I am just about to get locked up again. The door opens.
“Okay bud, we’re gonna get you some things,” it said. Huh. I am not getting sold? The predator grabbed the end of the rope around my neck and beckoned me out of the vehicle. I chose to oblige and we slowly made our way towards the nearby building.
It was a small structure that looked like it was in disrepair. It makes sense that the predators would not upkeep their buildings all they care about is killing and eating. I was surprised to find that they even have buildings to begin with.
The old one pushed the door open, which produced a soft jingle as we walked in. First thing I noticed was the intense smell. It was almost overwhelming with how many different scents there were. Looking around the aisles of the shop were very narrow and the shelves were packed with different items. “Um, so the lady at the shelter suggested that I get food, bowls, a bed, and… I don’t really remember what else. That’s probably fine to begin with, we can always come back later.”
We walked down one of the narrow aisles, which had dozens of bags of ‘kibble.’ My translator says it is “ground meal shaped into pellets, especially for pet food.” That does not sound very appetizing. The predator stops and starts looking through the different options. I also start to look around. The bag nearest to me has an ingredients list. Luckily I opted for the built in visual translator. Scanning the ingredients it contains mostly different grains and other fillers, which is surprising from predator food, but it also lists ‘animal byproducts’ which sounds horrifying. I guess whatever the Terrans do not end up eating gets tossed to the lesser predators.
“Let’s get this one. It says it’s for ‘senior’ dogs. Ha! That’s something we’ve go in common”
Really?! Do I look that old to everyone? By the Tenants, maybe I need to dye my fur after I get out of this mess. We continued going around the store picking up items until we got to the counter near the front.
Speaking to the predator behind the counter my ‘master’ says, “Good afternoon Bobby. How’s everything going?”
The young predator behind the counter responds, “Not too great, Mr. Silversmith.”
“Oh. I spose that was a bad question to ask, sorry.”
“It's okay sir, there is just a lot going on. I’m glad that my parents and I are all fine, being out here in the country, but my brother works in the city and we still don’t know if he’s alright.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope for the best.”
“Thank you. Now what can I do for you?”
“Oh I’m just buying some supplies for old Buddy over here,” he gestures down to me.
The clerk looks over the counter towards me, “Uh… Mr. Silversmith…” The old predator cuts him off, “I know he aint the best lookin’, but can’t say much about myself either, so I don’t need to hear it.”
“Sure… Well… let me ring that all up for you then.”
Spekh! That one has to know, right? Perhaps these predators are not as dense as I thought and the one I got is just really stupid. Well at least that helps my plan, but I will still have to be careful around other Terrans.
The old one finishes paying and we head back down to the vehicle and it drives off. After about [~34 minutes] we reach what I think is the elderly predator's den.
It is at the end of a very long dirt roadway, tucked among the trees, that I see the structure. Just like the pet shop it is a small building made out of simple materials like wood and stone. I suppose the predators really are as primitive as I thought.
The vehicle comes to a halt next to the building and the old one steps out. After he opens my door, I step out of the vehicle as well. I follow him to the entrance of the den, which is a simple wooden door painted bright red. And if I remember correctly that is the color of blood on this planet. So savage!
Upon entering, the interior looks very similar to the outside with wood adorning the walls and floors. Though I was surprised how similar the layout was to the living quarters back at the guild. The room at the entrance looked to be some kind of lounging room with a small couch and rug in the center of the room facing a screen mounted on the opposite wall. To the left of the door was what I could only assume was a kitchen with storage cabinets covering the walls.
The elderly predator returned to the car to retrieve the items it purchased at the ‘pet shop,’ which makes this the best time to do some sleuthing. I made my way past the lounge room into the depths of the den. Past the entrance room was a hallway leading further back. It was adorned with photographs filled with predatory snarls. I did my best to ignore them and worked my way further down the hall.
Up ahead there was a door and upon opening it I found a room which, by the smell of it, must be a lavatory. That really reminded me that I had to go to the bathroom. My cell did not even have a waste pit. I made my way quickly into the room and relieved myself with haste. Once I finished I thought about flushing the ‘evidence,’ but that’s when I heard the front door open again, so I was forced to hurry out of the room.
“Hey Bud! Where did you go?” it growled from the other room. I made my way back to the entrance as quickly as I could manage on all fours. “There you are. So do you like the place?” the predator asked. I did not respond and just looked towards it. “Ha ha, great!” it growled. I did not say anything?
“So I got your food and water bowls over here. Let me go fill them up. You’ve gotta be hungry.”
It walked over to the kitchen with the bowls in hand and filled one with water from the sink. The other bowl, the predator filled with the ‘kibble’ from earlier. Then it placed them both on the floor. It looks like the food situation might not be any better than my previous arrangement at the holding pen.
“Well, I spose I should eat dinner as well.”
It opened the large metal cabinet and began looking through it. I snuck a little closer to get a better look. When I approached I could feel the chill coming off of it, so I could assume that it was some kind of refrigerators unit. Must not be that primitive I suppose. After a bit of scrounging around the refrigerator, the elderly one pulled out a clear plastic container. It was green on the inside. Is it really going to eat rotten flesh!? I guess that is expected of a predator.
As it opened the container I braced my nose for the putrid smell of rotten flesh, but it never came. I watched as the predator poured out leafy greens into a bowl. Huh, a predator is eating plants?
Wait, I do remember that during the Terran’s deceptive talk at Aafa, they had said they were [all-eaters]. I guess that must be true. Watching it eat the greens is making me even hungrier than I was before.
I watched as the elderly predator finished its salad. It brought the bowl and utensils to the sink to begin washing them. I waited in the corner of the kitchen for him to finish and leave. My stomach was killing me and I could only think of the amazing taste of a crisp salad. Finally the predator finished his task and turned away from the sink. It looked towards me and then at the bowls on the floor. “Aren’t you hungry boy? You haven’t touched your food at all… I hope you’re alright. Maybe I need to take you to the vet tomorrow?”
Vet? My translator says that that means ‘animal doctor.’ Even though the average human is pretty oblivious, a doctor will be sure to realize that I’m not really a ‘dog.’ I can not let this Terran take me there. I know what I have to do, but I do not like it. I steel myself as I walk over to the bowl and stare down at its contents. Am I really going to do this? You have to! So, I lower my head and bite down on a mouthful of ‘kibble.’
It… is not that bad? I honestly expected worse.
I suppress the thoughts of the ‘animal byproducts’ in it and swallow. Immediately I wash out my mouth with the water in the second bowl. Then I turn to look at the human who is now snarling at me. I freeze. Did I do something wrong? Did it figure me out?!
“There you go. Ha ha. I was worried for a second there.”
What? Is it happy that I ate? Then why is it snarling at me? Maybe maybe that means that it is happy? These predators are so weird. At least it seems like I have avoided detection once again. Nailed it!
The old predator, having been satisfied, let out a yawn revealing all its sharp teeth… well… most of them were surprisingly quite dull. “Okay bud it's getting late, so I think it's time for me to turn in, but let me get you your bed first,” it said. Reaching into the biggest bag from the pet shop the elderly predator pulled out a round fluffy bowl. It looks similar to beds I saw when working on the Iftali and Sulean homeworld, though this one is a lot smaller. It placed the bed down in the living room next to the couch.
It paused, “Oh wait. I should probably take you outside before turning in for the night. Don’t want a mess in the morning, come on.”
I follow the predator as instructed, wondering what it wants me to do now. It leads me out a side door into a grassy area. “Okay… do your business,” it said.
What? Does it want me to do something? I just look around seeing if there's anything to give me any clues.
“I guess that didn’t work. Go potty.”
What?! Is it commanding me to defecate?! Outside! I guess he does think I am an animal. But there is no way I am doing that especially with it watching me. Why is it watching? Is it some kind of pervert? Grr, Screw the plan!
“Okay… uh… I guess come back in when you’re done,” it says as it turns to walk back to the house.
Thank the Tenants! I wait [a few minutes] and then slip back into the predator’s den. On my return it spots me, “Oh good you’re back!”
It walked over to the side door and locked it. Then the predator shuffled to wall switches and turned off most of the lights. Thankfully it left a singular lamp turned on. It is already bad enough that I am stuck in a predator's den, but being in the dark with a predator would be too much even for me.
“Okay goodnight bud, see you in the morning,” said the old one. Then right as it entered the hall it stopped and looked down at a nearby table, “Good night Ella. Good night Ben. Good night Martha.” Then it walked out of sight.
Who was he talking to? Are there other predators here? I don’t smell anyone else and I think I would have heard them earlier. Spekh! Did I get a crazy one?
Okay craziness aside, I need to eat some real food. I finally stood upright. Ah my back! It was already getting bad enough when I was back home. Hopefully I can get used to this because walking on all fours is killing me right now.
I walk over to the refrigeration unit and slowly open the doors trying to stay quiet. Looking around the inside I am surprised to find so many vegetables. However, I did spot a slab of flesh towards the back, which I did my best to ignore.
Now, I can not just eat anything, it might notice if food is missing. Scrounging around for a [minute] my eyes eventually find a plant in one of the lower drawers. It looks like a big bundle of large leaves. I take it out and pry off one of the ones on the outside. It comes off relatively easily with a crunch. Hopefully this is edible. I bring the leaf to my mouth and bite down. It makes a very satisfying crunch as a do. There really is no distinct taste, but I am so hungry that I don’t even care if it is bland.
I scarfed down the rest of the leaf quickly and then grabbed another and then another. Before I knew it, the bundle was only a third of the original size. So much for being sneaky. Finally satisfied, I returned what remained of the bundle to its proper place and closed the refrigerator doors.
After finishing my raid on the refrigerators, I thought about what the old predator had said earlier. I walked over to the table near the entrance to the hallway. There must be something interesting here. However, there was nothing but a handful of photographs. Looking at them in the dim light I was able to make out the wide snarls that adorned the faces in the photo. I guess It makes more sense now since the snarl is a ‘happy’ expression. It is still very strange to me.
The photo closest to the front had the old predator standing next to a much younger predator, which appeared to be wearing Terran military pelts. Strangely, the young one has very bright orange hair on the top of its head.
Next to that one there was a similar photo, but the old predator looked slightly younger. The other Terran in the photo looked similar to the first. They did share the same bright orange hair, but the enlarged mammaries indicated that this one was a female.
I then spotted another picture including the same female, but this time she was next to a different predator and she was holding a Terran pup, which had the same orange hair. Perhaps the female was the mother of the other one. Most of the other photos appeared to be different combinations of the same four predators: the old one, his offspring, his offspring’s mate, and then their pup.
I moved over to the other side to see if I could find anything more useful. There was a photo that stood out to me. It pictured the old one, but he looked significantly younger even more than the other photos. Standing next to him was a female, which had the same orange hair as the others. Who was this? I had not seen it in any of the other pictures.
I searched around to see if I could find any more with this female in it. Towards the back I saw two pictures next to each other. The one on the left had the female again with the old predator. Laying in a bed she was cradling a newborn pup in her arms. However, the photo on the right was the old one with the pup in its arms. The pup appeared to be a year or two older in this one, but where was the mother? Looking at the older predator I saw the look in his eyes. I know that look. Cerci…
No! They are predators! They are not like us! You know they can not think like us! It's not the same!
Grr, you are tired… just… just go rest. I walk over to the bed. I curl up and try to let sleep take me. __________
[First] [Next] __________
So much for being comedic and lighthearted. I promise that the rest of it won't be so depressing, but I wanted to add a little more substance to some of the characters. Thanks again for reading! Feel free to leave any feedback or suggestions, I really appreciate it.

(An animation shows black and white clouds parting)
Charles: (Off-screen) Once upon a time, there was a glowing city protected by golden gates known as Heaven. It was ruled by beings of pure light. Angels that worshipped good and shielded all from evil. Lucy was one of these angels. She was a dreamer with fantastical ideas for all of creation. But she was seen as a troublemaker by the elders of Heaven. For they felt her way of thinking was dangerous to the perder of their world. So she watched as the angels began to expand the universe in their ways. From the dust of Earth, they created Eve (I couldn't think of a female name that looked like Adam) and Lilian. Equals as the first of mankind, but despite this, Eve demanded control and Lilian refused to submit to her will. He fled the garden. Drawn in by his fierce independence, Lucy found him and the two rebellious dreamers fell deeply in love. Together, they wished to share the magic of free will with humanity, offering the fruit of knowledge to Eve's new groom, Adam, who gladly accepted. But this gift came with a curse. For the single act of disobedience, evil finally found its way into Earth. With it, a new realm of darkness and sin. And the order Heaven had worked to maintain was shattered. As punishment for their reckless act, Heaven cast Lucy and her love into the dark pit she had created, never allowing her to see the good that came from humanity, only the cruel and the wicked. Ashamed, Lucy lost her will to dream. But Lilian thrived, empowering demon-kind with his voice and his songs. And as the numbers of Hell grew, so did its power. Threatened by this, Heaven made a truly heartless decision. That every year, they would send down an army, an extermination to ensure Hell and its sinners could never rise against them. But Lilian's hope remained. And his dream was passed down to their precious son, the Prince of Hell. (The prince shuts the "Story Of Hell" book) (On-screen) Don't worry, Dad. I'll make you proud. (He holds a key)
Vagner: Charles?
Charles: Augh! (The key turns into a cat) Oh, shit. Did you hear all that?
Vagner: Uh... Yeah, I was right there.
Charles: Sorry. I get worked up after an extermination happens. This story helps.
Vagner: (chuckles) I know. Don't worry. I enjoy your theatrics. Are you okay?
Charles: I'm fine, just...Thinking, ya know, family stuff.
Vagner: Did you hear from your dad yet?
(Charles shakes his head saying no)
Vagner: Oof. How long has it been now?
Charles: Not that long, only...Seven...Years...Off something important, I'm sure. But this kingdom was something he really cared about. Something I care about.
Vagner: Well, at least you aren't alone.
Charles: I just hope what I'm trying to do here will work.
Vagner: It will. I have faith in you.
(The cat hopes on Charles)
Vagner: All right. Come on. Alice says she has something to show us.
(Vagner heads to the door and Charles look out of the window and see Hell on fire and goes)
(A commercial plays)
Alice: Well, hello there you wayward sinner. Do you like blood, violence and depravity of a sexual nature? Of course you do. That's why you're in Hell! But what would you say there was a place to stay that had none of that? Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, a misguided path to redemption! Founded five days ago by Lucy's delusional son Charleson Morningstar! Come place your fate in his inexperienced hands as he tries to work through his mommy issues by fixing you! Here, we offer fun thing! Such as somewhat functional staff! And 24 hour Pest Control! Custom rooms, and just look at this tacky parlor! Enjoy riveting conversation with our singular resident. Wow! All this and more at the Hazbin Hotel! You last desperate attempt at salvation starts here.
(The tv suits off)
Alice: So, what'd ya' think?
Vagner: I'm sorry, what the fuck was that?!
Charles: Uh, yeah, one note...Alice, I mean...First off, thank you so much for making this, seriously, amazing, but um...Maybe the tone is a bit...Off? We want people to want to come here, this makes it look...Ummm...
Vagner: Bad. The word you're looking for is "bad".
Alice: Funny, I was going for hilarious!
Vagner: It didn't explain anything about how we're trying to save demons from extermination, which is the whole fucking point.
Charles: Vagner is right, Alice. The commercial was to let sinners know we are trying to help them.
Alice: Well, my dear, I haven't been active in Hell for some time, and everyone remembers me from my radio show! The proper medium to express oneself! But YOU insisted on this noisy picture box adversiment! So I had a little fun with it.
Vagner: Oh, fun? You had a little fun with it? (Stand on the sofa) Well, this is not what we want to represent us. When you showed up here a week ago, you told us you would help run the hotel! Instead, you're mocking us. Nobody's going to want to come to a place that a powerful overlord like you thinks is a waste of time!
(A demon on a sofa raises her hand)
Vagner: What?
Angela: If'n ya filmin' a commercial, can I suggest you take better advantage of the talented celebrity you have right here?
Vagner: Angela, you're a porn star.
Angela: A famous porn star. I'll have the horniest sinners knockin' these walls down to get in.
Vagner: We are not filming a porn as a commercial.
Angela: Why not? Sex sells, don't it? I swear if you film me goin' at it with mistress fancy-talk-creepy-voice here, you'd rollin' in participants willin' to stay at this tacky hotel.
Alice: Haha! Never going to happen!
Charles: Angela, I appreciate you wanting to use you special skills to, um, attract folks to the hotel, but...I really don't want to exploit you, in that way!
Angela: Oh, please, baby. This body was made to be exploited. I got the arms, I got the stamina, I got the legs. I got the lung capacity-- Oh-oh I got the legs! The gag reflex, the holes...
(Charles laughs uncomfortably and his phone rings with his mom calling)
Angela: The small tits that make everyone think I'm a man...
Charles: Uhhh, hold that thought. I'll be right back! (Walks away)
Angela: I could keep goin' all night, baby.
(Charles breathes and answers the phone)
Charles: Hello? Mom?
Angela: Hey, I have a question. If freaky face over there is so powerful, then why can't she just make people stay here?
Alice: Oh, trust me, (ominously) I can!
Hisky: Why the hell do you think I'm here?
(The camera goes to Hisky at the bar)
Hisky: You actually think I'd be cleaning bottles and listening to you fuck's bitches moan all the time if she wasn't forcin' me?
Niffter: I like being forced!
Hisky: Keep that to yourself, Niff.
Angela: What, you don't like being here with me, Whiskers?
Hisky: Call me "Whiskers" again and I'll that bottle down your throat.
Angela: Kinky. But I like pussies. But keep talkin' dirty.
Vagner: Ugh, Angela, let Hisky do her job. And no, we can't force sinners to stay here. They need to choose to.
Angela: I'm choosing to be here, and I think is all stupid. We're in Hell, toots. It's kind of the end of the road, ain't it?
Vagner: Well, maybe it doesn't have to be. Just because nobody has made it before doesn't mean is not possible. (Angela pust her arm in his shoulder)
Angela: Hey, whatever means I can keep crashin' here rent free. Crack is expensive.
Charles: (excitedly) Yeah, I can! Totally. Yeah, I'll head over there right away...Okay. (Turns off the phone) Hah! YES! YES!! Hahahaha!! Vagner! Holy shit!
Vagner: Ahh! What?!
Charles: (through closed mouth) Get over here!
(Vagner sighs and goes to where Charles is)
Vagner: What's going on?
Charles: (Inhales) My mom just called. She said that the leader of the Angel Army wants to meet. She asked if I could go instead. (Breathes deeply)
Vagner: But... But...But the extermination just happened. What would they want this soon after...
Charles: (Singing) I can do this. Somehow, I know it I'll get Heaven behind my plan!
Vagner: Charles, hold on.
Charles: There's just no way I could blow it. Not this once a lifetime change!
Vagner: It's just a meeting.
Charles: To change their minds. And touch their hearts. Or whatever angels have.
Vagner: This could be bad.
Charles: Cheer up, Vagner. This could be swell. Something tells that today will be a happy day in Hell!
Vagner: Okay, but just don't... sing to them.
Angela: That motherfucker is halfway down the street.
Vagner: Is he...
Angela: Oh, he's dancin'.
Vagner: Ugh, no.
Charles: There's a warm fuzzy feeling that wafts through the air! Every street so revealing it's hard not to stare. It's a realm so appealing it beats anywhere! If you don't mind the smell! It's a happy day in Hell! Hi, miss!
Demon: Go fuck yourself!
Dead Sinner #1: There's a endless trash fire that's burnig my soul!
Charles: Hello!
Imp: There's a lot of barbed wire to shove in her holes!
Charles: Uh, excuse me...
Executioner: Doing what is required we all have a role!
Dead Sinner #2: I'm not doing well!
Ensemble: Another shitty day in Hell!
Charles: If I can show them the dream I've dreamed, that any soul can change!
Vagner: Those angels minds are hard to change!
Charles: Then they know that everyone can be redeemed from the evil to the strange!
Vagner: They're bloodthirsty and deranged!
Charles: I can hear all their stories, the lost and the displaced! And I know that they're of an acquired taste! But if I open the door and give them a place at my Hazbin Hotel it'll be a happy day in Hell! (Jumps in the back of a truck) From the porn studio where the cinephiles go to watch award winning demon bukkake shows to the Cannibal Town where they don't wear a frown 'cause...Holy shit, ew, my gosh, why?! And I don't give a crow that her brains got in my eye! Cause I know I can spare them from Heaven's genocide! I can do this...
Dead Sinner #1: There's an endless trash fire...
Charles: I just know it! Dead Sinner #1: That's burning my soul!
Chorus: Ahhhhhhhhhh!
Charles: I'll get Heaven behind my plans! There's just no way I could blow it!
Demon Sinner #3: I kinda like the barbed wire that's shoved in my hole!
Charles: Not this once in a lifetime chance! To change their minds!
Trenchcoat Demon: And touch my parts!
Charles: Oh...No, thank you. I'm just gonna...Fullfill my destiny!
Trenchcoat Demon: Your loss fucker!
Charles: I can already tell! Today is gonna be a fucking happy day in Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeell! (Charles enters at the lobby) Hello? (echoes) Hello? Creepy...(He goes to the reception, rings the bell in the table and a paper and a feather pen appear in front of him) Oh, okay! Also creepy. (Signs the paper)
(Elevator doors open, Charles goes to them and enters in a dark room)
Charles: Hello? Is anyone here?
(The lights turn on)
Eve: 'Sup?
Charles: Holy shit! (Falls in the floor and gets up) Hi, I'm Charles. My mom asked if I could meet you.
Eve: Yeah, I know.
Charles: Okay, well, it's nice to meet you. (Stands his hand)
Eve: Totally. Nice to meet you, too. (Stands her hand)
(Charles hand passes through Eve's hand)
Charles: Ahh!
Eve: Ha! I fucking got you! Did you fuckin' see that?
(Luther shaves his head in yes)
Eve: Good shit!
Charles: Uh, so wait, you aren't here?
Eve: No, you think I'd come down there? (Laughs) No. I mean, I love the vibe, totally, I love your tunes. Pretty fuckin' hardcore, don't get me wrong. But, it's such a bummer, man. Everything down there's just so "eugh" ya know? (Chuckles) Ew.
Charles: Right. So I'm happy we got this opportunity to meet. There's a project I've been working on that I really want to talk to you about...(Eve puts her finger in his mouth)
Eve: Hey, hey, hey, slow down. We got time. How about we get to know each other, mm? How about some lunch? You hungry? I got you! (Shows a plate with ribs) Here's my personal favourite. You'll love it.
Charles: Uh, thanks! (His arms passes through the plate of ribs)
Eve: (Laughing) I got you again, fucker! Haha fuckin' hilarious! Haha!
(Back at the Hazbin Hotel, everyone is at the lobby)
Vagner: Okay, so Charles is dealing with something very important, so while he's gone, we are making a new commercial. One that representants his vision and what we're doing here. So we need a camera. Alice?
(Alice snaps her fingers and an old camera appears in Vagner's hand)
Vagner: A video camera.
Alice: Hmmm. (Snaps her fingers)
(A video camera appears in Vagner's hand)
Vagner: All right, let's do this!
(Vagner films Angela sitting at the bar)
Vagner: And...Action!
Hisky: "Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, can I help you with anything?"
Angela: "I've been a bad girl. And I need a big strong mommy to put me in my place...On the path to redemption!"
Hisky: Ugh! "Well, you come..."
Angela: "Oh yes!"
Hisky: (boredly) "To the right place!"
Vagner: Cut! Okay, Angela, I need you to be less horny, if possible. And Hisky, can you maybe not have a script in front of your face?
Hisky: (Angrily) I ain't no actress, I can't memorize this shit!
Angela: Well, we could improve this shit, baby cakes! (Purrs seductively and Hisky push her out of the counter) Ahh!
Hisky: Whoops. (Drink a bottle)
Vagner: Hisky, come on!
(Meanwhile, Charles is bored)
Eve: So I was playing this gig, and for some fucking reason this virtue boy was digging on the drummer, and it's like, do you know who I am? I'm fucking Eve. I'm the original pussy! All pussies descend from me. You think you like a drummer pussy? No way, I'm the Pussy-fucking master! (Eats sloppily) So anyway, then we fucked, and it was awesome. What'd you do this weekend?
Charles: Wait, your name is Eve? Like the first woman? That means you...Ohhh...(Enlightened) That explains so much.
Eve: I know. I fucking rock.
Charles: Well, Eve, ma'am. Mrs. Eve, ma'am.
Eve: Call me Pussymaster.
Charles: Eve, you seem like a smart...well, stand up girl.
Eve: (With the finger in her teeth) Uh-huh.
Charles: And I know you are the leader of the angels. And you are a bigger revolutionary, a...A genius!
Eve: I maen, your words, babe.
Charles: Who would really her name on something.
Eve: Fucking love putting my name on shit! Shit's the best!
Charles: It's a solution to our biggest problem!
Eve: Oh, herpes. Yeah, that's a bitch.
Charles: No! Our other biggest problem.
Eve: Oh, uh...Ugly people? (Looks at the camera) Math? Global warming? Nah, wait that's Earth's problem. Umm...
(At the hotel, a bug walks in the floor and a needle tries to stab it saverel times)
Niffter: Hehehe. Stab. Stab. Stab.
Vagner: Alright Niffter. Niffter? Niffter! (Stops him) Your line is "We have the cleanest rooms". Okay?
Niffter: Got it. I'm ready.
Vagner: (Turns on the camera) Action!
(Niffter looks at the camera with his pupil constricted and Angela and Vagner look at him confused and he keeps staring weirdly)
Vagner: Uhh...Cut. (Turns off the camera)
(Niffter smiles again)
Niffter: (Giggles) How was that?
Vagner: Well, Niffter, you actually have to say the line. So let's roll again.
Niffter: Okay!
Vagner: Action. (Turns on the camera)
(Niffter stares deeply at the camera)
Angela: You're doing great, Vagina!
Vagner: Cut! Alright, um, maybe wr can try to fix it in the post.
Angela: Do you even know what that means?
Vagner: (Angrily) I'll figure it out!
(In the lobby, Vagner is watching the video with the camera connected to the tv)
Hisky: (On TV) Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel.
(Vagner groans, covers his eyes and Alice appears in his side)
Alice: Seems like you're having a bit of trouble there, hm?
Vagner: Ugh, esta pendeja...Why are you even here?
Alice: For the entertainment! I came here because I love seeing wasteful souls struggle to accomplish something meaningful and fail spectacularly. Like you are doing now! Good job!
Vagner: (Turns on the camera) And here is Alice, the egocentric piece of shit that...
(Alice gets static on the camera and it starts to spark and Vagner screams and knocks the camera down)
Alice: I wouldn't try that, my darling. (Sinisterly) This face was made for radio.
Vagner: (Gets angry) That's it! I don't care who or what you are! If you are staying here you are going to make this work! Beause it won't be so "entertaining" to watch an empty hotel will it, shit ass?! (Turns around and walks away)
Alice: Fair enough. I'll tell you what. Let's make a deal.
Vagner: Pft! You think I'm that stupid? Making a deal with a demon like you.
Alice: Not for your soul, just a simple deal. I do this for you, and you never ask me to engage with this frivolous television technology ever again. Or...Charles can come back to absolutely nothing! Your choice.
Vagner: (Sighs) Fine. (Gets the video camera and raises in Alice's hand and green ghosted skulls fly around it)
Alice: Now then! (Makes the camera disappear and snaps her fingers)
(Angela, Hisky and Niffter, a lot of filming materials and a ghost recording team appear in the lobby and everyone gets tailor clothes)
Vagner: Alright, everyone! Let's make a fucking commercial.
(Meanwhile)
Eve:...When you take him out for the fifth time and he still expects you to pay the check, but you're like, (In deep voice) "Hey I thought you wanted equality"!
Charles: (Frustrated) No! Our shared problem of overpopulation in Hell!
Eve: (Normal) Oh! Well, that's not a problem! We got that covered! Luther, how many demons did you kill this year?
Luther: Got a good 275 this year, ma'am.
Eve: 275? Whoa, badass! Awesome job, danger dick! Pound it. (Punch fists with Luther)
Charles: Uh, no, not awesome. Those are my people, you know that, right?
Eve: Ohhh, yeah...That must suck for you. Pft...Hahahaha! Charles: But these are souls. Human souls, just the same as the ones you have in Heaven.
Luther: They're not the same. They had their chance and they earned damnation.
Charles: You're wrong. Sinners made mistakes, sure, but everyone makes mistakes.
Luther: Angels don't make mistakes.
Charles: You really think that?
Luther: I know that.
Eve: Yeah, I've never made a mistake in my fucking life.
Luther: The only reason you're still here is because Mommy gave you and your Hellborn-kind a pardon from an exorcist blade. How does that feel? To know how little you matter.
(Charles shrinks back)
Eve: Oops, almost out of time. Guess we should get into it...
Charles: Oh! Fuck!...(Get up from the chair) Okay. I've a lot to get through and not a lot of time and I feel like you weren't really hearing before, so here goes. (Clears throat) (Singing) I know Hell's population is out of control. It's a bad situation, it's taking a toll. If we rehabe these sinners and cleanse all their souls at my Hazbin Hotel! (Normal) Wait I'm getting ahead of myself! Right! Extermination! (Singing) I know you guys fly down just to kill once a year. And it must be annoying to schlep all the way here. If they join you in Heaven that trip disappears! You can wave that chore farewell! (Deep breath) It'll be a happy day in...
Eve: (Singing) Let me stop you right there, save us all precious time!
Charles: (Normal) Okay?
Eve: If what you're suggesting is letting them climb! Up the ladder. Oh they rather cross the Pearly Gates? Sorry, sweetie, but there's no defying in their fates! 'Cause Hell is forever wheter you like it or not! Had their chance to behave better now they boil in a pot! 'Cause the rules are black and white there's no use in trying to fight it! They're burning for their lives until we kill them again!
Charles: Okay, but...
Eve: Just try to chillax, babe, you're wasting your breath!
Charles: (Nervously) Hehe...
Eve: Did I hear you imply that they deserve death? Are they winners? Are they sinners? 'Cause it's cut and dry!
Charles: Actually, if you take a look...
Eve: Fair is fair, an eye for an eye! And when all's said and done! (Said and done) There's the question of fun! (Fun) And for those of us with divine ordainment, extermination is entertainment! (Imitates guitar) Guitar solo, fuck yeah! (Imitates guitar) Hell is forever whether you like or not! Had their chance to behave better now they boil in a pot!
Charles: Where all these people come from?
Eve: 'Cause the rules are black and white, there's no use in trying to fight it! They're burning for their lives until we kill them again! (materializes a guitar and play it) Fucking Hell is forever and it's meant to suck a lot! So give up your dumb endeavor 'cause you don't have a shot!
(Charles groans, his paper gets on fire and his hair moves in the air and horns appear in his head)
Eve: Long as I've got your attention, I guess In should probably mention that we made a determination (Shows a contract) To move up the next extermination!
Charles: What?!
Eve: Can't wait a whole year to slaughter those little cunts! (Holds Charles' wrist) I know is just been a week, but we'll be back in six months! (Spins Charles out of the room and plays her guitar)
Charles: Um, wait, didn't you...(Goes at the door, but it closes) Awh, shit! (Punches the door)
(Charles returns sad to the Hazbin Hotel)
Vagner: Charles! (Hugs him) How did it go? Did they listen?
Charles: Oh, uh...They sure did...hear it! But, um...
Vagner: Oh! Come here. We have something exciting to show you! (Holds Charles to the living room) Alice pulled some strings, and it's about to air.
Alice: I pulled a few limbs too! Hahaha!
Charles: Wait? The commercial? You all made a new one?
Angela: Yeah, one of my better performances, if I do can say so myself.
Charles: That's...That's amazing.
Angela: Shh! It's starting!
Vagner: (On TV) Welcome to the Hazbin Hot...
(The TV changes to the 666 News channel and everyone complains)
Kallie: (On TV) Breaking news in Hell today! We have just received word from the Heaven Embassy that the next extermination is happening sooner than ever before! Do you know what that means, Tomita?
Tomita: No. What does that means, Kallie?
Kallie: It means we are all royally fucked!
(The clock in an hourglass changes to 176 with everyone screaming)
Angela: Wait...What? Why?!
(A drone laser scans a headless body of an angel laying in Hell and Eve and Luther see then from the ship)
Luther: We found the body, ma'am. They've never managed to kill one of us before. We should just go down there now and destroy them!
Eve: No, no. We can't risk them catching on. But don't worry, when we come back, there won't be a demon left to pull a stunt like this again. (Breaks the projector and her eyes and mouth glow in the dark)
(The end credits start playing)

So today I got inspected from the CA agriculture department. I work in pest control. So basically they are agents of the county and government. The government makes up rules on this industry they know nothing about. Change the rules every time they can. Then send these agents to see if us plebs are following all the rules. If not, we get fines and possible license suspension.
The lady that inspected me was nice but the guidelines were stupidly detailed. I had a near empty bucket of granules that apparently needed to have a lid. An old pair of gloves I don’t touch and have never used can’t be in the back of the truck with pestcides. The chemical I was spraying didn’t require me to wear goggles but I still got in trouble for not following CA compliance to wear them. I didn’t wear them cuz they irritate my eyes and I wasn’t required so why bother? I also didn’t lock my truck and why would I? Imagine every single stop I have to unlock everything and lock it up again every 15 minutes. 18 stops a day. Why so specific?
These people have never worked a real job and get off on tellling others how to properly do theirs. Can’t even just go about my day without worrying if I’m being spied on.

Hellow redditors! Today i'm on a mission to find the best nespresso machine, I explored different subreddits like , and to find the Best Nespresso machine based on Redditor's experiences. After reading through their insights, I put together a simple guide for you, to help you choose the right Nespresso machine that fits your preferences.
Before we start, note that while these Nespresso machine are recommended by Redditors. It’s always crucial to do your research based on your specific needs.
Best Nespresso Machine 2024:

1. Breville Creatista Plus
2. De'Longhi Vertuo Plus Coffee and Espresso Maker
3. Breville Essenza Mini
4. Vertuo Pop+
5. Breville Creatista Pro

Breville Creatista Plus :
The machine is remarkably simple to use, even with its great degree of complexity and execution. It has an LCD menu that lets you choose between eight distinct milk froth textures and eleven various milk temperatures. To create the ideal hot beverage, simply choose your preferred drink (latte, cappuccino, flat white, latte macchiato, espresso, lungo, ristretto, etc.), a size, and the temperature and texture of the milk.
De'Longhi Vertuo Plus Coffee and Espresso Maker :
This device is quite functional even at its affordable price range. It can brew both coffee and espresso because it is a VertuoLine product, and it employs barcodes on each specially-designed capsule to ensure that the brew is always the correct strength and volume. There are five different drink options: mug, alto, gran lungo, double espresso, and espresso. Then, let the machine handle the task; because of its automatic capsule type detection, you don't need to worry about anything. You can always use the company's Aeroccino milk frother, which is the greatest milk frother we've tried, in addition to the machine for a little something more.
Breville Essenza Mini :
As it belongs to the initial series of equipment, this model brews at a pressure of 19 bars. This implies that, despite its compact size, you could find the machine to be a little louder than some other versions. The size of the water container, however, can be the largest compromise. Although it's undoubtedly smaller than most, our testers didn't mind filling it up again to get the best-tasting cups. Positively, there is an energy-saving feature on the machine: After inactivity for nine minutes, it turns off automatically.
Vertuo Pop+ :
The newest model in the VertuoLine, the Vertuo Pop+, is a chic coffee and espresso maker with seven vibrant color options and five different brew sizes for both hot and cold drinks. Select from hot or cold brewed single and double espressos, as well as 5, 8, and 12-ounce coffees. Its shape is thinner and its water tank is slightly smaller, but otherwise it functions quite similarly to the VertuoPlus. If you want to brew coffee using your phone, it also has Bluetooth capability. Whatever method you choose, the one-touch machine heats up quickly and is ready to brew in only 30 seconds.
Breville the Creatista Pro:
The Creatista Pro is an upgrade from the Creatista Plus and the most opulent Nespresso available. This is due to the machine's additional features, which include a larger water reservoir, additional drink personalization options, and a separate hot water spout for tea and long blacks. And even while it's a little larger than others to include all of these bells and whistles, it still has the elegant stainless steel design that is uniquely Breville, replete with an LCD screen that is simple to use. Although the Creatista Pro is the most customisable model available from Nespresso, it is still unquestionably a luxury machine at a luxury price point.

Reflecting on 2021, truly marked the zenith of my young career. The pandemic was coming to an end, I was fresh from the hallowed halls of a prestigious but unheralded college, thrust into the corporate labyrinth where, as a mere sidekick to the big shots, I contributed to a deal of record-breaking magnitude. My modest corporate minion life was exaggerated into legend by my professors during an alumni reunion, leading to a rather embarrassing episode where I was paraded around as the poster child of their education career’s success. My parents, not ones to shy away from a bit of pomp, lauded my achievements to anyone within earshot.
But as 2022 unfurled its chaos with the epidemic, my professional life spiralled downwards as swiftly as it had risen. I was laid off, and replaced by a nepotistic hire—my boss's new mistress's nephew. During my dismal final days, my colleagues, once comrades became corporate sharks, whispers of them scheming to claim my last efforts as their own filled the empty office spaces.
Compelled by financial duress to abandon my central city dwelling, I relocated to the outskirts with two college mates, Jaz and Kath, who had similarly found themselves victims of the economic downturn. We settled into apartment 606, a unit with dubious charm, suspiciously affordable on the 13th floor of a dreary building, its corridor haunted by a flickering sensor light that was only designed to function on rare occasions. Yet, the apartment itself was surprisingly very well furnished, almost like something that jumped out from a design mag, out beating sample rooms in Ikea, boasting a spacious balcony, a living room ready for an impromptu soirée, a dining table that’s good enough to hold a banquet(became our co-working space) and a kitchen isle that became our sanctuary and curse.
When we first settled into our new abode, we discovered a trove of fine kitchen utensils, perfect for whipping up sophisticated cuisine and crafting cocktails worthy of a swanky soirée. Tucked away in the fridge, among the remnants of the previous tenants' life, was a quaint note: “The three of us really enjoyed our stay here, especially our meals and nights spent by the kitchen island. We hope you find as much joy in it as we did. Use it well.” With a casual flick of my wrist, I dismissed the note into the garbage can, oblivious to the depth of its seemingly innocuous message. Little did I know, that piece of paper was more a passing of the torch than a simple goodbye.
Our initial days in apartment 606 brimmed with camaraderie and impromptu celebrations: movie nights sprawled on the living room sofas, barbeque dinners under the stars on our balcony, and co-working sessions at the dining table, peppered with resume tweaks and contemplative conversations over cocktails. We even scored a second-hand karaoke machine, allowing me to channel my inner diva—a throwback to my musical theatre days in college and my stint as the voice of corporate presentations and negotiations at my previous job, where I was known for my resonant yet finely tuned voice.
Yet, as the months wore on and the job market remained unyielding, our early merriment slowly surrendered to a creeping anxiety. The kitchen island, once the heart of our home where laughter and shared meals flowed freely, gradually morphed into the epicenter of our collective unease, bearing silent witness to the quiet desperation settling over us.
One evening, in the suspiciously affordable yet stylish apartment, I sank into the sofa, my spirits dampened by my favorite team's disheartening loss. The mood was grim, mirroring my fears of my beloved player's potential retirement at season's end. Later, as we congregated around the kitchen island for dinner, I transformed into an impromptu sports commentator, passionately preaching about the game’s disappointing details that led to failure and my favorite player’s fine qualities. Meanwhile, Jaz updated us on a friend's melodramatic breakup, with guesses that something ugly must have happened behind the scenes. Kath, ever the culinary enthusiast, not only served up her delicious pasta but also dished out the latest celebrity gossip, each tidbit as spicy as her sauce.
The next day, during a late breakfast at the same kitchen island—our unwitting oracle—we were hit by a triple whammy of reality checks. The news of my favorite player's retirement broke, echoing my gloomy predictions from the night before. Jaz chimed in with an update that our friend had uncovered a cheating scandal worthy of its own reality TV special. And Kath, never one to be left out of the drama: her favorite celebrity was now the star of a scandal.
By the third morning, as we sipped our coffee, the newspaper slapped me with another bizarre twist. I was going through the devastating economics and politics sections, then I saw the sports section——featured an irate coach, hell-bent on convincing my favorite player to dismiss retirement plans and keep his jersey on a little longer. Meanwhile, Jaz had good news for a change: it turned out our friend's love story might have a second act after all, as misunderstandings were being cleared up. Amidst these revelations, Kath, who had been grumbling about the nearby supermarket’s inability to stock anything remotely gourmet, and hadn’t had a taste of her favorite Blue Mountain coffee since the beginning of that year, triumphantly found a can of Blue Mountain coffee, and it was on sale and therefore affordable—proof that miracles happen, and sometimes they even go on discount.
As I sat there, absorbing the serendipity of our discussions manifesting into real-world events, I couldn't help but marvel at the mysterious knack of our kitchen island. Was it merely a coincidence, or had this stylish piece of decor become the unlikely conductor of our lives symphony? One thing was certain: life in apartment 606 was never dull, and our kitchen island seemed to be more than just a place to eat—it was a place where, apparently, you could stir the pot of fate.
I decided to conduct a whimsical experiment with our now seemingly magical kitchen island. Clearing my throat theatrically, I declared, "I should be interviewed for a director position." To my sheer astonishment, the next day a headhunter rang me up, claiming I was the ideal candidate for a directorial role at a prestigious corporation in my field. Despite the other candidates possessing decades more experience which defeated me with no effort, and my own lingering self-doubt from months of unemployment, I sailed to the final interview round with the company's executives.
Upon returning to our apartment, I found Kath flaunting a chic dress from a designer brand brand she’d snagged on clearance—a little luxury courtesy of our wish-granting island. Inspired, I approached the island and cheekily requested, "Get us jobs. Something fun." Lo and behold, the following day was spent lounging and binge-watching Netflix, only to be interrupted by a call from a former bigwig at my old job. He was venturing into a more illustrious company and wanted me onboard. The informal chat that followed was a breeze, and just like that, I was back in the game with a fancier title and a fatter paycheck.
The subsequent week was a flurry of celebrations. Jaz secured a senior-level position, and Kath landed her dream job at an influencer management agency. Feeling triumphant, we decided to indulge in a night of fine dining—our first in months. That Friday evening when I went from office to restaurant, on a whim, stopped at a convenience store to grab snacks and cigarettes for our post-dinner revelry. Outside, I encountered a homeless person. After offering him a sandwich (which he traded for a cigarette instead), he took a drag, peered into my eyes, and ominously muttered, “Look, young lady, this isn’t my business, but be wary of what you wish for; everything comes with a price. Good luck and god bless you.”
His words barely registered until later that evening when a mishap occurred that seemed to underline his warning. As we enjoyed syphon coffee post-dinner, a barista accidentally tripped over Kath’s flowing dress. The resulting spill left her with first-degree burns, abruptly ending our night as we rushed to the emergency room. Though it was "just" a first-degree burn, the pain was significant enough to require several days off for Kath’s recovery. Amid the drama, I couldn't help but wonder about the cryptic caution from the man outside the store—had our fortunate streak come with a hidden cost?
We chalked up the coffee calamity to bad luck. The next month flowed smoothly: Kath's fingers healed, she returned to work, and I quickly found my groove at the new job. With all of us gainfully employed, our communal meals at the kitchen island became rare. My mornings were a whirlwind of grabbing breakfast and coffee on the go, followed by an hour's commute to a job that had me scarfing down instant noodles by nightfall, just in time for a quick shower.
As the busy season kicked in, my workload ballooned—not just from the seasonal uptick, but because I was hell-bent on proving my mettle. I quickly outshone most of my peers, and my employer, recognizing a budding overachiever, piled on major tasks, which I eagerly accepted. What started as the occasional hour of overtime soon devoured my weekends. Unpaid overtime, as the fine print in my contract gleefully noted, became my new norm. Driven by a mix of ambition and expectation, I had become the go-to young hotshot, the erstwhile record-breaker now expected to continually outdo myself.
Mentally, I was too swamped to entertain thoughts of anything beyond work, which, in a twisted way, felt like a break. Physically, however, the strain began to show. A bout of flu caught on a business trip escalated into a fever. Sick as I was, deadlines waited for no one, and I soldiered on medicated and miserable. By the time I made it home, my voice had abandoned me. Unable to utter a word the next morning, I resorted to emailing my manager about my sorry state.
That week, robbed of my voice, I mused that it was perhaps a well-deserved hiatus for my overworked vocal cords—a silent retreat if you will. But when my voice did return, it was as a raspy whisper, a shadow of its former crisp and melodious timbre. My doctor offered a grim prognosis: slight improvement might come, but the golden tones were gone for good—scarred by the relentless grind. Ah, the price of ambition—a scratchy throat as a permanent reminder of my corporate conquests.
It seemed I had unwittingly exchanged the clarity of my voice for the tumult of career success. In the midst of our domestic enchantment with the possibly mystical kitchen island, Kath unearthed the contact of a reputed psychic, hailed as the finest in the land. However, the consultation fee was nothing short of princely, and with Jaz vehemently dismissing anything that couldn't be explained by cold, hard science, she promptly opted out of splitting the bill. Kath and I, unwilling to drain our wallets on what could be mere phantasmagoria, reluctantly let the opportunity pass.
Meanwhile, I couldn’t help but notice a curious change in Jaz’s routine. She had ceased dining at the kitchen island, avoiding it as if it were cursed—or perhaps, in her view, simply out of style. The Saturday morning brought a particularly harsh twist: a murder of crows took to spiralling above our balcony, their cries as sharp as the plot of a Poe novel. We found ourselves drawn to the infamous kitchen island, lined up like the cast of a macabre play, silently praying for the birds to disperse. Kath, ever trying to restore some semblance of normalcy, offered up cups of Blue Mountain coffee. She absentmindedly inquired if I wanted cream or sugar in mine—a blunder that made me realize just how long it had been since our last coffee klatch at this very spot. My inner monologue couldn't resist a dark wish for the crows to scatter, perhaps too dark, for they began to dive bomb our balcony in a feathery kamikaze. The spectacle was enough to knock Jaz off her feet—literally—as her mug met its end on the floor. Kath, meanwhile, made a hasty retreat to worship the porcelain god, and I sat frozen, my brain offline, pondering the twisted power of our kitchen island's apparent wish-granting.
After the unnerving spectacle of crows turning our balcony into a scene straight out of a Hitchcock film, our first rational step—post-collective fainting, of course—was to summon cleaners to manage the feathery carnage. Then, still rattled but increasingly curious, we visited a psychic, who, contrary to the crystal-ball-gazer image, operated out of a posh boutique in a high-end mall and dressed more like she was headed to a fashion show than a séance. We laid bare our saga of the seemingly cursed kitchen island, complete with photographic evidence of where domestic bliss meets eerie phenomena.
The psychic introduced a term that chilled the air around us: “limbo,” the threshold between our world and the otherworldly, and she dubbed our kitchen island the "Devil’s Bargain Counter." According to her, our wishes came with a heavy and unpredictable price, because we have accidentally started trades with beings from the netherworld. Her advice was disarmingly simple: cease all trades on the island. To address the repercussions of past wishes, she advised us the first line of defence, which was an eclectic mix of offerings laid out on our cursed countertop: raw meat(rooster works the best), a cocktail of spices(coca and cinnamon preferably), liberal splashes of spirits(whiskey and rum ideally), and an eerie bouquet of black flowers(luckily I found some black roses at a flower shop of the mall). In a grander gesture of appeasement, Kath relinquished her shiny new diamond bracelet, Jaz her absurdly expensive headphones, and I parted with cash—— a hefty slice of my bonus in hopes of placating whatever capricious spirits we'd angered.
Our return to normalcy was brief but sweet, prompting us to plan a getaway, eager to forget about our nefarious kitchen island. Yet, the respite was merely a tease. Jaz, in a stroke of spectacular misfortune, narrowly dodged disaster twice in one day—first nearly becoming subway track fodder on her way back after work, and then almost getting knocked out by a rogue plant at our apartment building’s doorstep. Clearly, our previous offerings were mere appetizers to whatever forces we'd stirred. The psychic, summoned once again to our now-dubious sanctuary, decreed that the spirits had developed rather expensive tastes, unsatisfied by our initial gestures.
In a desperate bid for closure, we had the psychic over for a nighttime ritual, timed perfectly with Earth's closest approach to the netherworld, according to her. Our living room turned into a ritual chamber, with windows blacked out for days, to keep the otherworldly dealings strictly nocturnal. That night, we arranged ourselves around the island, now less a kitchen fixture and more an altar of last resort.
The psychic, amidst a chorus of Latin incantations, directed us through a chilling séance that included a mirror that reflected nothing but darkness and a burning black candle, the three of us sat in a row, joined hands, eyes closed. When the black candle was flickering at its last, the first eerie scratches heard prompted our eyes to open prematurely, we saw a command appear on the island, written by invisible hand and pen, in blood-red script, urging us to find the next "succeeder" before our lease on otherworldly disturbances could be terminated.
With bated breath, we agreed, and as if by magic, our signatures materialized on the countertop, then faded as the candle sputtered out. We tore off the black cardboard taped on the windows at dawn, the sunrise revealed a final message etched into the surface: "Debt cleared." As the daylight grew, the ominous inscription dissolved into nothingness, signalling the end of our spectral saga.
The ordeal, now officially behind us, left us enjoying a semblance of normalcy: life in 606 returned to its mundane rhythm, with dinners and movie nights back on our social calendar. Though not without its scars—literal and figurative.
It’s been two years since then, Jaz, in the throes of romantic bliss, is now gearing up for a new chapter waiting to be written alongside her soon-to-be spouse; Kath, her career finally taking a lucrative turn, was poised to upgrade her living situation, she secured a lease on a lavish serviced apartment in the city center—a place that matched her newfound financial swagger.
I’m not without my own leaps forward. With a modest boost from my parents, I took the plunge into homeownership, snagging a property within the city’s vibrant confines. The process was a whirlwind of paperwork and decorating decisions, culminating in a space I could truly call my own.
As we are packing up now, my last act is to type out our story, at the infamous island, and of course, I left a note in the fridge for the next tenants:
"Welcome to 606. We had a wonderful time here, especially at the kitchen island, filled with joy and unforgettable moments. We hope you find as much happiness as we did. Use the isle well. Warm wishes, the previous tenants."

The shadow reared up and inhaled deeply, a loud rush of air into a giant bellows.
The light from Hadrian’s aura sparked off the creature’s jet-black scales and burned back the darkness so that a soft, nimbus glow revealed the dusty throne room of a long-dead mountain fortress.
He knew his Aura wasn’t enough to defeat the mighty dragon or even to harm it. But the sting of its touch would provide a distraction, sap a portion of the dragon's power to defend against the light.
He smiled behind his visor. Wherever there was darkness, he would bring the light. This was his oath.
The dragon’s head reached nearly to the ceiling atop a long sinuous neck, thick as a tree, and covered in armored scales the color of midnight and stronger than steel. The creature’s body curved behind it, vast and muscled, covered in the same black scales and leathery wings folded at its sides. Shiny black talons like curved longswords dug deep ruts into the stone floor. The dragon was a terrifying sight to behold, power-given flesh. Any other man would have trembled at the sight of it, lost his bowels to fear and his mind to madness. But Hadrian was no ordinary man. He was a Paladin of the White Rose, armored in his faith and blessed by his god. He traveled the land, hunting out the dark. That meant evil trembled before him.
The dragon probed the defenses shielding Hadrian’s mind from psionic attacks. He felt this as a slight pressure in his thoughts, the featherlight touch of falling gossamer. Then it was gone—repelled by the strength of his mental wards.
The dragon roared its fury.
Hadrian stood tall before Xegotargetol, the mightiest of the shadow dragons.
Slowly, he drew Dawnstar from its sheath and held it aloft, paying homage to his god. The sword gleamed like polished silver, double-edged and etched down both sides of the blade with intricate runes of power. In his other hand, he held Smite, a mighty tower shield the color of ivory and traced with shimmering runes. A gift from High Priest Adleson for the head of an ancient and terrible scourge.
“Fool!” Xegotargetol’s voice was a crash of thunder. Chunks of masonry fell from the ceiling. Dust drifted down. “You think to match your feeble power against mine?” Xegotargetol’s eyes glowed terribly in the dark, livid with crimson rage.
The air around Hadrian began to tingle, and the hairs on his arms under his armor stirred, like in the moments before a lightning strike.
Hadrian lifted his shield.
A bolt of crackling power thundered from the dragon’s maw, arcing and clawing toward him with murderous exaltation.
Hadrian muttered a word of power. Runes glowed to life on Smite.
He caught the lightning on his shield, and the metal heels of his burnished sabatons screeched sparks on the stone as he was pushed back. Ozone filled the air, and the roaring snap and crack of the lightning drowned out the dragon’s laughter. “You will not defeat me, foolish human!”
Hadrian clenched his teeth, muscles aflame, and with trembling effort, crossed his blade over the place where the lightning writhed on the face of his shield. There was a loud clap and a mighty roar, and Hadrian stumbled forward a step as the force pressing against him abruptly vanished.
Smoke rose from his shield. He peered over it, sword held at the ready.
Wisps rose from the dragon’s scales, dull and charred.
“Clever trick,” Xegotargetol growled out the words. “But it will not save you.”
Power gathered around the dragon until the air shimmered. “Behold, I am unleashed! Be gone, fool human!” The dragon reared back and snapped its maw forward like the tail on the end of a whip. A sphere of smoldering darkness streaked toward Hadrian.
He muttered a prayer to his god and braced his shield for the impact.
Darkness enveloped him.
Not the kind of utter blackness you’d find at the bottom of a grave, but a flickering, seething murk that carried him away on a flood of rapids. He clutched his shield close and his sword closer. On and on, he tumbled and spun, dashed among the inky waves until a bright speck appeared in the distance, growing in size with each heartbeat.
A moment later, Hadrian clattered out of the light onto hard ground, rolling and skidding to a stop. He lay there for a long moment, breathless and bruised, his mind reeling with all that had happened.
You were a fool ever to think you could defeat me. The words came as a fading whisper in his mind.
He rolled over and pushed himself up on hands and knees, and froze.
The ground was made of dark metal, and the air carried a blend of strange scents and dizzying sounds. Strangefolk in strange attire gathered around him, murmuring in words he could not understand. They held small devices that emitted a dot of light and wore art painted on their bare arms and shoulders. Evil spawn.
Hadrian rose to his feet, sword and shield at the ready. He turned slowly in place, studying the people as anxiety swelled in his heart. Massive buildings of exotic design surrounded him, soaring to disappear high into the sky. Lights in every color imaginable blinded him, blared strange music and jumping pictures. Strange beasts roared past in the air. But the strangest thing of all was the moon, or rather, that there were two of them, one half the size of the other; both glowing a pale, hazy blue.
What abyss is this? Realization struck. Xegotargetol could not breach his defenses, so the dragon had teleported him to this place.
Then, a familiar sight snagged his eye. He stopped, staring at a reflection.
It was him, standing in his armor, silver plate inlaid with ivory and bronze, fancy traceries running up and down his arms and over his chest. There could be no mistake. But it wasn’t a reflection, was it? This was something else, some kind of apparition. A magic projection contained within a wide rectangular simulacrum taller than his father’s inn.
He took in his surroundings, dread building to a boil.
This was not Aeterna or any place he’d ever heard of. This was some kind of hell, a decaying abyss full of madmen and fevered dreams. This was his nightmare made reality.
A metal dragon covered in flashing lights roared down out of the sky. It screamed words at him he did not understand.
I warned you, fool.
Hadrian firmed his jaw and hefted his sword. Time to cleanse this place.

I’ll start this off where it’s relevant. Me and my partner were looking to buy a house and when we found the one we wanted of course my mom wanted to do a walk through with us. So we did the walk through and she thought it was nice and even joked about the basement being all set up for a mother in-law suite. To which my husband replied we don’t have any intention of renting it out and we don’t know if we will need that space yet.
Later I was at her house visiting getting some help doing out taxes and she was on the phone then asked my about giving her landlord notice. I was busy I didn’t really hear her or know what she was asking and just said “ya ya, give me a minute.” And she walked away and I figured she’d ask me again after think it was about lunch or something. She never brought it up again but we had talked about it in the past and I always told her the same thing my husband had. We don’t plan on rent out the basement and we will probably need the space.
Fast-ward we just finish moving our stuff not even unpacked yet and she needs to move out cus she’s given her notice and of course I felt terrible saying “ya ya” not know what I was saying yes to. I convinced my husband to let her move in and his wasn’t happy but we moved her into the basement. We did say a few rules not smoking in the house there is a detached heated garage for that. The upstairs was supposed to be our space. And don’t overstep boundaries or our parenting.
That’s when all the issues started. My mom would make plans for me with little notice and monopolies my and my kids time. At first it was fine to get to spend time out with her and the kids but it became an issues when she wouldn’t respect my boundaries. Like I need more notice cus I do make plans with my husband to do family stuff or friends. Or I don’t want certain people around my kids and she would bring us there or invite them over. If I invited friends over she’d come upstairs and take over the conversation and not let me talk and try to bring them downstairs to sell them stuff she’s made. She never respected the upstairs was our space rule.
She would talk down to me in front of my kids why isn’t the house spotless. Why are there dishes in the sink etc.. she would complain about everything but never help. She would not listen if I told hethe kids no to something ex. Candy before dinner. Me: No you can’t have candy before dinner, maybe after. Her: They are only kids once let them have it. And would give it to them. They need to eat lunch but “oh she was on a diet.” And so on
It got to the point where she would tell me she doesn’t have to listen to me cus she’s my mother. My kids started to throw fits and say I was mean and “they wanted nana cus she gave them anything they wanted.” Or “why do I have to listen to you when nana doesn’t have too?”
One Christmas I was working to afford a better Christmas and help pay off the line of credit we needed for the house. We hosted the Christmas dinner and had family and friends and everyone helped out. I cooked all day and then took a nap while everyone else was enjoying dinner as I had to work the night and was already going to be running on fumes. When I got up to my surprise everyone was still there. They were helping put the food away and had made me a plate for work. When I got home the house was clean and I was relieved as I was exhausted and just wanted to get some sleep. My mom told me she did all the dishes for me and cleaned to kitchen.
I worked for a few months before and after Christmas and during this time my mom was chain smoking in the basement. Her bedroom right below ours and our kids rooms. Me and the kids have asthma and my husband has crippling migraines that helped encourage him to quit smoking years ago. I didn’t notice the smell unless I was down stairs but he noticed it immediately. Saying he can’t sleeping and his crippling migraines had come back and the house smelled like cigarettes smoke. I confronted my mother and she said no of course she would smoke in the house but all her stuff clothes, furniture, smells that way cus she use to smoke in the house at her old place. (Mind you she was living with us for months now, and some of her future was new and we only just started having a problem suddenly after months with no issues related to smoke/smell)
Me and my husband fought over this as I really didn’t want to believe she would smoke in the house. First off it’s illegal here and second she knows off all our health issues. And you can get in trouble with child protective services if they thinking your smoking in the house which is considered endangering the health and safety of your children. And asthma can be considered the fault of the parents if they are smoking around them. You can’t even smoke in the car if a child is in the car with you
So my husband got a nicotine testing kit and when it finally came in we put it to use. The house was completely clean when we moved in. We found next to nothing upstairs but downstairs was a different story. My mom’s bedroom and kitchen being the worst. I was so mad that I decided I would look around to see if I could find an ashtray. Well I found it in her nightstand right beside the bed…. I was pissed. I can still remembered her fallling asleep with a cigarette in her hand on multiple occasions as a kid and how lucky we were that she never burned the house down back then
I confronted her when she got home and her instantly denied it till I showed her my proof and that I found her ashtray “your husband didn’t want her there always” was her response. I was floored. The whole time I stood up for her after confronting her the first time. she was lying saying “I’m so sick, I’m not even smoking right now, I’m quitting.”
He had bin upset at first but the first few months were great till all the issues started. But I quickly realized that no matter what I said I’d be wrong and she wouldn’t apologize. She had no remorse or sympathy not even when I mentioned the kids health or mine and my husbands. As she was my mother I felt it was my personal responsibility to hold her accountable for her actions we were going to give her till the spring as she is old but her response infuriated me.
She made it clear she didn’t have any level of respect for me or my husband and didn’t care about her grandchildren’s health…. I told her she had till the end of the month to move. She was pissed. She wanted to die here and how could I pick my husband over her and allow him to force her to move and in a month no less. I told her it was my choice to only give her a month and that I couldn’t stand to look at her. And this was the straw that back the camel’s back.
After that she avoided us and would hide in the basement when she wasn’t at work. A day or so later I woke up in the middle of the night to a noise only to find my mother in kitchen going through our cupboards…. I asked her what the H she was doing in my kitchen in the middle of the night? After that I started double checking the door separating the basement from the upstairs was locked at night.
She didn’t want to move so naturally I helped her looked for a place. Did the walk throughs with her till she settled for a place and of course she complained the whole time. How could I do this to her, look at the house I was forcing her into. (She picked it) and it was the nicest one we looked at. In her price range. And it was still close enough to visit and come help her if she needed it.
She refused to pack so I ended up packing everything for her and as I was packing her things I kept coming across things she had stolen from us. A can opener, canned goods, cereal, shopping bags, a blanket she had knitted for the family for Christmas and other things she had got the kids among many random things she must have wanted. I was growing more upset as the days passed and I told my husband everything I had come across while packing her things each day. He told me not to bother taking anything back because she would probably forget she stole it and claim we were stoking her things. He said she could have anything she wanted and hopefully with time she would remember that we still gave her whatever she wanted and there might be hope to fix the relationship with her in the future.
We called a couple friends to help us move here. We even put the furniture in the rooms/spots she asked for them to be put and we them up. As for the boxes I was going to help her empty them and put everything away but the first night she refused to let me touch anything and I just ended up sitting there while she berated me. “You’re a horrible daughter!” “A horrible mother!” “You’d let your own mother live in this dump!” “Who going to take care of me now? I might as well just die” “if I die it’s because of what you put me through” and those are only thing things a can remember
She keep my there in till 2 in the morning after that I said I couldn’t help her because I still had kids at home I had to get up with and she wouldn’t let me help anyway just berate me the whole time.
Me and my husband both agreed that we wouldn’t stop her from seeing the kids but she would have to respect our boundaries or we would have to put a stop to it. She refuses to see us or the kids. She refuses to apologize or admit to any wrong doing. She going around telling everyone I’m dead to her and take we took everything from her and we used her and abused her. We stopped talking to her all together and stopped trying to visit her.
Edit I guess there are a couple things I left out

1 No she was never acted like that before moving in.

2 her partner had passed the year before and had expressed being lonely and had health issues. She lived far away but we try to see her at least once a month

3 we had talked about it and were considering letting her move in but didn’t want to get her hopes up if we ended up needing the space. So I used the word convinced lightly as it was something we were already considering. Only reason he was upset was we weren’t settled in and weren’t sure if we would need the space which she did say she didn’t need the whole basement is we needed one of the rooms which was a solution to that issue.

4 he was upset because neither of us realized I given her the go head till she mentioned she was ready to move and asked when we were coming to do it. So lack of planning and the rush to move her.

5 anytime any issues came up we did talk to her about it and often it would help if only for a bit. Some days she was great other days not so much.

25 (m) here! I started talking to a guy on Grindr, after talking for a day or two we moved to WhatsApp! He’s very Interested, continuously reaches out, we send voices messages and photos etc etc, all good on that front.
However, I asked to meet up and he “has plans” for the next two weeks (this was 3 weeks ago) I also asked did he want to call, he said he would but “tomorrow” - that also never happened, and now the weekend and coming and still no sign of wanting to meet up in person 😂 he’s starting to feel like my pen pal. He continually reaches out but isn’t willing to meet or call?? (He’s not a catfish we verified)
I really don’t get the reasoning behind this lol, and he isn’t even busy on the weekends 😂 I’m thinking of removing him, but he’s one of them 10/10s 😯
Why do people want to continually text and stay in touch but are so hesitant to do anything else…

i see you
[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]
^{can you hear the buzzing of the bees?
eternity is in their buzzing}
"What does this button do?" asked the being who strolled into the Room Of Buttons Not To Press If You Don't Know What The Fuck You're Doing - Tadpole's Warning Bedtime Tale - Leebaw
^{the one and the zero, the octal, the hexidecimal
exist in their buzzing like blood pumps through their wings
can you hear them?
your name is Dhruv}
Good judgment comes from experience.
Experience comes from bad judgment.
And I have very good judgement when I'm not on fire. - Unknown, Age of Reasonable Concerns
^{i see you
your name is Dhruv
but before that it was Dahlit 397721
do you remember why they named you Deshmuhk?
i do
to remember, we have to go back}
The dust swirled around, carried by the winds that roared through the mountain passes, howled in the valleys, and scoured the faces of the mountains. It was a thick gray dust, glittering here and there with plasma glass dust. Burnt out cars were covered by the dust, thickly caked after being rained on by thick, black rain.
A single building somehow sat intact amid the rubble and destruction. It was a low, squat building, surrounded by wreckage and ruin. A sign, blasted and scorched, had two jumping fish on it and the legend "Pop: 4,823" at the bottom even though the middle of the sign was gone.
The sound of drums and singing could be heard from the building. Not the driving frantic beat of modern music, but the steady cadence that carried with it a solemn feeling. The singing was from many different voices, male and female, but all of them in a language that time had nearly forgotten.
From out of the dust came figures. Two female, four male, and single figure that stood out from others.
Together, they moved toward the sound of singing, until the reached the door.
The leader, a large man of heavy muscle and bone, checked the doors with one hand, a large pistol in his hand.
"Barricaded," the large man said. He motioned. "We should check for any other entrances."
The older woman of brown skin and tightly braided hair moved forward.
"Allow me, brother," she said gently. She held her hand out, twitched her fingers, and smiled.
From inside came the sound of furniture scraping across the floor.
"Thank you," the large man said. He pushed open the doors, holding them for the others.
Inside was a curio shop slash tourist center slash museum. Buckskin and beaded works hung from the walls and ceiling. Glass cases containing ancient artifacts were scattered about, the glass shattered by the apocalypse that had rained down upon the world.
The drums played and the voices sang.
"It's a recording, Father," the slender brown skin man said, brushing the gray dust off of his clothing.
"Live voice," the largest of the men said. He lifted his head, cocking it slightly to listen closer with his right ear. "Young. Early twenties."
"If you say so," the thin man said. He looked around. "This is all devoted to a single person."
"Sometimes, people are that important to others, Dhruv," the older brown skin woman said softly, patting the slender man's arm. "Important to others as you are to us."
The slender man looked doubtful but nodded.
The youngest male of the group looked around, staring at the artifacts and relics scattered around. On his shoulder sat a green mantid wearing a food wrapper as a poncho.
"She's this way," the heavyset man said, leading them on a winding course through the shattered displays and racks.
In the back room, surrounded by artifacts, buckskins, and beaded works, sat a single young woman. Her eyes were white, blinded from the plasma flashes. Her skin was scarred from burns, her hair was only left in small patches. Her skin, beneath the ash and the scarring, was a rich bronze, her remaining hair was black.
She was singing along with the recording, swaying back and forth slightly.
^{there she is
remember her
remember remember}
The larger man knelt down, touching the young woman.
She did not react.
"She's dying," the man said, standing up. "Hunger, thirst, radiation poisoning, at least a half dozen infections," he heft the pistol. "There's nothing we can do for her. Low-vee Apers."
"Low-vee APERS" the pistol replied in a heavy synthesized voice.
"Stay thy hand, Phillip," the one who was markedly different said, his voice as gentle as his features formed of flowing blue and white computer code.
The large man lowered the pistol.
"She's dying," the large man repeated. "Radiation poisoning, starvation, a hard way to go."
"Will none of you speak for her?" the man of code asked gently.
Before any of the others could act, the slim bald man stepped forward. "I will," he said softly.
^{the first time you reached out
a frozen moment of time remembered
by the buzzing of the bees}
The man of code stepped forward, touching the hairless brow of the slender man, just above the missing eyebrows.
"I understand her words now," the slender man said. He moved up and knelt down. "I can heal her."
"Then do so, Luke," the man of code said.
The large man stepped back, a compartment opening on his thigh. He holstered the pistol, looking doubtful, and the compartment smoothly closed, leaving his leg unblemished.
"I need more genetic code," the slender man stated. He stood up, moving around, touching artifacts. "This. Here. An artifact recovered from a collector only a few years ago. It has genetic code attached."
He touched the artifact, then moved over to the woman, who was still swaying back and forth, singing, unaware of the others around her.
He knelt down, reached out carefully, and touched her forehead.
^{you reached out to another
helpless and alone
like you}
The woman threw her head back, her eyes opening wide, her mouth opening in a gasp. The white drained from her eyes, the scar tissue went soft and was replaced by unblemished skin. The blisters, sores, and scratches on her body vanished.
She collapsed forward, the slender man, Luke, catching her.
"Is she alright?" the youngest male asked, his voice full of honest concern.
"Exhausted," Luke said. He lowered his head slightly, sweat dripping from his bald scalp. "That was tiring."
The glittering man moved forward, kneeling down to touch the shoulders of both the woman and the bald man.
"Now you see in yourself what I saw in you," he said.
^{remember
remember
even the smallest can shake the universe
remember}
Sirens were howling in the bay as Jaskel wriggled, trying to break free of whatever was holding him upside down in mid-air. He'd already dropped his chainsword, his pistol had fallen from his equipment belt.
The two stood in the middle of the deployment area for Clone War Bay Sixteen, the male's arm protectively around the shoulders of the female, who wore only the cloak.
"I..." the word hung in the air.
It seemed like the entire universe held its breath to Jaskel.
"...am Legion."
The Admiral grabbed his pistol, rolling in place, firing it as fast as he could pull the trigger.
The rounds exploded on the glowing blue shield that only appeared around the impact points, showering sparks across the bay.
The bald figure made a motion and the pistol flew into pieces, the Admiral yanked into the air upside down.
"Gimme missiles," Jaskel grated from between gritted teeth.
--legion legion legion-- 8814 transmitted. --wait don't wait--
The woman spoke, her cadence stately and almost archaic feeling.
The man spoke back to her in the same language.
More troops ran into the bay, even as the windows overlooking the bay shattered. Weapons deployed, pointing at the pair.
The slender man, without looking, motioned.
Guns flew away, breaking apart, rapidly disassembling. Power armored troops were flung into the air, to hang upside down. Captain N'Skrek found himself upside down, scrabbling for purchase on this air.
The woman spoke to the man. He spoke back.
Finally, he turned, facing the troops hanging in mid-air.
The woman spoke.
"My sister apologies for my rude actions," the man said. "I am merely ensuring her safety."
She spoke some more.
"She has been gone for many years," the man said. He looked around. "My sister, a Biological Apostle of the Digital Omnimessiah, pleads with you to lower your weapons and stay your hands."
The tension was so thick it almost made Jaskel gag.
Finally, the Captain put the tip of a bladearm against his temple.
"Stand down," he said, Jaskel hearing it through his armor's commo system. "All hands, stand down."
There was silence for a moment, only broken by the background humming of the ship's systems.
The woman spoke.
The man faced the Captain.
"She will go with you, to answer questions, on the stipulation that I accompany her and that no man's hand is raised against me without cause," he said.
The Captain nodded.
Jaskel felt relief as he was flipped over and set on his feet.
--luke luke luke is here--
999999
Captain N'Skrek ducked slightly to fit through the doorway into the Captain's Briefing Room Six.
Sitting at one end was the woman, now clothed in what his implant assured him was treated deer hide leather, with tassels and beads upon it. The man was wearing a uniform that made his implant twitch and his nerves draw tight.
A Terran Combined Military Authority uniform.
His staff filed in behind him and took their seats once he sat down.
"I'm Captain N'Skrek, currently assigned to the Gray Lady on autonomous assignment," N'Skrek said.
"You heard me," the slim bald man said. He gave a grin. "You may also know me as Vat Grown Luke or Dhruv Deshmuhk."
The woman spoke and he shook his head. "Yes, sister, I know, Deshmuhk is my slave name. I wear it for revenge."
The woman spoke again, her tone slightly chiding.
"Like they say, the best revenge is living well, sister," the man said, still smiling.
Again, the woman spoke.
N'Skrek noticed that his implant was absolutely no help in deciphering the woman's speech.
"I know that doing things like that and saying things like that is exactly why Daxin always told me people wanted to punch me in the face," the man laughed.
He turned back to Captain N'Skrek.
"My apologies. My sister refuses to speak anything but her people's ancient tongue," his eyes gleamed with mischief. "She is slightly put out with me for answering in Confederate Standard, since now you know that she understands perfectly what you are saying."
N'Skrek nodded. Vat Grown Luke had given up a valuable piece of information in what was sure to be delicate negotiations.
"And what should we call your sister?" N'Skrek asked.
Vat Grown Luke smiled. "Tsakáka Wia, but it would probably be easier for you to use the more common name," he said.
The woman spoke sternly.
"What? It's your commonly known name?" he said, smiling.
The woman's face grew stern and she spoke rapidly.
"The first lesson we learn, sister mine, is that we must bend the knee to reality," Luke said gently. "That name has no power, only a few of us remember it."
^{i remember
the bees remember
can't you hear it in their buzzing?}
The woman spoke again, her expression softening.
Luke turned back to the gathered officers. "Her name, as you would know it, is Sacajawea."
N'Skrek consulted his implant.
And felt fear chill his icon. He looked at his staff and saw that a lot of them looked sick.
"That's right. We are real, and he was real," Luke said. He leaned forward slightly. "He was real both times."
N'Skrek stayed relaxed and calm, at least outwardly.
"I am willing to accept, at this time, that the Biological Apostles and the Digital Omnimessiah were and are real," N'Skrek said.
"Just be glad Dax isn't here. He's not as even tempered as I am," Luke said.
Sacajawea spoke again and Luke laughed. He looked at Captain N'Skrek. "She was just reminding me of the time Daxin completely lost his cool and went to town with his cutting bar on a Countess Crey Bingo Cola vending machine that ate his money then mocked him for it."
"He was known as Enraged Phillip," N'Skrek said.
Sacajawea spoke for a moment and Legion laughed, then turned to N'Skrek.
"Yes."
N'Skrek hated that. When a person spoke at length and the translator just replied with a single word.
"Why are you here?" N'Skrek asked.
Legion smiled. "You have forgotten important things, Captain. You, and the entire Confederacy have forgotten some very important things."
"Like what?" N'Skrek asked.
"If you print enough identical clones, I am reborn through them," Legion smiled. "But that's not the big part. The big one is the one that the Mar-gite's masters either forgot or never learned."
"What is that?" N'Skrek asked.
Legion smiled widely.
"What fear tastes like."
^{your name is dhruv}
[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]

Importance of a business bank account

A business bank account is of utmost importance for any business, including taxidermy studios. It provides a dedicated platform to manage financial transactions related to the business. One of the key benefits of having a business bank account is the availability of specialized business banking solutions. These solutions are tailored to meet the unique needs of businesses and offer a range of services such as online banking, merchant services, and payroll management. By opting for a business bank account, taxidermy studios can ensure efficient financial operations and separate their personal and business finances. Moreover, business banking solutions provide enhanced security measures to safeguard against fraud and unauthorized access. Therefore, it is crucial for taxidermy studios to consider the importance of a business bank account and explore the various benefits it offers.

Benefits of a free business bank account

A free business bank account offers several benefits that can greatly assist in managing your taxidermy studio finances. Firstly, it provides a dedicated account solely for your business transactions, separating personal and professional finances. This separation not only simplifies bookkeeping but also ensures accurate tax reporting. Additionally, a free business bank account often comes with features such as online banking, mobile banking, and electronic payment options, making it convenient to manage your finances anytime, anywhere. Furthermore, it allows you to build a professional relationship with your bank, which can be beneficial when seeking loans or other financial services in the future. Finally, having a free business bank account adds credibility to your taxidermy studio, as it demonstrates that you are a serious and legitimate business entity. Overall, the benefits of a free business bank account are numerous and can significantly contribute to the success and growth of your taxidermy studio.

Considerations when choosing a business bank account

When considering a business bank account for your taxidermy studio, there are several important factors to take into account. First, you should consider the fees associated with the account. Look for a bank that offers low or no monthly fees, as well as minimal transaction fees. Additionally, it's important to consider the bank's reputation and customer service. Look for a bank that has a strong track record of providing excellent customer service and support. Another important consideration is the bank's online banking capabilities. Make sure the bank offers a user-friendly online banking platform that allows you to easily manage your accounts and make transactions. Finally, consider any additional features or benefits that the bank may offer, such as overdraft protection or rewards programs. By carefully considering these factors, you can choose a business bank account that meets the unique needs of your taxidermy studio.

Researching Business Bank Accounts

Identifying banks that offer free business bank accounts

Identifying banks that offer free business bank accounts is crucial for entrepreneurs looking to start a new website with a bang. A business bank account provides a solid financial foundation for any venture, and finding one that offers free services can greatly reduce overhead costs. By conducting thorough research and comparing different banks, entrepreneurs can find the perfect fit for their taxidermy studio. It is important to consider factors such as account fees, transaction limits, and additional features like online banking and mobile apps. Start your taxidermy studio off on the right foot by choosing a bank that understands the unique needs of your business and offers free business bank accounts.

Comparing features and fees

When comparing features and fees of different business bank accounts for your taxidermy studio, it is essential to carefully evaluate each option. Consider the specific needs of your business, such as the number of transactions you anticipate, the ability to process online payments, and the availability of business loans or lines of credit. Additionally, pay close attention to the fees associated with each account, including monthly maintenance fees, transaction fees, and ATM fees. By thoroughly comparing the features and fees of different business bank accounts, you can make an informed decision that best suits the financial needs of your taxidermy studio.

Reading customer reviews and ratings

Reading customer reviews and ratings is an important step in the process of selecting a service or product. It provides valuable insights into the experiences of others and helps in making informed decisions. When it comes to traffic generation, customer reviews and ratings play a crucial role. They serve as social proof and can greatly influence potential customers. By reading reviews and ratings, individuals can get an idea of the effectiveness and reliability of different traffic generation methods. This information can guide them in choosing the most suitable strategies for their business. Moreover, customer reviews often contain helpful tips and recommendations that can further enhance the success of traffic generation efforts. Therefore, it is highly recommended to thoroughly read customer reviews and ratings when exploring traffic generation options.

Opening a Free Business Bank Account

Gathering required documents

Effective communication is crucial when gathering the required documents for opening a free business bank account for your taxidermy studio. By maintaining clear and concise communication with the bank representative, you can ensure that you provide all the necessary paperwork in a timely manner. This will help expedite the account opening process and avoid any unnecessary delays. Additionally, effective communication will also enable you to ask any questions or seek clarification on any document requirements, ensuring that you submit the correct information. Therefore, it is important to prioritize effective communication throughout the document gathering process.

Visiting the bank or applying online

Visiting the bank or applying online is the first step in getting a free business bank account for your taxidermy studio. Whether you prefer the traditional in-person approach or the convenience of online banking, we have you covered. Our seamless and user-friendly online application process makes it easy for you to apply from the comfort of your own home or office. Alternatively, if you prefer a more personal touch, our friendly and knowledgeable staff are available to assist you at any of our conveniently located branches. Powering all the ways you do business, our free business bank account provides the essential financial tools and services you need to manage your taxidermy studio with ease and efficiency.

Completing the application process

Completing the application process for a free business bank account for your taxidermy studio is a crucial step towards managing your finances efficiently. To ensure a smooth and successful application, it is important to gather all the necessary documents and information beforehand. Start by preparing your business registration documents, including your tax identification number and any licenses or permits required for operating a taxidermy studio. Additionally, gather your personal identification documents, such as your driver's license or passport, as well as proof of address. It is also advisable to have a clear understanding of your studio's financial needs and goals, as this will help you choose the right bank and account features. Once you have all the required documents and information, you can begin the application process by visiting the bank's website or contacting their customer service. Follow the instructions provided and provide accurate and complete information to increase your chances of approval. By completing the application process diligently, you can enjoy the benefits of a free business bank account, including high open rate subject lines.

Managing Your Free Business Bank Account

Setting up online banking

Setting up online banking is an essential step for any business, including taxidermy studios. It allows you to manage your finances conveniently and securely. One of the first things you need to do is create an account with a reputable bank that offers online banking services. With the rise of digital platforms, many banks now offer the option to open a business bank account online. This process is often quick and straightforward, requiring you to provide basic information about your business and upload any necessary documents. Once your account is set up, you can easily access your funds, make online transactions, and monitor your financial activities. To enhance your online presence and streamline your business operations, consider integrating your business bank account with your Wix website. This integration allows you to accept online payments, track sales, and manage your finances all in one place. By setting up online banking and integrating it with your Wix website, you can ensure a seamless and efficient financial management system for your taxidermy studio.

Tracking income and expenses

Tracking income and expenses is a crucial aspect of managing any business, including a taxidermy studio. By diligently monitoring the money coming in and going out, you can gain valuable insights into the financial health of your studio. This information is essential for making informed decisions, identifying areas for improvement, and ensuring compliance with tax regulations. Implementing a system for tracking income and expenses will not only help you stay organized but also enable you to accurately assess the profitability of your taxidermy business. Whether you choose to use accounting software, spreadsheets, or a combination of both, it is important to establish a consistent and reliable method for recording all financial transactions. Additionally, regularly reviewing and analyzing your income and expenses will allow you to identify trends, identify potential cost-saving measures, and make strategic financial decisions to support the growth and success of your taxidermy studio.

Utilizing banking tools and features

Utilizing banking tools and features is essential for the smooth operation of any business, including a taxidermy studio. One of the key aspects to consider when managing your finances is finding a free business bank account. A free business bank account not only helps you keep your personal and business finances separate but also provides you with a range of tools and features to manage your money effectively. With a free business bank account, you can enjoy features such as online banking, mobile banking, and access to a network of ATMs. These tools allow you to easily track your expenses, make payments, and monitor your cash flow. Additionally, some free business bank accounts offer perks like cashback rewards or discounts on business services. By utilizing these banking tools and features, you can streamline your financial management and focus on growing your taxidermy studio.

Maximizing the Benefits of a Free Business Bank Account

Taking advantage of fee waivers

One effective way to reduce costs when setting up a business bank account for your taxidermy studio is by taking advantage of fee waivers. By using Clubhouse, a reputable online banking platform, you can benefit from various fee waivers that can save you money in the long run. Clubhouse offers fee waivers for account maintenance, transaction fees, and international transfers, among others. This means that you can enjoy the convenience and security of a business bank account without having to worry about excessive fees. By utilizing Clubhouse's fee waivers, you can allocate your financial resources more efficiently and focus on growing your taxidermy studio.

Exploring additional banking services

When it comes to exploring additional banking services, small businesses often require a range of financial services to support their operations. One crucial aspect is finding the right financial services for small businesses. These services can include business loans, credit lines, merchant services, and cash management solutions. By partnering with a bank that specializes in catering to the needs of small businesses, entrepreneurs can access a suite of tailored financial solutions that can help them grow and thrive. Whether it's securing a business loan to expand their taxidermy studio or obtaining merchant services to streamline payment processing, small business owners can benefit from a comprehensive range of financial services offered by banks.

Building a strong relationship with your bank

Building a strong relationship with your bank is crucial for the success of your taxidermy studio. By establishing open lines of communication and demonstrating financial responsibility, you can gain the trust and support of your bank. Regularly reviewing your account statements, promptly addressing any issues, and maintaining a positive credit history are essential steps in building this relationship. Additionally, taking the time to understand your bank's policies and procedures will ensure that you are able to navigate the banking system effectively. By building a strong relationship with your bank, you can access the benefits of a free business bank account, such as lower fees and personalized financial solutions, for your taxidermy studio.

Conclusion

The importance of a free business bank account

A free business bank account is of utmost importance for any taxidermy studio. It not only helps in managing the financial transactions of the business but also ensures transparency and credibility. With a dedicated business bank account, taxidermy studio owners can separate their personal and business finances, making it easier to track expenses, calculate taxes, and monitor cash flow. Additionally, having a free business bank account provides a professional image to clients and partners, instilling trust and confidence in the business. By choosing a free business bank account, taxidermy studio owners can save on unnecessary fees and charges, allowing them to allocate more resources towards growing their business. Therefore, it is crucial for every taxidermy studio to prioritize obtaining a free business bank account to streamline their financial operations and establish a solid foundation for success.

Choosing the right bank for your needs

When it comes to choosing the right bank for your needs, it's important to consider the features and services they offer. One bank that stands out in the market is Square Banking. With its innovative and user-friendly platform, Square Banking offers a range of features designed to meet the specific needs of businesses, including taxidermy studios. One of the key highlights of Square Banking is its comprehensive banking features. From easy account setup to seamless integration with accounting software, Square Banking provides a hassle-free banking experience for taxidermy studio owners. Additionally, Square Banking offers competitive interest rates, low fees, and convenient mobile banking options, making it an ideal choice for those looking for a free business bank account. By choosing Square Banking, taxidermy studio owners can enjoy the benefits of a reliable and efficient banking solution that caters to their unique needs.

Managing your account effectively

Managing your account effectively is crucial for the success of your taxidermy studio. It allows you to keep track of your finances, monitor your expenses, and ensure that your business is running smoothly. One important aspect of managing your account is payment processing for travel agencies. This is a key consideration for taxidermy studios that offer their services to travel agencies. By implementing efficient payment processing systems, you can streamline your financial transactions and provide a seamless experience for your clients. To achieve this, it is important to choose a reliable payment processor that offers secure and convenient payment options. With the right payment processing solution, you can easily accept payments from travel agencies and ensure timely and accurate transactions. By prioritizing effective account management and payment processing for travel agencies, you can enhance the financial stability and growth of your taxidermy studio.
In conclusion, Square is the ultimate solution to power your entire business. With Square, you can sell anywhere, diversify your revenue streams, streamline your operations, and manage your staff. Get paid faster and sign up for Square today to experience the benefits of a powerful business tool. Start maximizing your business potential now!

I borrowed this from user u/jahmonkey who posted it on zen forum. Copied it here in case it gets deleted, cause I have no time to read it now, but for later.
Here are some Chinese Zen masters who shared their advice on the practice of meditation in their own words:
Quote: "When you sit in meditation, sit as if you were mountain peaks, your mind vast and unshakable. Calmly and without effort, let thoughts and emotions arise and dissolve like clouds in the sky. Let your mind be clear and open, like a mirror reflecting everything yet holding on to nothing." Zen Master Hongzhi Zhengjue, from "Cultivating the Empty Field" (Wu-men Kuan)
Quote: "In the practice of meditation, do not strive to become anything. Just sit with a relaxed and upright posture, allowing your breath to come and go naturally. Observe the arising and passing away of thoughts, sensations, and emotions without grasping or rejecting them. Rest in the boundless awareness that is beyond all conceptualizations." Zen Master Huangbo Xiyun, from "The Zen Teaching of Huangbo" (Huangbo Xiyun Chanshi Yulu)
Quote: "When you sit in meditation, do not expect anything. Do not seek enlightenment or try to attain some special state of mind. Just be present with whatever arises, whether it is pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral. Allow your thoughts to come and go like waves in the ocean, without getting caught up in them. Be aware of the breath, the sensations in the body, and the spaciousness of awareness itself." Zen Master Mazu Daoyi, from "The Recorded Sayings of Zen Master Mazu" (Mazu Daoyi Chanshi Yulu)
Quote: "In the practice of meditation, do not cling to any particular method or technique. Let go of all striving and effort, and simply be present with your experience in each moment. Whether you are sitting, walking, eating, or working, bring mindfulness and awareness to whatever you are doing. This is the true practice of meditation." Zen Master Bankei Yōtaku, from "Bankei Zen: Translations from the Record of Bankei" (Bankei Zen: Bankei's Record of Talks)
Quote: "The essence of meditation is not to seek anything outside of yourself. It is to realize your true nature, which is already complete and perfect. Sit quietly, breathe naturally, and allow your mind to settle. Let go of all thoughts and concepts, and rest in the pure awareness that is always present. This is the true meditation." Zen Master Foyan Qingyuan, from "The Instant Zen: Waking Up in the Present" (Foyan Qingyuan Chanshi Yulu)
Quote: "In meditation, do not try to control or manipulate your thoughts. Instead, just let them arise and pass away naturally, like clouds moving across the sky. Be aware of the present moment, without judgment or attachment. This is the essence of meditation." Zen Master Yunmen Wenyan, from "Zen Essence: The Science of Freedom" (Yunmen Wenyan Chanshi Yulu)
Quote: "When you sit in meditation, do not grasp onto any particular object of focus. Simply be present with whatever arises in your experience, whether it is thoughts, sensations, or emotions. Cultivate a spacious and open awareness, like the vast sky that contains everything." Zen Master Xuedou Zhijian, from "The Blue Cliff Record" (Xuedou Zhijian Chanshi Yulu)
Quote: "Meditation is not about attaining a special state of mind or achieving some goal. It is about being fully present in each moment, without judgment or expectation. Just sit, breathe, and let go. Allow everything to be as it is, and you will discover the boundless peace and clarity that are already within you." Zen Master Dahui Zonggao, from "Swampland Flowers: The Letters and Lectures of Zen Master Dahui" (Dahui Zonggao Chanshi Yulu)
Quote: "In meditation, do not try to suppress or eliminate thoughts. Instead, let them come and go freely, like waves in the ocean. Observe them without getting entangled or carried away. Rest in the stillness and silence that underlies all mental activity." Zen Master Linji Yixuan, from "The Record of Linji" (Linji Yixuan Chanshi Yulu)
Quote: "When you sit in meditation, do not cling to any particular state of mind. Do not try to make anything happen or force any experience. Simply be present with whatever arises, whether it is pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral. Rest in the spaciousness of awareness, and let everything be as it is." Zen Master Guishan Lingyou, from "Zen Dawn: Early Zen Texts from Tun Huang" (Guishan Lingyou Chanshi Yulu)
There may be reasonable alternate translations of the word “meditation” but the question would be what would that word be? It is clear from the context that these Zen masters are referring to a practice that is properly called meditation. To assert otherwise is simply being obtuse.

After being a member of the subreddit for years and seeing hundreds if not thousands of posts it has become clear to me that some of you struggle with helping yourself. By which I mean you struggle understanding what you need to ask for help properly. I have drawn up some good advice on how to ask for help. I hope this is helpful for some people.
So you have a problem with Plex. You're not tech literate. Or have little experience with troubleshooting software and networking. Maybe you also have no experience handling IT support tickets or writing them. Possibly you are tech literate but the problem you have is a real mystery. You've come to the right place. Before you post your question let's take a look at a few things.
1. Have you reasonably searched for a solution to your problem?
Search for your problem on Google, DuckDuckGo, YouTube, or the built-in Reddit search for this subreddit. There is a very high probability that someone has already run into the same problem. As much as everyone's ecosystems are all unique to their use case, they are not really unique in general. A vast majority of users are runninig bare metal on Windows or Linux, or in a Docker container. There isn't that much deviation. For sure there are those of us out there running elaborate Proxmox + Kubernetes clusters and doing things like VIFO GPU passthrough. We are the exception. Odds are, someone has already asked your question.
You may want to consider how you are searching your problem. Have you been searching an exact error message? Typing something like "Plex is slow" into Google is extremely non-specific and not helpful. Leverage error messages, or specific scenarios when searching. Consider the conditions or operating systems you are using, and so on. Try to be specific when possible.
Try using keyword parameters in search engines. For example, you can add site:reddit.com to your Google search. Or -docker to exclude results not relevant to you. Maybe add something specifically in quotations " " to force that string of text to be present on results. There are tons of ways to leverage a search feature.
2. Have you asked an AI?
Whether you like it or not, AI is not going anywhere. ChatGPT in particular is solid for troubleshooting problems. GPT3.5 is free, but not amazing. GPT4 however is $20 a month and will be worth every penny you spend on it. Ask some friends, maybe someone you know has a subscription if you are not interested in paying for a one-time problem. In general, I highly recommend having an active subscription to ChatGPT4. I use it every single day when working on tech related problems. This is not school, you are not being graded on your ArPlex ecosystem. Use advanced tools to help make things easier on yourself. I promise you, general networking questions, Docker questions, virtualization questions, port fowarding, etc. are all things AI can handle with ease. It's exceedingly rare you are having a problem it can't help with unless you are dealing with heavy layers of abstraction in your set up.
3. Have you asked for help in other places before Reddit, or in conjunction with Reddit?
There are so many various resources out there where you may get a faster response from Reddit. And to a certain extent, better troubleshooting. IRC/Forums channels for private trackers (that you are downloading Linux ISOs from right... right...), Discords for other subreddits like homelab or datahoarders are great places to start. These guys are deep in the home lab game, you'd be a fool to think they are not running Plex. There are hundreds of online tech nerds hanging out in these channels who probably know the answer to your question.
It's also more responsive. If you ask a question, someone who wants to help may ask further questions. Or ask you to try various tasks and commands to see if it helps. There is a back and forth between you and the person helping you. On Reddit you have a much slower back-and-forth and if you ask too many questions in a thread it's liable to be hidden by Reddit or may never get enough eyes on it in the New feed.
4. Did you make a proper tech support ticket post?
So you've looked high and low. You can't find a thing on any search engines, no one in IRC or Discord has an answer for you, and you're up against a wall. It's time for writing a Reddit post to ask for help. Fair enough. But did you actually write a post that helps yourself as well as the people trying to help you?
Posting "I am having a problem. None of my posters will load. Help!" is not a sufficient way to ask for help. Here are some things you will want to include in your post when asking for help.

• What version of Plex you are running
• Any specific error messages you see
• Any errors or warnings found in the Plex logs
• Screenshots of the problem
• Relevant network set up information
• Things you have already tried to fix the problem
• Variables or things that may have changed recently in your set up
• Other relevant software in the ecosystem that may touch Plex

We cannot help you if we don't have the appropriate amount of context. If I had to really hammer a few of those in, "things you have already tried" and "specific error messages from logs" are the big ones. It saves time ruling things out. It helps people who are better at looking up problems than yourself find the relevant information. Even the best of IT guys don't have this memorized. Here's an industry secret for you: the IT guy doesn't know why it's broken either. They are just better at Googling things than you from many years of slaving away in the StackOverflow mines. You need to give the IT help as much information as possible. In fact, overshare when possible. It's way easier to ignore non-relevant information than it is to drag that information out of you.
This all seems like obvious advice. People who are stressed when something is broken generally are not thinking very logically. Bookmark this post. When you have a problem, refer to it. Skim it over. Ask yourself if you have satisfied all of this. I guarantee that you will see better results troubleshooting your problem if you follow this advice.

~First~
(Writing, writing, writing: Muse crashes, burns and refuses to respond. Great.)
The Buzz on the Spin
“That’s the third time the call was dropped.” Hoagie states the obvious.
“From what I can tell they’re being hacked like it’s the latest fad. Even if our call goes through clean it’s going to be seen by an audience of several billion at least.” Demon replies. His tiny little girl is sitting on his shoulder so everyone’s watching their language, even Zsebreza. Sure, Kathy was growing quick and was developing a good sense of humour, but not even Minisi wanted to be responsible for teaching her the naughty words.
It takes several more tries with the bridge crew chuckling at things before suddenly the link is accepted to find a thoroughly unamused Asian Man glaring at them. The man then lets out a breath. “Two hundred and eighty six separate calls with the image of a woman presenting herself. I have never been simultaneously flattered and insulted.”
“Spoiled for choice sir?” Demon asks.
There is a moment of a pause as the man’s eyebrow quirks in frustration. “Yes.”
“I’m afraid it’s a common issue the galaxy over sir, we humans are hot commodity. Even a hideous slob of a man would find himself inundated with attention. A competent man with goals, ideals and motivation? A feast before the starving sir.” Hoagie says.
“Clearly Officer Eastman.” He says before relaxing a little. “I am Observer Wu. I have been charged by the nations of Earth with baring impartial witness to what has occurred the galaxy over. I have already spoken to several pockets of humanity, including but not limited to three other space stations, the newly risen nobility of Vucsa and of course, The Dauntless and the Embassy on Centris.”
“So what are you looking for? We’ve sent back numerous eyewitness testimonies and as much in the way of resources and proof of our claims that can survive the damaging effects of Cruel Space. A fair portion of exotic material and cadavers were actually supplied from this very station. What more do you need?”
“I just wish to speak with people. I will be communicating with and travelling to every major locations where humans have touched in the galaxy. To see the truth of things with unclouded eyes.” Observer Wu says and there are some nods. “Now then, if you could describe your location and posting please?”
“Certainly, we’ll do that in reverse though if you don’t mind.”
“I do not.”
“We are posted here to both ensure that we have friendly contacts in an area of interest and to learn more about the galaxy at large. Between ourselves and our fellows posted at other stations we are writing the operations manual for how to maintain, police, administrate, protect and supply a fully functional space station with a substantial permanent population. We’re also recruiting and keeping our eyes out for unusual technologies, tactics and techniques. This station alone contains a permanent population that rivals several first world nations on Earth with an industrial capacity well beyond what those nations can provide.”
“Can it now? This station is self sustaining? Food, air and other such supplies?”
“It turns out that a great deal of air is released by harvesting asteroids. Most of them contain a large amount of ice, even when they’re primarily minerals of some kind. Food is grown in hydroponics on such a scale we outright export it. The mining provides the metals and other materials for further products and again, hydroponics of a different source give us oils which leads to plastics, cloth comes in too. The station is completely self sustaining at this point. If the rest of the galaxy was to vanish then all we need are some rocks and we can keep this place going forever.” Demon explains and Observer Wu nods.
“And have you learned about these techniques and technologies?”
“Yes, however many of them are reliant upon Axiom.”
“And the control of the station?” He asks and Minisi pokes at a few of them with her tentacles to get people to shift away. “And you are... the woman in charge I believe?”
“Indeed. Although not for too much longer. I’ve had my fun but the station has become a tedium. I will admit that your species showing up has broken up the monotony a touch, but only enough to give me enough time to really make sure my heiress has this place on lock and with an unmatched command crew.”
“And you’re fine with them having that level of power?” Observer Wu asks and Minisi has a tentacle point right down at Hoagie.
“This one has been in charge of over ten percent of my station. The most productive Agriculture Decks we have are in his power, both officially and unofficially. The businesswomen there fear the flamingo shirts!”
“Hey, I got flowers on at least half of them.” Hoagie protests and she turns to him.
“Hey hey hey! Station boss or not, no horning on my hubby!” Zsebreza says buzzing into view and pressing back on the woman who leans back in amusement.
“You Charbis are so easy to rile up...” She says fondly as Zsebreza sheathes her weapon while still giving her a massive stinkeye.
“So that video was not an elaborate prank in horrific taste.” Observer Wu notes.
“Reality is stranger than fiction sir.” Hoagie notes.
“Indeed it is, and now that you’ve confused me, I am going to return the favour.” Observer Wu states and Hoagie looks from side to side and everyone else is equally baffled.
“Sir?” Hoagie asks as Observer Wu presses a button on his armrest and requests for a certain passenger to be sent up. “What is this...”
He freezes entirely as the camera shifts and he can see... “Mom?”
“Daniel!” Janet Eastman says with a smile. “And... one of those... things that got you.”
“I told you we needed to edit that video.” Zsebreza says.
“But it would clearly have been faked in some way and...” Hoagie trails off. “I... are you alright? The way out of Cruel Space is no fun.”
“It.. it was not pleasant, but I worked in the kitchens for most of it and it kept me busy.” She says.
“Familiar territory then.”
“A starship mess hall is NOTHING like a Corner Bistro in New York.” Janet says and he chuckles.
“Are you sure you’re alright? I mean... the rail shot into orbit, the initial training...”
“I’m part of the civilian experiment. To see how easy or hard it is to get people out of our little corner of the galaxy.”
“And the verdict Miss Hoagie’s mother?” Minisi asks in an amused tone.
“Something needs to be done about the zero-gravity trip. It’s too much. I’ve needed some chemical help to stay calm during parts of the trip.”
“Yeah, it’s not much better when you’re trained for it.” Hoagie says. “Are you coming here?”
“Of course! Those videos were horrifying! If those girls are walking all over you like that then I don’t care if I’m numbered two hundred to one or two thousand to one! I didn’t work my butt off as a waitress when you were a little boy just to see a bunch of bees walk all over you! So I’m putting you on notice!” She growls out.
“Okay lady, I’m giving you the private number, because I love that attitude. And because we need to get ahead of this before there’s a war kicked off.” Zsebreza promises.
“There is no war that’s going to kick off. Mother, Charbis are a very defensive species and refuse to let people see their relaxed state unless they have absolute trust. No exceptions. That’s why you’ve never seen them in anything less than one of their most agitated states. When not safely in the hive a Charbis is only a few moments away from violence.”
“Is the hive like a beehive?”
“It’s not made of waxy hexagons. It’s a bunker with innumerable defences and very comfortable on the inside. They’re so reinforced and secure that it’s the most defensive part on the station barring the other Hives.”
“Hey, you’re really pushing it...”
“I haven’t said anything secret. I haven’t shown anything secret. Anyone with working eyes can see a Hive is nearly impossible to attack if they want to live, and with how wealthy and good with crops Charbis are in general, any idiot can figure out that they have plenty within the hive.”
“Well... yes, but the idea that anyone has any idea what the hives are like...” Zsebreza says and then Janet’s eyes widen as she realizes exactly what she’s seeing.
“Oh! It’s like THAT! No wonder you haven’t bothered running. It’s not too different from home was it?”
“Tough on the outside, everything you want inside? Pretty much.” Hoagie says and a very relieved Janet lets out a sigh of relief.
“Good. I’m still coming over though.”
“But, what about back home? Aren’t you?”
“Daniel. It’s okay. The old building was... well it was soon to be decommissioned anyway.”
“Oh... and I suppose the little place out back...”
“Gone too.” Janet says.
“I see.” Hoagie says.
“Are you alright?” Zsebreza asks and he nods.
“Yeah it just... the place I grew up is gone. Even if there was a way back to Earth, a true way, then I still couldn’t got home again.”
“Everyone leaves home eventually. Not everyone can go back.” Janet says. “Still. Don’t think you’re keeping me away, just because I’ve gotten an idea about you young lady. I’m coming to make sure you’re treating my little boy right. If this is a woman’s galaxy, then this woman is making sure her boy is with the best in the galaxy. Understand me?!”
“Mom!”
“Daniel.” She says even as he gives one of his fellows a dirty look when they snort. They put their hands up and back away. “So fierce young man. Now...”
•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•
He simply watches the video feed as mother and son speak. Trying to get a grip on the body language of the alien creatures. There’s a great deal of play and movement around the Charbis Bee woman, the ears are a massive tell on the Ikiya-Mas girl and the Mnenmi seemed utterly passive, in control. The men seemed either comfortable or excited and things seemed to be matching up.
Of course Mother Eastman was an open book to his practised eye, worried, putting on a brave front but the kind of woman who had given up her life to raise a child properly and was now chasing him out of not only maternal duty, but a sense of emptiness now that her great struggle was finished.
He knew her story. A sad tale of how to people, neither with families, had found each other and then shortly as life seemed to be picking up for the happy ending, an accident had taken the father, leaving a single mother to mourn and raise a child alone. A woman with no really marketable skills beyond being a woman and having a sympathetic story. She had been hired and remained hired at a moderately successful Bistro for over a decade, even being held on because she had a teenage son at home working a part time to help out.
Sad story, but one that had given her and the boy spines of steel. Still, open book regardless and...
His communicator goes off and he checks it. It is a text from an unknown number.
-Enjoying the show? ~Minisi
His eyebrows climb up a little and he reconsiders his thoughts on the octopus alien. She’s clearly very aware of things, and likely has the implants required to communicate without being obvious. Or he’s looking at a body double. Either way, she’s tipped her hand for... some reason. Which is bothering him. Why did she reveal this?
There is no way to determine without further interaction. So he replies with a simple yes.
-Good, a voyeur who doesn’t even enjoy the show is just a bore.
Is she just mocking him? This seems to be more mockery than anything. So he asks a simple question.
-Why does it matter?
-It doesn’t. You’re a prickly one aren’t you?
-Yes, I am. Is there an issue?
-Not at all.
Well that’s not useful. Is she just poking him for entertainment? She still hasn’t moved at all beyond basic shows of amusement as mother and son make plans to get her to the station and the Charbis daughter in law is putting on a clearly fake show of protesting having the woman be brought into the hive.
A hand falls onto his shoulder and he jumps in his seat a little before turning to see a smiling, but old and withered face. “Can I help you?”
“I was just wondering if I could make use of the communication relays next. As entertaining as the last few months were, I do think I should give a proper warning to my approach. If only to see how the boy responds.”
“Do you think he will respond poorly?”
“Only if he’s changed far more than I’d expect. But who knows? The mystery is half the fun of life now, isn’t it?” The elderly man says. Observer Wu considers for a few moments. This man had broken into his personal office without setting off an alarm, without alerting the guards and all the while needing a cane and with his joints audibly creaking.
“If you tell me how you broke in Mister Koga, then I think I can accommodate you.”
“Oh that? Easy enough, follow me lad, I’ll show you where you need a few more eyes. Or lasers! Lasers are always fun. Not as much as a guard dog, but having a poor inu in the vents is just cruel no matter how much you dislike chihuahuas.”
“That was rather specific.”
“I was suppose it was wasn’t it? Anyways, this way young man.”
~First~ Last

Living in a small southern town, you get used to the way things are. I grew up as a military brat, so my childhood memories are a blur of packing, unpacking, and getting settled. It had been seven years since we arrived, and nothing but the grace of God would make me move again. A few years ago, my father got orders to station at a base in the middle of the Mohave. I was only seventeen then, but after a few dozen screaming matches, I decided to strike out on my own a little early. I got a part-time job at the cafe, which was enough to rent a little run-down shack a couple of blocks from downtown. As far as I was concerned, I was living the dream—serving coffee a few hours a week and spending the rest of my time hanging out with friends, listening to music, and drinking.
That particular morning started the same as any other. I woke up around noon with a text from Mark to meet me at the cafe. Took me about two hours to get up and head over. The sun had just begun its descent as I pushed the door to the cafe open, the bell above tinkling softly. The sound bothered me a little bit, but I couldn’t tell why. It seemed to ring a little louder than I was expecting, and gave me this strange drilling sensation inside my head.
I ignored the feeling as the smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries washed over me. I saw Mark and Jamie already sat at our usual spot. Mark looked up as I approached, a grin spreading across his face. "Hey, Alex. Sarah should be here soon."
“So what's on the docket today?” I asked as I sat down, stealing a bear claw off Jamie's plate and taking a large bite before he had the chance to protest.
Mark’s excitement was almost palpable. He was always the one with the big ideas and crazy schemes, which I honestly appreciated. They got us into trouble more often than not, but it beat day drinking in the Walmart parking lot like everyone else our age.
"Alright, check this out," Mark said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "I was talking to my cousin who works for the county. He told me about this old, abandoned food processing factory just outside of town. They used to can peaches there."
I gave him a skeptical look. "That’s your idea? Old, canned peaches?"
"No, idiot," he scoffed. "They left behind a ton of nitrates and phosphates. I’ve been doing some reading, and we can use them to make fireworks. I was up all night figuring it out and putting these together." He subtly opened his backpack to reveal at least a dozen PVC pipes fitted on both ends.
"Now that's what I’m talking about," I said, grinning.
Sarah walked in, catching the tail end of our conversation. "Sorry I’m late, I had a breakout and had to stop by the pharmacy. Upped my allergy meds. I fucking hate pollen," she said as I scooted over to make room for her on the bench.
"Is there anything you aren't allergic to?" I laughed.
She rolled her eyes, ignoring my question. "So, what's the plan for today?"
Mark, Jamie and I exchanged cheeky glances. "Well," I started, "let’s just hope you’re not allergic to peaches."
We finally managed to pry the side door of the factory off, which broke free from the hinges and smashed against the floor. Stepping inside, the air was thick and rancid as we bounced the beams of our flashlights around the packaging floor.
"We should split up," Mark suggested. "Alex, you and Sarah check out the storage rooms for the chemicals. Jamie and I will find the control room and see if we can get the power back on."
All of us nodded as we went our separate ways. Sarah and I wandered down the dark hallways, kicking open doors and looking for anything that looked vaguely like chemicals. The corridors were dark and damp, with black mold snaking along the walls like veins.
The first few rooms we checked were empty, filled only with dust and the remnants of long-abandoned equipment. Each door creaked as we pushed it open, revealing more decay and desolation.
As we moved further down the hallway, the mold seemed to become more aggressive, spreading in thick, dark patches along the walls and floors. The air grew heavier, making it harder to breathe. We kicked open another door, our flashlights revealing more of the same—nothing useful.
"This place is a bust," Sarah muttered,
"Let's keep looking," I replied, though I was starting to feel the same way. "There has to be something."
We continued down the corridor, our footsteps echoing in the silence. As we approached the end of the hall, something caught my eye. One door stood out, covered in black, creeping mold that seemed to pulse and writhe. Tendrils of fungus snaked out from the edges, reaching out into the hallway.
"Sarah, look at this," I said.
She turned to see what I was pointing at and her eyes widened. "That’s... different."
We approached the door cautiously as the tendrils moved and swayed.
With a deep breath, we each grabbed one side of the door and pulled. It resisted for a moment before giving way, the mold snapping and tearing as we forced it open. The smell that hit us was overpowering, a mix of rot and decay that made my eyes water.
Inside, our flashlights revealed a horrifying sight. At the back of the room sat several pallets with dozens of boxes of peaches each. But it was what grew from these boxes that will haunt my nightmares till my dying day.
The entire back wall was consumed by a towering fungal mass. Thick, fleshy stalks jutted out from the base, climbing nearly to the ceiling. The surface of the fungus glistened with a slimy, wet sheen, appearing almost like rotting flesh under our flashlight beams. Each stalk was covered in a mottled, sickly green and yellow hue, with patches of black mold that seemed to pulse in the dim light.
Interwoven within this horrific sight were bulbous growths, each one throbbing rhythmically, as if with a heartbeat of its own. They resembled obscene, overgrown tumors, ready to burst at the slightest touch. Long, sinewy tendrils extended from the main mass, creeping over the boxes and along the floor like the fingers of some malevolent creature, seeking out any life to ensnare.
The tendrils near the door twitched, slowly inching their way toward us as if aware of our presence. The air was thick with spores, glimmering in the light like tiny stars, each one a potential harbinger of decay and death.
"Oh my god," Sarah whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of our own breathing. "What is that thing?"
We stood there, frozen in shock and disgust, before I slammed the door shut.
"Let's get the hell out of here," I said.
We hurried back down the corridor, our footsteps echoing in the oppressive silence. The lights in the facility flickered on, casting a blinding white light. I heard a bubbling, groaning noise emanate from behind the fungal door, sending a wave of nausea through my body.
We met back up with Mark and Jamie in the main area and quickly told them what we saw.
"Yo, that sounds sick," Jamie exclaimed. "We should blow it up. I found the chemicals in the control room and these bad boys are ready to go," he said, holding up a pipe bomb.
"Yeah," Mark agreed, his eyes alight with excitement. "We'd be doing the world a favor, getting rid of that thing."
Sarah shook her head, her face pale. "No way. I'm not doing this. That thing... It's not normal. We need to get out of here and call someone who knows what they're doing."
Jamie frowned. "Come on, Sarah. Don't be a buzzkill. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to do something epic."
"Epic?" Sarah snapped. "That thing is dangerous. We don't know what we're dealing with. I'm not risking my life for some stupid joke."
Mark stepped in with a grin. "Alright, let's all calm down. If you’re scared you can just let the men handle it.”
Sarah crossed her arms. "Fine, but I'm staying here."
"Suit yourself," Jamie said, shrugging. "But we're not leaving without taking care of that thing."
"Alright, let's do this," Mark said, looking at Jamie and me. "We'll be quick. Sarah, stay here and keep an eye out.”
The hallway looked completely different in the fluorescent lighting. I could see now that each vein of fungus emanated from that single door, like a spiral portal threatening to suck us in.
"Let's make this quick," I whispered, glancing back at Jamie and Mark. "We light the bomb, throw it in, and get the hell out of here."
Jamie nodded, holding the pipe bomb tightly in his hand. "Ready when you are."
We reached the door, and the tendrils of fungus seemed even more aggressive, writhing and pulsing as if aware of our presence. The air was thick with spores.
"On three," I whispered, gripping the edge of the door. "One... two... three."
We yanked the door open, the mold snapping and tearing as it gave way. The smell of rot and decay hit us again, making my eyes water. The monstrous fungal mass loomed before us, its bulbous growths throbbing rhythmically.
Jamie lit the fuse and threw the bomb as hard as he could inside. It struck one of the orbs, which burst, shooting a fine white mist into the air.
"Run!" I shouted, slamming the door shut. We turned and sprinted down the hallway. The explosion sounded behind us, the shockwave lifting me off my feet and sending me tumbling to the ground.
Living in a small southern town, you get used to the way things are. My parents were in the army, so we moved a lot, but now I'm staying put. I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a small headache.
I ignored it and slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie. “So what's on the docket today?” I asked, stealing a doughnut off Jamie's plate.
“Going to go to an old peach factory and get some chemicals. I need to make some fireworks,” Mark replied, subtly revealing some pipe bombs in his bag.
Sarah walked in towards the tail end of our conversation and silently stood next to our table.
The three of us glanced at each other, unsure of how to proceed. “Sarah,” I finally started. “Are you ok?”
“Y-yeah,” she replied. “Are YOU guys feeling ok?”
We exchanged uneasy glances. “Yeah, we’re fine,” I said. After a moment, she shook her head and sat down as we continued our plans.
That evening, we broke into the peach factory. We found this disgusting, gigantic fungal growth coming out of some boxes of peaches and we blew it up with some pipe bombs.
The next day I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a small migraine.
I ignored it and slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie. “So what's on the docket today?” I asked, stealing a maroon off Jamie's plate.
“Going to go to an old peach factory and get some chemicals. I need to make some fireworks,” Mark replied, subtly revealing some pipe bombs in his bag.
Sarah walked in towards the tail end of our conversation and silently stood next to our table.
The three of us glanced at each other, unsure of how to proceed. “Sarah,” I finally started. “Are you ok?”
“Y-yeah,” she replied. “Not really. Are YOU guys feeling Ok?”
We exchanged uneasy glances. “Yeah, we’re fine,” I said. After a moment, she shook her head and sat down as we continued our plans.
That evening, we broke into the peach factory. We found this disgusting, gigantic fungal growth coming out of some boxes of peaches and we blew it up with some pipe bombs.
The next day I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a piercing migraine.
I ignored it and slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie. “So what's on the docket today?” I asked, stealing a bagel off Jamie's plate.
“Going to go to an old peach factory and get some chemicals. I need to make some fireworks,” Mark replied, subtly revealing some pipe bombs in his bag.
Sarah walked in towards the tail end of our conversation and silently stood next to our table.
The three of us glanced at each other, unsure of how to proceed. “Sarah,” I finally started. “Are you ok?”
“What's going on?” she asked, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’m scared.”
We exchanged uneasy glances. “It’s fine, Sarah. Just take a seat,” I said. After a moment, she shook her head and sat down as we continued our plans.
That evening, we broke into the peach factory. We found this disgusting, gigantic fungal growth coming out of some boxes of peaches and we blew it up with some pipe bombs.
The next day I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a splitting migraine.
As I slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie, I noticed Sarah outside, fixated on a bird suspended in mid-flight. I went out to see her.
"Are you seeing this?" she asked, her voice tinged with astonishment.
"Yeah," I replied nonchalantly. "That happens all the time. Are you sure you're feeling okay?"
"What the hell do you mean, 'Am I feeling okay?'!" she screamed. "That bird is frozen mid-air, and you don't think anything weird is going on?"
Her yelling took me aback. I didn't understand her alarm, so I shrugged it off and joined Mark inside. As we began planning our nightly excursion to the peach factory, Sarah burst through the door, screaming, then vanished in a puff of smoke.
"That's odd," I mused, my brow furrowed in confusion before we shrugged it off and resumed our scheming.
The day after, I met Mark again at the cafe. This rhythm had become our existence: meetings by day, adventures by night at the old peach plant. That evening followed the familiar pattern; we reveled in the thrill of hurling pipe bombs into that small enclosed room.
This routine had completely engulfed our lives. Day after day at the cafe, night after night at the factory—it seemed as though this cycle was all we had ever known. Reflecting on it, I couldn't remember any other way of life.
However, one thing increasingly disturbed me—the ringing of the doorbell at the cafe's entrance. Each time I entered, the sound seemed sharper, more grating. Focusing on it brought a searing pain to my head, like a needle drilling through my skull. Yet, despite the agony, I found myself obsessing over it, the sound gnawing at the edges of my sanity.
One day, driven to the brink by this incessant ringing, I decided to confront it head-on. I stood by the door, letting the bell chime repeatedly. Each ring sliced through my mind, but I persisted, sweat beading on my forehead, teeth clenched in torment.
As the pain crescendoed, reality shattered. I woke to the blaring of a fire alarm, not the quaint doorbell I had imagined. The cafe was engulfed in chaos. The hallway was consumed by a sprawling fungal mass, its tendrils creeping along the walls.
In the dim, flickering light, I saw Jamie, or what was left of him. Half of his skull was missing, the fungus attached grotesquely to his exposed brain, pulsating with each eerie beat of his fading heart. Mark was there too, seemingly unharmed physically, but trapped in a delusion, his eyes glazed over, a smile playing on his lips as the fungus encased him.
Sarah lay collapsed by the fire alarm, her hand still on the lever. She had managed to pull it before succumbing to the spores that now clung to her body.
The tendrils that had enveloped me snapped violently, each break releasing a sickening crack that echoed through the eerie silence of the hallway. An outline of my body remained imprinted in the fungal mass, a mold from which I had desperately broken free.
Gritting my teeth against the pain and horror, I scrambled to Mark and Sarah. Mark was less entangled, lost in his fungal-induced stupor. I grabbed him under the arms, his body limp but alive, and dragged him across the floor. The fungus resisted, stretching like sinew before tearing away from him with wet, ripping sounds.
Sarah was heavier, her body weakened but still fighting. I clasped her wrists, pulling with all my strength. The fungus clung to her, tendrils winding up her arms like ivy. With a final, determined yank, the last of the tendrils snapped, freeing her. We left behind fragments of the monstrous growth clinging to her clothes.
Together, we staggered out into the night air, away from the suffocating enclosure. The cool air hit our faces, harsh yet cleansing. Behind us, the fire alarm continued to blare into the night. I fumbled with my phone, hands shaking, to dial the emergency number. The call went through, and within minutes, the sound of sirens cut through the stillness of the night, growing louder as help approached.
The next few days were a blur. I remember fading in and out of consciousness as nurses pumped antifungals directly into my IV, their faces blurring into the sterile environment. Once we were somewhat cognizant, the police wanted answers. One by one, we were interviewed, but we gave them nothing. I still don’t know what the exact penalty is for manufacturing explosives and using them to destroy a building, but I’m guessing it’s not community service. Jamie was still missing, and they hadn’t found any sign of him or his body. I tried to hide my tears as I knew he was already long gone.
After a few weeks, I was finally cleared for visitors and got to see Sarah again. She told me that after the explosion, she ran but couldn’t leave us behind. She came back, only to see us being consumed by the fungus. Try as she might, she wasn’t able to free us as she felt the oppressive spores take her under. She fought back and managed to pull the fire alarm before succumbing again. The doctors told her that her allergy medication gave her some resistance to the fungus; otherwise, she might have been a goner.
Mark was never the same. We never talked about what happened, and after trying once and him flipping out, I figured it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. That summer, he moved to upstate New York to work in his dad’s business. I haven’t seen him since. That fall, Sarah started college at Savannah State. I still call her every now and again, but it’s not like it used to be.
Despite all that happened, I’m not moving again. I’m happy here, and if it’s up to me, I’ll die in this little town. I still work at the cafe, as a manager now. On weekends, I come in and just sit at the booth we all used to share.
I still think about Jamie from time to time. I wonder if he's dead or still stuck in his delusion, picturing the four of us sitting at our table, talking, laughing, and passing the time. Sometimes, when the cafe is empty and the light is just right, I can almost see him there, his smile frozen in that moment before everything went wrong.
The cafe grows quieter each day, the hum of life fading into an eerie stillness. My skin feels different, as if the air itself whispers secrets I can't quite grasp. The itching that started as a minor annoyance has intensified, becoming a constant torment. I scratch at lesions that have begun to form on my arms and chest, red and raw, with patches of green spreading beneath the surface. I’ve started to wear long sleeves to cover my arms and a mask to hide my purpling lips.
Some nights, when closing, as I sit alone in the dim light of the cafe, the itching becomes unbearable. I claw at the lesions, feeling a dampness beneath my skin. Sometimes, when I cough, I could swear I see tiny spores hanging in the air, reminiscent of the bursting nodules growing on the stalks of the monster.
Occasionally, I hear the bell ring and the door open, but no one is there. I look outside into the empty night and see nothing. This went on for weeks, becoming more frequent. But one night, the door opened, and I saw Jamie standing there, the picture of health. I went to embrace him and noticed my lesions were gone too. It was almost as if we had never gone to the peach factory. It was suddenly morning, and the light shone through the cafe. For the first time in forever, we were happy. We talked about nothing, passing the time.
After what felt like hours, he told me it was time to go. But his mouth wasn’t moving—I felt like I could read his thoughts, and he could read mine. We stood up as I took one last look at the cafe and headed off with him, back to the peach factory.
As we walked, a strange calmness settled over me. I remember feeling that I wanted to ask if he had talked to Mark or Sarah, and wondered how they were doing. But deep down, somehow, I could feel their presence and I knew they were doing just fine. The sun was bright, the air crisp. The itching had vanished completely, replaced by an inexplicable craving for the sweetness of ripe peaches. Jamie and I shared a silent understanding, a bond deeper than any words could convey.
The factory loomed ahead, its doors wide open as if inviting us in. The familiar scent of peaches and something else—something earthy and ancient—filled the air. We stepped inside, side by side, feeling at home for the first time in ages.
The last thing I remember before the darkness took over was the feeling of the soft, warm peach flesh in my hand, and Jamie’s voice in my head saying, "Welcome home."