Hey all,
So I am relatively new to bolt action but have about a dozen games under my belt. I've lost every single one except for a couple draws. It's a bit frustrating since I have a ~50-60% win rate in Warhammer, but I understand that this is a different system.
I've been using this sub's and youtube's resources to learn tactics and strategy, but I wanted to run my list by y'all to see how things are looking there. It's partially based on tournament lists I've seen and also the theming of US and Chinese allies in Burma:
1249 pts, 19 order dice, Nationalist Reinforced Platoons

• Platoon 1
  • HQ
    • 2LT, reg
  • Troops
    • 8-man Merrill's Marauders with 2 SMG and 2 BAR, vet
    • 8-man Merrill's Marauders with 2 SMG and 2 BAR, vet
    • 14-man conscript squad
    • 14-man free levy squad
  • Infantry Support
    • medium mortar, inex
    • flamethrower, reg
    • self bomber, inex (reddit bots don't the S word, sorry)
  • Artillery
    • med howitzer with spotter, reg
  • Tank
    • Sherman 75mm, reg
  • Tows and Transports
    • Universal Carrier with hull and pintle LMG, reg
    • Mule team, vet
• Platoon 2
  • HQ
    • 2LT, reg
  • Troops
    • 8-man XY Force with BAR, reg
    • 8-man XY Force with BAR, reg
  • Infantry Support
    • medium mortar, inex
    • flamethrower, reg
    • Boys AT rifle, reg
  • Tows and Transports
    • Universal Carrier with hull and pintle LMG, reg

SummerSlam 2024:
Bo Dallas vs Finn Bálor
Five years ago, at this very same event, Bray Wyatt debuted a brand new version of himself. A version known as The Fiend. A monstrous being that featured very little man in its existence, it was a demonic creature, feeding on the fear of those it crossed and becoming seemingly impervious due to it.
Five years later, the brother of the man who brought that thing into the wrestling world, faces the same man who fell victim at the feet of The Fiend. And just as Bray Wyatt did, Bo Dallas has some tricks in his sleeve, or...some rabbits in his hat.
[Finn Bálor enters first, the confident Irishman with a historic career who has made his mark as a legend in the business. From Bullet Club to training Becky Lynch & JD McDonagh to arguably the greatest NXT Champion of all time to the first ever Universal Champion to The Judgement Day. Tonight, he looks to build upon that illustrious status with a victory over the unpredictable Bo Dallas.
Bálor stands, ready to fight, when the lights dim out. Bálor is slightly puzzled, this isn't part of Bo's recent entrances.
At the top of the entrance way sits a door, an eerie glow doubled with an eerie vibration emanating from it. Suddenly, the door busts open.
White Rabbit Remix - Jefferson Airplane
Bálor watches as from the door emerges a figure. A figure seemingly humanoid in nature, but something slightly off, the fog filling the area makes it hard to discern what that is.
The fog clears and it becomes increasingly clear what's gone wrong here. The crowd gasps and then quiets.
Bo Dallas White Rabbit inspiration
Bo Dallas White Rabbit inspiration
A figure, very similar to the images above, exits the door and infringes on the sanctity of the ring as he approaches. Fur is matted along the arms, abdomen, legs. Splatters of a once viscous red liquid that has dried a crimson brown are visible all over the once pristine, white pelt.
And the face...a disgusting hybrid between a human and an inhumanely large rabbit. The ears jutting out of the face made out of that same...material. That unnatural fur. The left side of the face revealing what used to be a man. He looks...like Bo Dallas. The skin portion of the face is smothered in red, further stretching the meaning of recognizable. An almost leathery appearance coats the angry, red skin. A texture much too old for Taylor Rotunda's age of thirty three.
The teeth lay as jagged pieces of metal, unable to be contained by the maw of the creature.
The lights come up as the unholy monster enters the once sacred ring. A ring that has made this sport possible and a ring where the best matches in professional wrestling have occured, a ring that held the matches and moments that made you fall in love with wrestling in the first place.
And it's tainted, rendered unclean, by this animal. A chill runs down Finn Bálor's spine. He stands his ground, eyeing his bizarre opponent warily, unsure of what to expect from this unholy creation. Memories of a scene he's starred in before, not unlike this, flooding him.
The White Rabbit's grotesque visage contorts into a twisted semblance of a grin as he advances towards Bálor, his movements jerky and unnatural. Bálor braces himself for the impending confrontation, his senses on high alert as he prepares to defend himself against this monstrous aberration.
The bell rings, signaling the start of the match, and Bálor wastes no time in launching a flurry of strikes at The White Rabbit, hoping to catch him off guard and gain the early advantage. But The White Rabbit proves to be more agile than he appears, dodging Bálor's attacks with ease and countering with a brutal barrage of his own.
The White Rabbit toys with Bálor, taunting him with mocking gestures and sadistic laughter as he systematically dismantles his opponent with a series of harsh maneuvers. Bálor fights back with all his might, refusing to let fear or uncertainty cloud his judgment as he battles against the odds.
As the match progresses, The White Rabbit's dominance becomes increasingly evident, his unnerving presence casting a pall over the arena as he unleashes his full arsenal of twisted and unpredictable offense. Bálor struggles to keep pace, his every move countered with ruthless efficiency by his monstrous adversary.
But just when it seems that all hope is lost, Bálor summons the strength of his fighting spirit, rallying back with a defiant burst of energy that catches The White Rabbit off guard. With The White Rabbit still standing, Bálor delivers a thunderous Coup de Grâce, driving his feet into The White Rabbit's chest with bone-shattering force.
The impact ripples through the ring as The White Rabbit crumples to the canvas, his grotesque form writhing in agony. Bálor seizes the opportunity, pinning his monstrous opponent for...for a one count.
Bálor quickly climbs and attempts a second Coup De Grâce, this time to a downed opponent. The White Rabbit moves out of the way and quickly snaps the neck of Finn Bálor. The Rabbit pulls up the paralyzed form of Bálor, and sinches in Hell's Gates.
The referee calls for the bell as the lifeless form of Bálor begins to bleed from his nose and ears, the extraneous pressure from the submission evident.
The White Rabbit stares out at the audience, stares down at Bálor and exits the ring, he walks towards the door, goes through the portal and closes it behind him.
The lights come up and all that's left is the ravaged body of Finn Bálor.]
RAW, 8/12/24:
(Writers Note: Damian Priest is going to be uninvolved in this feud due to focusing on his main event aspirations and his growing distance from The Judgement Day.)
Two weeks after the emergence of one of the most disturbing figures we've ever seen grace the squared circle, Bo Dallas returns to RAW to address the events of SummerSlam.
He says that when he returned to WWE four months ago, he was a very nervous man. He was wracked with feelings of uncertainty and fear, he remembers going into a match with a specific man, Joe Gacy. He remembers being the most scared he's ever been, you have to understand, Bo wasn't like his brother. Bo didn't get 'extreme', he didn't get the opportunity to have matches like that and here he was.
Faced with a madman, challenged to a Love and War match. Joe, he taught Bo something that night, he told him "Fulfill Your Destiny." And it was at that moment, that Bo realized something. He realized what Bray had been doing all those years.
If you can take your fear, and manifest it into something physical, something truly special can be born, and better yet, it leaves you, the man behind the magic, completely fearless.
Before Dallas can continue, The Judgement Day appears, Dominik Mysterio, Finn Bálor & JD McDonagh surround the ring. Bálor says that Bo caught him off guard at SummerSlam, and he wants a rematch, especially seeing as how without his smoke and mirrors, Bo sure does seem fragile.
"It's true. I wouldn't be able to fight all three of you by myself, which is why I'm so glad I don't have to."
BRAUN!
The Monster Among Men makes his first appearance in almost a year, marching out on stage. The Judgement Day is already sufficiently rattled before the titantron goes a mossy green and Erick Rowan appears besides Strowman, standing with his former Wyatt Family brother.
Strowman & Rowan storm the ring causing JD & Dominik to flee and escape, but Bálor turns around into Grim Affection. Dallas stands tall, inheriting the family Bray built. What's that saying? The brother of my brother is my brother? Something like that.
Bash In Berlin 2024:
Bo Dallas, Braun Strowman & Erick Rowan vs The Judgement Day (Dominik Mysterio, Finn Bálor & JD McDonagh)
[Following a confident, braggadocios entrance by The Judgement Day, Dallas, Strowman and Rowan mark their arrival with a Code Orange performed remix of Feared. The music, calling back to the numerous other songs Code Orange has provided for the Rotunda family.
Dallas, flanked by the hulking figures of Strowman and Rowan makes for an intimidating visual. The Judgement Day have an experience edge though, especially with Bálor having personally trained and scouted McDonagh several years ago.
Dallas and Mysterio start the match and Bo quickly gets flustered by the speed and lucha experience of Dominik. Though Dominik has control early, Dallas gets fed up, and following a lucky strike, tags out to Braun Strowman.
Strowman dismantles Dominik, tossing him around the ring with ease. He connects with a heart-throb to the chest before hoisting Mysterio into a move we have not seen from Strowman...since he was a follower.
The hanging triangle lock is applied, Strowman squeezing around the neck of Dominik as Mysterio hangs limply. Dominik kicks out, inciting Braun to return another maneuver. The reverse chokeslam connects and Strowman places a boot on Dominik's chest, but Mysterio still manages to fight out.
Strowman brings Rowan in, who locks a bear hug forcing Dominik to scramble for escape. Despite Dominik's surviving the bear hug, his relief is short lived as Rowan cinches a vice grip around the skull. Dominik creates separation, and Rowan tries to flatten him with a spin kick, but Mysterio ducks. A dropkick to the knee and a 619 follows, giving Dominik an opportunity to tag out.
Finn Bálor is brought in and begins striking away on Rowan, littering the bigger man with bruises. A well placed pele kick wobbles Rowan and leaves him victim to a shotgun dropkick into the turnbuckles. Bálor attempts a Coup De Grâce, but Rowan avoids shoving Finn into the corner. Rowan charges in, but Bálor hops over him and Erick crashes into the steel post.
JD is tagged in and immediately hits a pump helluva kick on the cornered Rowan. Rowan is down to a knee and McDonagh comes from behind with a leap over Rowan culminating in a stunner. A kick out by Rowan inspires McDonagh to connect with a swanton bomb for a near-fall.
JD attempts for Devlinside, yet discovers Rowan is too big of a man to be trying that on. Rowan gets grip on the neck and goes for a chokeslam, McDonagh does a backflip out of it landing on his feet. JD connects with a superkick, followed by a springboard moonsault DDT.
Dallas breaks up the pin, Dominik rushes in to even the odds, Strowman neutralizes Dominik, Bálor brawling with Braun. Chaos unfolds, and eventually Dallas and co. clear the ring. Braun runs the Strowman Express on Judgement Day plowing through each member at ringside, except for JD who catches him with a penalty kick after hopping onto the apron.
JD and Rowan begin to battle again as the legal men, McDonagh knees Rowan in the face and dives with a crossbody for a two count. JD tags out to Bálor, who allows Rowan to bring in Bo Dallas.
Dallas and Bálor, now both as their mortal selves, begin to brawl. Bálor connects with a slingblade, and a shotgun dropkick driving Bo nearly through the turnbuckles. Bàlor attempts a Coup De Grâce, but Dallas avoids and attempts Grim Affection. Bálor slips out and locks the head up under the arm, connecting with a snap elbow drop across the heart.
Bálor climbs now once more, and Dallas hangs him up before sending Finn to the canvas below with a superplex. A near-fall follows, and Dallas clings to the leg of Bálor, trying to prevent a tag. Finn kicks him away and reintroduces McDonagh to the fray.
JD flusters Dallas with strikes and speed, but as he locks onto the wrist and attempts his springboard moonsault DDT, Dallas catches him in position and connects with Grim Affection. Strowman and Rowan plow through Dominik and Bálor preventing a save.
Dallas gets the victory for his team, and alongside his disciples of destruction, stands tall. The entire locker room put on notice.]
Over the next several weeks, The Judgement Day keeps their distance from Dallas's clan. Dallas fastly finds a new target, challenging The Final Testament. Dallas continuously tells Karrion Kross that he was destined for this, dating back almost a decade (in reference to Kross's stint as The White Rabbit in Lucha Underground.)
We get a very fun Authors Of Pain/Strowman & Rowan match out of it, and by the end of September, Bo has successfully convinced Karrion Kross to abandon AOP, Paul Ellering and even Scarlett, adding yet another massive man to his growing group.
October arrives and with his group nearing completion, Dallas targets a man his brother knew very well. That man being Seth Rollins. Dating back to The Shield & The Wyatt Family's iconic feud to The Fiend chasing Rollins' Universal Championship, Rollins was always one of Bray's best rivals. Not to mention, Dallas and Rollins have history from their days in FCW together, only Rollins has so significantly eclipsed Dallas in success and he's sure to rub that in Bo's face now.
You may think the numbers game is so insurmountable and overwhelming, but one puzzle piece that makes this that much more interesting is who Seth has been teaming with as of late. His protege and trainee, Nathan Frazer.
There's a segment featuring Dallas, flanked by his followers and Rollins with Frazer, but the tension is so heavy between Bo and Nathan, you would think they were the only two people in the ring. Frazer addresses his fear of Dallas, and that fear was proven valid considering the damage Dallas has done to the foes he's encountered since.
Dallas cost Nathan his best friend, he cost him his tag team titles, he cost him his brother! But Nathan has news for Bo, he is not running anymore.
Dallas steps forward, looking to acknowledge the impact he's had on Frazer.
"Nate, is it? I don't know how to tell you this, but...I don't even know who you are."
Bo is calloused and cold, and simply decides to feed Frazer and Rollins to the wolves. We get a tag match between Rollins and Frazer vs Strowman and Rowan, with commentary making note of Rollins and Braun being former tag team champions together, ending in victory for Rollins and Frazer.
Armageddon 2024:
Bo Dallas vs Seth Rollins
[The anticipation is high as Bo Dallas and Seth Rollins step into the ring, flanked by their respective allies. Rollins, accompanied by Nathan Frazer, exudes the confidence of a former champion as he eyes Dallas, who seems to stand that much taller alongside the imposing trio of Braun Strowman, Erick Rowan, and Karrion Kross.
The match begins with Dallas and Rollins locking up in the center of the ring, each vying for control. Rollins gains the early advantage with his technical prowess, countering Dallas's power-based offense with precision strikes and fast maneuvers. But Dallas refuses to back down, using his size and strength to overpower Rollins and gain the upper hand.
As the match progresses, both competitors unleash a barrage of moves, each refusing to give an inch in their quest for victory. Rollins employs his signature high-flying arsenal, soaring through the air with breathtaking dives and aerial assaults that keep Dallas on the defensive. But Dallas proves to be a resilient opponent, weathering Rollins's onslaught and mounting several counterattacks of his own.
In the final moments of the match, Rollins, alongside Frazer battle off Dallas's trio of monsters. Rollins looks for a Curb Stomp, that Dallas avoids. Dallas hooks on for Grim Affection, but Rollins latches onto the arm, trapping Bo before spinning him into a RainTrigger knee strike. A definitive Curb Stomp follows and Rollins is able to secure the victory giving Bo his first clean singles loss since returning.]
With Survivor Series fast approaching, the men Dallas has targeted come back to haunt him, as Rollins and Frazer form something of a truce with The Judgement Day, seeking to take down the common enemy in Bo Dallas.
We get some interesting interactions such as Kross trying to convince JD that he can see the darkness in him, harkening back to JD's NXT character of old, only for JD to tell Kross that he doesn't know anything about him before shattering his nose with a wicked headbutt.
With Dominik Mysterio, Finn Bálor, JD McDonagh, Nathan Frazer & Seth Rollins banding together Bo seems to be just one man short. It's the RAW prior to Survivor Series when Dallas, Strowman, Rowan and Kross stand on stage staring down the babyface quintet. The crowd waits with baited breath before Love Is Blind hits and Joe Gacy strolls on stage, making his main roster debut to side with his NXT foe.
They charge the ring and a brawl breaks out, and as security tries to keep the ten men apart, we here a distinguished William Regal shout
"WarGames!"
Survivor Series 2024:
Team Dallas (Bo Dallas, Braun Strowman, Erick Rowan, Joe Gacy & Karrion Kross) vs Team Rollins (Dominik Mysterio, Finn Bálor, JD McDonagh, Nathan Frazer & Seth Rollins) - WarGames
[It is decided that Joe Gacy and Seth Rollins will be opening this match. Both men selected by their teams for their stamina in matches like these, Gacy from his CZW days, Rollins having been WWE's premier workhorse for years.
The bell rings and they make their way on to the steel connector between the two rings. They begin wallaying on each other with forearms before Joe sneaks in a boot to the midsection, Gacy attempts a powerbomb on the steel, but Rollins reverses with a back body drop.
Seth looks for a superkick, but Gacy catches the foot and sends Rollins into the left ring. Rollins looks for a spinning forearm, but Gacy ducks and gores Rollins with a shoulder thrust. Joe sails over Rollins into the ring, and using his deceptive athleticism, looks for his handspring lariat.
Rollins catches him with a superkick and tries for a Pedigree. Gacy is able to muscle up Rollins into an Alabama Slam, he then throws Rollins into the turnbuckles forcing Seth to take a seat. A big crossbody to the seated, cornered Rollins follows and Gacy begins to reign.
Joe starts targeting the bad back sending Rollins writhing with forearms and knees to the lumbar. He eventually gets a knee on the spine with a tight grip around the mouth, controlling Seth's breathing. Rollins begins to fire up and fight out with elbows to the midsection. Rollins hits a leaping knee strike to Gacy and takes him down a peg.
Rollins attempts a Curb Stomp, but Gacy moves landing Winds Of Change as Rollins turns around. Gacy tries for a running senton, but Rollins moves this time. Curb Stomp attempt, Gacy moves, handspring lariat, Rollins ducks, superkick, Curb Stomp connects.
Rollins knows he can't make the cover so he climbs to the top to inflict more damage. Frogsplash, but Gacy gets the knees up. Joe shoves Rollins into the ropes hoping to connect with an elbow to the back, but Rollins rebounds with a spinning forearm. Gacy ducks locking on for a German Suplex, Rollins lands on his feet and closes in with a V-Trigger, Gacy rebounds off the ropes into a Falcon Arrow and the countdown begins.
Erick Rowan is the next entry, joining Joe Gacy as a focused duo. Rowan pounces on Rollins, but Seth fights back, attempting a RainTrigger but Rowan catches him by the face, in an Iron Claw like grip. Rowan looks for a slam using the claw grip, but Rollins hooks onto the head and reverses into a DDT.
Rollins begins to litter both Joe and Rowan with corner forearms, Rowan eventually catches Rollins and attempts a two handed chokeslam. Rollins dropkicks the body of Rowan mid-slam, and recuperates. He attempts a Pedigree, but Rowan reverses with a back body drop, Rollins lands on his feet and nails an enziguri to stumble the big man.
He mounts Rowan in the corner and begins landing repeated right hands, Rowan shoves him off the middle turnbuckle and closes the distance with a big boot. He positions Seth in the corner before slapping Gacy and hyping him up, ala The Bludgeon Brothers.
Gacy charges for a crossbody to the downed Rollins, but Seth springs up, sails over the running Gacy and lands a dropkick to Rowan. A leaping knee to the mouth follows and Rollins gets Rowan back in Pedigree position.
Gacy comes over with a clothesline that Rollins ducks before hitting a superkick to Gacy, Rowan tries to whip Rollins into the corner but Seth reverses and Erick smashes into Gacy. Rollins jumps to the middle turnbuckle raining down with a barrage of right hands to Rowan then Gacy.
Rowan and Gacy try to catch their bearings before turning around into a Phoenix Splash Crossbody from Rollins and the countdown begins.
Finn Bálor is the next entry, entering a couple of chairs into the field for him and Rollins. They stare each other down, remembering all the wars they've been through and begin to beat down on Rowan and Gacy. It's going well at first, with Gacy especially being incapacitated, before Rowan stops Bálor mid chair swing.
He mule kicks Rollins and rips the chair out of Finn's hands before tossing Finn into the corner. Rollins shortly after joins him. Rowan proceeds to biel toss Rollins who tucks and rolls to come out unscathed. Bálor is then biel tossed on top of Rollins before Rowan throws the aforementioned chair into the face of Bálor.
Rowan attempts to chokeslam Seth on top of the other chair, Rollins scrambles and kicks the chair over so it's legs up. Rowan proceeds with the chokeslam anyway, delivering Rollins onto the bottom of the chair. He then sets up another chair in the corner, wedging it between turnbuckles. He vaults Bálor in that direction, but Finn slides low to avoid connection, only for Gacy to bull pounce him into the chair anyway.
Rowan and Gacy survey the carnage they've caused, as Bálor tries to crawl into the other ring. Rowan joins him on the steel connector and despite Finn's valiant efforts, is able to claw slam him onto the steel beam as the countdown begins.
Bo Dallas is the next entry, and he doesn't waste time getting his hands dirty. He simply passes his objects of destruction their tools. A table, a length of chain and a toolbox. He then observes as his monsters begin to wreak havoc.
Gacy whips at Rollins with the chain, before wrapping it around his face and neck. Rowan squeezes between Bálor's fingers with pliers, applying pressure as he kneels on his back.
Gacy throws the toolbox into the face of an unsuspecting Rollins. Gacy sets up the table against the turnbuckles. He tries to whip Rollins into it, but Seth catches himself, he fights back against Rowan and Gacy but Joe gets a knee to the face before lifting Rollins on his shoulder and charging him through the table.
Rowan yanks Bálor up and delivers him with biel tosses onto the chain and toolbox as the countdown begins.
Dominik Mysterio is the next entry, and he quickly realizes the challenge he's up against. He ducks under Rowan and Gacy, tackling Bo and unloading with right hands. Rowan and Gacy drag him off and begin mercilessly beating on him.
Dallas calls them off, dragging Dominik into the right ring, telling Rowan and Gacy that he'll handle Mysterio. He looks for Grim Affection, but Dominik escapes and rolls backwards with Dallas before hitting a dropkick to the back. Bo is in position, but as Dallas runs the ropes, Rowan catches him by the throat.
Rowan chokeslams Dominik into the arms of Gacy who connects with a German Suplex. The ominous duo gaze down at the broken body of Mysterio, before feeding him to Dallas, who connects with Grim Affection as the countdown begins.
Karrion Kross is the next entry, and introduces a very special weapon. A barbed wire wrapped 2x4 as well as a suspicious grey baggie.
He begins brandishing Bálor and Rollins with the wood and wire. He rips at the flesh and rakes it across the face of Rollins. He begins toying with Bálor, and releases the 2x4 asking Finn to stand up and show him what he's got. Bálor fires up, and sweeps the legs sending Kross back first onto the barbed wire. He then stomps on the chest caving Kross further in.
He beckons Rowan and Gacy to try their best, and as they begin to swarm, the numbers game becomes too much. Rowan with a spinning heel kick, Gacy with a crossbody against the ropes. They continue to dismantle their foes as the countdown begins.
JD McDonagh is the next entry, and introduces several chairs. He cracks Gacy, Rowan and Dallas repeatedly, bruising them with the stiff chair strikes.
He gets Bo in the corner and hits a running dropkick with the chair under his feet, ala Rob Van Dam. McDonagh is rolling, but here comes Kross. Karrion and McDonagh have had something of a personal sub rivalry, and Karrion relishes punishing McDonagh. A fallaway suplex downs McDonagh and leads to Kross wielding a chair.
Swing and a miss, swing a miss, swing and connects with the foot of JD who was going for a roundhouse, swing and the chair lodges itself around the head of McDonagh, headbutt by McDonagh with the chair around the head, both men down and the countdown begins.
Braun Strowman is the next entry, the final for Team Dallas. He introduces multiple tables and sets them up in a row of three. Dominik chooses this time to reappear and swiftly gets chokeslammed through one of the tables.
Braun is able to get JD up in a hanging triangle lock with the chain wrapped around his neck, but Bálor and Rollins come to the save. Finn, Seth and JD work to take down Gacy, Rowan, Strowman and Kross.
McDonagh scaling the cage, Rowan, Dallas and Strowman starting to recover, Gacy on one table, Kross on one table, Rollins and Bálor climb, frogsplash through the table from Rollins, Coup De Grâce through the table from Bálor, moonsault from the top of the cage by McDonagh!
Everyone is down as the countdown begins.
Nathan Frazer is the next and final entry, Frazer is a one man wrecking crew as he enters, showing off his agility using both rings to his advantage. Frazer clears Kross, Gacy, Strowman, Rowan but faulters as he encounters Dallas.
Bo taunts Frazer from his knees, and as Frazer hesitates to take the kill shot, Rowan takes advantage with a claw slam to Nathan. Rollins capitalizes with a superkick to Dallas and a chair shot to the head of Rowan, once Erick's head is sufficiently trapped inside the chair, Rollins hops onto the back and hits a modified Pedigree, jamming the chair into the throat and jaw.
Gacy is seen stalking Rollins, having wrapped the barbed wire from the 2x4 around his arm, he charges in with a handspring barbed wire wrapped lariat to Rollins. Bálor closes in with a shotgun dropkick into the corner before fetching the grey baggie. He opens it, emptying out thumbtacks onto the canvas.
Bo comes over, striking with Bálor. Finn gets the upper hand and climbs for a standing Coup De Grâce, similar to how he tried to put The White Rabbit away at SummerSlam. He misses, going feet first into the tacks, Dallas grabs hold of the head and connects with Grim Affection on the tacks.
Three seconds later, and Team Dallas has survived WarGames. Bo collects up his soldiers, standing above the battered bodies of his opposition. One question remains clear, who can stop Bo Dallas?]
With Team Dallas pulling out a massive victory inside arguably the most grueling match type in WWE history, they look forward to moving on from the men they dismantled at Survivor Series.
One man, though, refuses to let them. That man is Nathan Frazer. Still haunted by the price he paid, the friend he lost, the halt in momentum, due to Bo's arrival in NXT.
A couple of weeks following WarGames, Frazer comes out to call out Bo Dallas, Seth Rollins tries to talk Frazer down and calm him, but Nathan is insistent. He failed to take Bo down, he failed to make things right, he needs to beat Bo Dallas.
Strowman, Rowan, Kross and Gacy emerge. Gacy states that Bo isn't here tonight, but they would be more than happy to show Frazer exactly what he's in for if he wants to keep...chasing rabbits.
The monsters storm the ring and surround Rollins and Frazer in a very hound like way. Just before they pounce, a theme song hits, the lights go up and wouldn't you know it, motherfucking Axiom arrives.
Frazer & Rollins take advantage of the distraction and Axiom lends his hand, leading to the monsters retreating. Rollins guards the ring as Axiom and Nathan Frazer stare each other down.
'Hug It Out' chants run through the arena, and Axiom & Frazer embrace, putting the past behind them.
Over the next two weeks, we get two very interesting matches. The first, a street fight between Bo Dallas and Nathan Frazer, in which Frazer finally gets an opportunity at singles revenge on Bo in a brutal, chaotic brawl. Dallas wins this match with help from his possee.
The second, Karrion Kross vs Seth Rollins, a good showcase for Kross as he steps up against a main eventer and one of the best in the world. Rollins wins in a good match, but it's what happens after that draws attention.
Rollins is seated in the corner when the lights go out, section by section, plunging Rollins into darkness and for the first time, Seth Rollins meets The White Rabbit.
The Rabbit crawls towards Rollins who closes his eyes in fear, creating parallels to a similar scene five years ago. Rollins, though, this time, stands up and stares down The Rabbit.
Seth grabs a microphone and stares down this fiendish entity. "Crown Jewel, me and my boys vs you and yours."
The Rabbit cocks his head to the side and the lights go out once more, when they come up, a hat remains in the ring. A hat very similar to Uncle Howdys', Rollins lifts it and a rabbit jumps out. At the bottom of the hat is a note, written on light blue, Firefly Funhouse themed paper.
"WE ACCEPT."
Crown Jewel 2024:
Axiom, Nathan Frazer & Seth Rollins vs Bo Dallas, Braun Strowman & Erick Rowan
[Five years after Bray Wyatt defeated Seth Rollins at this same event to become Universal Champion, Rollins faces off against his spiritual successor and younger brother, Bo Dallas. Frazer and Axiom share a quick nod of understanding, their strategy clear: use their speed and agility to outmaneuver their larger opponents. On the other side of the ring, Dallas, Strowman, and Rowan stand tall, their imposing presence a stark contrast to the quickness of their adversaries.
The match begins with Axiom and Dallas squaring off for the first time since NXT when Dallas took Axiom's title. The two competitors circle each other cautiously before locking up in a test of strength. Axiom utilizes his lightning-fast strikes and acrobatic prowess to keep Dallas off balance, darting in and out of range with precision. Shortly after, Nathan and Rowan engage in a battle of power versus speed, with Frazer using his agility to evade Rowan's powerful strikes while delivering rapid-fire kicks and strikes of his own.
As the match progresses, Rollins enters the fray, unleashing a flurry of high-flying maneuvers on his ex-partner, Strowman. Braun struggles to keep pace with his nimble opponent as Rollins utilizes his speed to his advantage, ducking and weaving around Strowman's attempts at offense before delivering an enzuigiri that sends the big man staggering backwards.
Rollins lands a knee to the nose and a step-stool Curb Stomp off the back of Frazer shortly after, but Rowan saves the match. Axiom and Nathan join forces, working in tandem to take Rowan out and wear him down with a series of double-team maneuvers. Rollins exits the ring and, acting in the role of Reigns, assists in hitting a Shield Bomb through the announce table on Rowan.
Despite the valiant efforts of Dallas, Strowman, and Rowan, the tide of the match begins to turn in favor of Rollins and his team. Axiom unleashes a devastating flurry of strikes on Dallas once Strowman and Seth tag out, culminating in a rattling roundhouse kick that leaves the former champion reeling. Meanwhile, Nathan Frazer climbs to the top turnbuckle and launches himself into the air, executing a picture-perfect shooting star press that connects squarely with Bo Dallas, leaving him sprawled out on the canvas.
With Dallas incapacitated, Nathan seizes the opportunity to go for the pin, hooking the leg as the referee counts the three. The crowd erupts into cheers as Rollins, Axiom, and Nathan Frazer celebrate their hard-fought victory, Frazer finally getting his revenge on the man who permanently altered his career.]
January arrives and the Dallas clan set their sights on the Royal Rumble, more specifically, helping Bo to win the Royal Rumble. To fulfill his destiny at WrestleMania.
When the Rumble arrives, they're doing a great job of tearing through everyone in the match. Rowan and Gacy aren't even entries, but continuously skirt around the rules, helping Bo, Kross and Strowman rack up eliminations.
They eliminate the likes of Finn Bálor, Kevin Owens and Sami Zayn before they encounter the one man wrecking crew that is Randy Orton. Orton swiftly eliminates Kross and Strowman before turning his attention to Dallas. Bo is able to force him into position for Grim Affection, but Orton escapes landing an RKO and eliminating Bo Dallas.
When the Rumble has concluded, Bo has a hard time accepting this loss, and sics his men on Orton. Orton gets a victory over a game Karrion Kross leading to the onslaught by Strowman, Rowan and Gacy. However, this draws the call of the disgruntled men Bo's crew eliminated at the Rumble.
Kevin Owens and Sami Zayn.
Kevin and Randy already have a friendly history, and Zayn, coming off an Intercontinental Title loss to Ilja Dragunov in August, partners up with his long time tag partner to fight the cause.
Bo acknowledges the history his brother had with Randy Orton, including Orton burning down his childhood home, The Wyatt Compound.
Finally, at Elimination Chamber, much like The Shield and The Wyatt Family over a decade prior, we get a six man tag.
Elimination Chamber 2025:
Bo Dallas, Braun Strowman & Erick Rowan vs Kevin Owens, Randy Orton & Sami Zayn
[It's very poetic, Bo has been very much hitting all of Bray's best moments in modern day versions. The demonic alter-ego debuting at SummerSlam against Finn Bálor, facing off with Seth Rollins at Crown Jewel and now a six man tag at Elimination Chamber.
Dallas lets his opponents know ahead of this match that he has some tricks up his sleeves, but that a truly good magician never reveals his secrets.
There's plenty of fun interactions, Strowman & Zayn having been Braun's first feud away from The Wyatt Family, Strowman & Owens and the terrorizing Kevin went through in 2018, Rowan & Orton facing off for the first time since Orton went after The Wyatt Family in 2017, Bo & Sami reigniting their NXT feud from 2014.
The match ends when Braun sets Owens, Zayn and Orton up in separate corners. He biel tosses Orton, biel tosses Sami and goes for Owens, but Kevin fights back hitting a Stunner on the big man. Bo comes in and eats a Pop-Up Powerbomb for a near-fall.
Kevin gets Dallas in the corner for a Kevin Cannonball and connects, once, twice, Kevin looking for a third cannonball from the corner. Zayn stops Owens and tells Kevin to let Sami end this. Bo staggers up and Sami looks for a Helluva Kick from the corner to the right of the one Owens is stood in.
HELLUVA KICK! TO OWENS!
Kevin falls into Zayn's arms and Sami pushes him to the ground before walking off, leaving Owens defenseless.
Bo crawls over looking for Grim Affection, Kevin escapes, superkick connects. Both men fall and Owens makes the hot tag to Orton. Orton clears out Rowan, Gacy, Kross and Strowman with RKOs before setting up Dallas for the punt. No one to help the wounded rabbit, The Viper closes in.
Orton's momentum is halted though by a hand grabbing his foot at ringside, the person is in a hood and just as Orton shakes free of his grip, he turns around into Grim Affection for the win.
Bo Dallas has pinned Randy Orton. His family in ruins all around the ring, Bo celebrates his victory, and is proven to be a very truthful man. He really did have quite a few tricks up his sleeve tonight.]
It is advertised that on RAW the following night, we will find out the man who cost Randy Orton at Elimination Chamber.
When the time comes, Bo, flanked by his men, states that long ago his brother put into motion a plan. A plan that would unite six people together, the six most optimal people to incite change into this company. They were handpicked by Bray since the beginning.
Braun Strowman, Bray's black sheep, the man he personally discovered and brought into the WWE to be part of his family.
Erick Rowan, Bray's left hand and the man who carried out Bray's commands for years, one of his most loyal soldiers.
Joe Gacy, a man who felt an indescribable spiritual connection to Bray Wyatt, Bray told Bo that he didn't know who the final member was, but that the man meant to fill the role would, that they would feel an intrinsic, undeniable pull.
Karrion Kross, a man with goals very similar to Bray, and a man who was being mentored by Bray backstage prior to his passing, his golden child.
And now that just leaves one person. Someone who knew Bray very well, someone Bray found much success with in this very ring. So without further ado, the final member of The Wyatt Si-
Randy Orton enters, he denounces this ceremony and is out for blood tonight. Bo states that it's actually perfectly convenient that Orton be here for this, seeing as Randy also knows this person very well.
"In fact, Randy, you're the reason this person wasn't here for five years. The past is a funny thing Randy, the axe forgets, the tree...oh, the tree always remembers."
Realization sets in on the face of Orton before the hooded figure blasts Randy as he turns around. The hood comes off, and there stands, the final member of The Wyatt Six.
Matt Hardy.
Randy Orton is able to get his revenge on Matt Hardy in Matt's last WWE match ever, a street fight on an episode of RAW. It's a grueling, physical battle, but Orton knows the numbers game is too large for him to seek revenge on Bo Dallas.
Besides, Dallas has his hands full.
Just as quickly as The Wyatt 6 began, some subtraction begins to occur. One week, Rowan will be with them backstage only to not come to the ring and go missing, Kross and Strowman face similar fates, leaving only Dallas, Gacy and Hardy.
Dallas begins to question where his family members have gone, and Gacy vows to protect him. That is moments before Dallas and Gacy head to the ring, and Matt Hardy is no longer with them.
Backstage footage airs of something destroying Matt Hardy, beating him violently, and as the being turns its head, it is made clear.
The Demon is here.
Heartbeats fill the arena and Gacy exits the ring to guard the perimeter. Red lights dawn on the squared circle, before The Demon attacks Gacy at ringside making quick work of him.
The Demon crawls into the ring before Dallas grabs a mic, kneeling down to The Demon's level.
"I know what you want, there's only one place for souls like ours to do this. Hell In A Cell."
On the go home show for WrestleMania, Finn Bálor and Bo Dallas have a face to face, Finn says that The Demon never got to meet The Fiend but it will get to meet The Rabbit.
"In layman's terms, Bo. You bring your demons, I'll bring mine."

SummerSlam 2024:
Bo Dallas vs Finn Bálor
Five years ago, at this very same event, Bray Wyatt debuted a brand new version of himself. A version known as The Fiend. A monstrous being that featured very little man in its existence, it was a demonic creature, feeding on the fear of those it crossed and becoming seemingly impervious due to it.
Five years later, the brother of the man who brought that thing into the wrestling world, faces the same man who fell victim at the feet of The Fiend. And just as Bray Wyatt did, Bo Dallas has some tricks in his sleeve, or...some rabbits in his hat.
[Finn Bálor enters first, the confident Irishman with a historic career who has made his mark as a legend in the business. From Bullet Club to training Becky Lynch & JD McDonagh to arguably the greatest NXT Champion of all time to the first ever Universal Champion to The Judgement Day. Tonight, he looks to build upon that illustrious status with a victory over the unpredictable Bo Dallas.
Bálor stands, ready to fight, when the lights dim out. Bálor is slightly puzzled, this isn't part of Bo's recent entrances.
At the top of the entrance way sits a door, an eerie glow doubled with an eerie vibration emanating from it. Suddenly, the door busts open.
White Rabbit Remix - Jefferson Airplane
Bálor watches as from the door emerges a figure. A figure seemingly humanoid in nature, but something slightly off, the fog filling the area makes it hard to discern what that is.
The fog clears and it becomes increasingly clear what's gone wrong here. The crowd gasps and then quiets.
Bo Dallas White Rabbit inspiration
Bo Dallas White Rabbit inspiration
A figure, very similar to the images above, exits the door and infringes on the sanctity of the ring as he approaches. Fur is matted along the arms, abdomen, legs. Splatters of a once viscous red liquid that has dried a crimson brown are visible all over the once pristine, white pelt.
And the face...a disgusting hybrid between a human and an inhumanely large rabbit. The ears jutting out of the face made out of that same...material. That unnatural fur. The left side of the face revealing what used to be a man. He looks...like Bo Dallas. The skin portion of the face is smothered in red, further stretching the meaning of recognizable. An almost leathery appearance coats the angry, red skin. A texture much too old for Taylor Rotunda's age of thirty three.
The teeth lay as jagged pieces of metal, unable to be contained by the maw of the creature.
The lights come up as the unholy monster enters the once sacred ring. A ring that has made this sport possible and a ring where the best matches in professional wrestling have occured, a ring that held the matches and moments that made you fall in love with wrestling in the first place.
And it's tainted, rendered unclean, by this animal. A chill runs down Finn Bálor's spine. He stands his ground, eyeing his bizarre opponent warily, unsure of what to expect from this unholy creation. Memories of a scene he's starred in before, not unlike this, flooding him.
The White Rabbit's grotesque visage contorts into a twisted semblance of a grin as he advances towards Bálor, his movements jerky and unnatural. Bálor braces himself for the impending confrontation, his senses on high alert as he prepares to defend himself against this monstrous aberration.
The bell rings, signaling the start of the match, and Bálor wastes no time in launching a flurry of strikes at The White Rabbit, hoping to catch him off guard and gain the early advantage. But The White Rabbit proves to be more agile than he appears, dodging Bálor's attacks with ease and countering with a brutal barrage of his own.
The White Rabbit toys with Bálor, taunting him with mocking gestures and sadistic laughter as he systematically dismantles his opponent with a series of harsh maneuvers. Bálor fights back with all his might, refusing to let fear or uncertainty cloud his judgment as he battles against the odds.
As the match progresses, The White Rabbit's dominance becomes increasingly evident, his unnerving presence casting a pall over the arena as he unleashes his full arsenal of twisted and unpredictable offense. Bálor struggles to keep pace, his every move countered with ruthless efficiency by his monstrous adversary.
But just when it seems that all hope is lost, Bálor summons the strength of his fighting spirit, rallying back with a defiant burst of energy that catches The White Rabbit off guard. With The White Rabbit still standing, Bálor delivers a thunderous Coup de Grâce, driving his feet into The White Rabbit's chest with bone-shattering force.
The impact ripples through the ring as The White Rabbit crumples to the canvas, his grotesque form writhing in agony. Bálor seizes the opportunity, pinning his monstrous opponent for...for a one count.
Bálor quickly climbs and attempts a second Coup De Grâce, this time to a downed opponent. The White Rabbit moves out of the way and quickly snaps the neck of Finn Bálor. The Rabbit pulls up the paralyzed form of Bálor, and sinches in Hell's Gates.
The referee calls for the bell as the lifeless form of Bálor begins to bleed from his nose and ears, the extraneous pressure from the submission evident.
The White Rabbit stares out at the audience, stares down at Bálor and exits the ring, he walks towards the door, goes through the portal and closes it behind him.
The lights come up and all that's left is the ravaged body of Finn Bálor.]
RAW, 8/12/24:
(Writers Note: Damian Priest is going to be uninvolved in this feud due to focusing on his main event aspirations and his growing distance from The Judgement Day.)
Two weeks after the emergence of one of the most disturbing figures we've ever seen grace the squared circle, Bo Dallas returns to RAW to address the events of SummerSlam.
He says that when he returned to WWE four months ago, he was a very nervous man. He was wracked with feelings of uncertainty and fear, he remembers going into a match with a specific man, Joe Gacy. He remembers being the most scared he's ever been, you have to understand, Bo wasn't like his brother. Bo didn't get 'extreme', he didn't get the opportunity to have matches like that and here he was.
Faced with a madman, challenged to a Love and War match. Joe, he taught Bo something that night, he told him "Fulfill Your Destiny." And it was at that moment, that Bo realized something. He realized what Bray had been doing all those years.
If you can take your fear, and manifest it into something physical, something truly special can be born, and better yet, it leaves you, the man behind the magic, completely fearless.
Before Dallas can continue, The Judgement Day appears, Dominik Mysterio, Finn Bálor & JD McDonagh surround the ring. Bálor says that Bo caught him off guard at SummerSlam, and he wants a rematch, especially seeing as how without his smoke and mirrors, Bo sure does seem fragile.
"It's true. I wouldn't be able to fight all three of you by myself, which is why I'm so glad I don't have to."
BRAUN!
The Monster Among Men makes his first appearance in almost a year, marching out on stage. The Judgement Day is already sufficiently rattled before the titantron goes a mossy green and Erick Rowan appears besides Strowman, standing with his former Wyatt Family brother.
Strowman & Rowan storm the ring causing JD & Dominik to flee and escape, but Bálor turns around into Grim Affection. Dallas stands tall, inheriting the family Bray built. What's that saying? The brother of my brother is my brother? Something like that.
Bash In Berlin 2024:
Bo Dallas, Braun Strowman & Erick Rowan vs The Judgement Day (Dominik Mysterio, Finn Bálor & JD McDonagh)
[Following a confident, braggadocios entrance by The Judgement Day, Dallas, Strowman and Rowan mark their arrival with a Code Orange performed remix of Feared. The music, calling back to the numerous other songs Code Orange has provided for the Rotunda family.
Dallas, flanked by the hulking figures of Strowman and Rowan makes for an intimidating visual. The Judgement Day have an experience edge though, especially with Bálor having personally trained and scouted McDonagh several years ago.
Dallas and Mysterio start the match and Bo quickly gets flustered by the speed and lucha experience of Dominik. Though Dominik has control early, Dallas gets fed up, and following a lucky strike, tags out to Braun Strowman.
Strowman dismantles Dominik, tossing him around the ring with ease. He connects with a heart-throb to the chest before hoisting Mysterio into a move we have not seen from Strowman...since he was a follower.
The hanging triangle lock is applied, Strowman squeezing around the neck of Dominik as Mysterio hangs limply. Dominik kicks out, inciting Braun to return another maneuver. The reverse chokeslam connects and Strowman places a boot on Dominik's chest, but Mysterio still manages to fight out.
Strowman brings Rowan in, who locks a bear hug forcing Dominik to scramble for escape. Despite Dominik's surviving the bear hug, his relief is short lived as Rowan cinches a vice grip around the skull. Dominik creates separation, and Rowan tries to flatten him with a spin kick, but Mysterio ducks. A dropkick to the knee and a 619 follows, giving Dominik an opportunity to tag out.
Finn Bálor is brought in and begins striking away on Rowan, littering the bigger man with bruises. A well placed pele kick wobbles Rowan and leaves him victim to a shotgun dropkick into the turnbuckles. Bálor attempts a Coup De Grâce, but Rowan avoids shoving Finn into the corner. Rowan charges in, but Bálor hops over him and Erick crashes into the steel post.
JD is tagged in and immediately hits a pump helluva kick on the cornered Rowan. Rowan is down to a knee and McDonagh comes from behind with a leap over Rowan culminating in a stunner. A kick out by Rowan inspires McDonagh to connect with a swanton bomb for a near-fall.
JD attempts for Devlinside, yet discovers Rowan is too big of a man to be trying that on. Rowan gets grip on the neck and goes for a chokeslam, McDonagh does a backflip out of it landing on his feet. JD connects with a superkick, followed by a springboard moonsault DDT.
Dallas breaks up the pin, Dominik rushes in to even the odds, Strowman neutralizes Dominik, Bálor brawling with Braun. Chaos unfolds, and eventually Dallas and co. clear the ring. Braun runs the Strowman Express on Judgement Day plowing through each member at ringside, except for JD who catches him with a penalty kick after hopping onto the apron.
JD and Rowan begin to battle again as the legal men, McDonagh knees Rowan in the face and dives with a crossbody for a two count. JD tags out to Bálor, who allows Rowan to bring in Bo Dallas.
Dallas and Bálor, now both as their mortal selves, begin to brawl. Bálor connects with a slingblade, and a shotgun dropkick driving Bo nearly through the turnbuckles. Bàlor attempts a Coup De Grâce, but Dallas avoids and attempts Grim Affection. Bálor slips out and locks the head up under the arm, connecting with a snap elbow drop across the heart.
Bálor climbs now once more, and Dallas hangs him up before sending Finn to the canvas below with a superplex. A near-fall follows, and Dallas clings to the leg of Bálor, trying to prevent a tag. Finn kicks him away and reintroduces McDonagh to the fray.
JD flusters Dallas with strikes and speed, but as he locks onto the wrist and attempts his springboard moonsault DDT, Dallas catches him in position and connects with Grim Affection. Strowman and Rowan plow through Dominik and Bálor preventing a save.
Dallas gets the victory for his team, and alongside his disciples of destruction, stands tall. The entire locker room put on notice.]
Over the next several weeks, The Judgement Day keeps their distance from Dallas's clan. Dallas fastly finds a new target, challenging The Final Testament. Dallas continuously tells Karrion Kross that he was destined for this, dating back almost a decade (in reference to Kross's stint as The White Rabbit in Lucha Underground.)
We get a very fun Authors Of Pain/Strowman & Rowan match out of it, and by the end of September, Bo has successfully convinced Karrion Kross to abandon AOP, Paul Ellering and even Scarlett, adding yet another massive man to his growing group.
October arrives and with his group nearing completion, Dallas targets a man his brother knew very well. That man being Seth Rollins. Dating back to The Shield & The Wyatt Family's iconic feud to The Fiend chasing Rollins' Universal Championship, Rollins was always one of Bray's best rivals. Not to mention, Dallas and Rollins have history from their days in FCW together, only Rollins has so significantly eclipsed Dallas in success and he's sure to rub that in Bo's face now.
You may think the numbers game is so insurmountable and overwhelming, but one puzzle piece that makes this that much more interesting is who Seth has been teaming with as of late. His protege and trainee, Nathan Frazer.
There's a segment featuring Dallas, flanked by his followers and Rollins with Frazer, but the tension is so heavy between Bo and Nathan, you would think they were the only two people in the ring. Frazer addresses his fear of Dallas, and that fear was proven valid considering the damage Dallas has done to the foes he's encountered since.
Dallas cost Nathan his best friend, he cost him his tag team titles, he cost him his brother! But Nathan has news for Bo, he is not running anymore.
Dallas steps forward, looking to acknowledge the impact he's had on Frazer.
"Nate, is it? I don't know how to tell you this, but...I don't even know who you are."
Bo is calloused and cold, and simply decides to feed Frazer and Rollins to the wolves. We get a tag match between Rollins and Frazer vs Strowman and Rowan, with commentary making note of Rollins and Braun being former tag team champions together, ending in victory for Rollins and Frazer.
Armageddon 2024:
Bo Dallas vs Seth Rollins
[The anticipation is high as Bo Dallas and Seth Rollins step into the ring, flanked by their respective allies. Rollins, accompanied by Nathan Frazer, exudes the confidence of a former champion as he eyes Dallas, who seems to stand that much taller alongside the imposing trio of Braun Strowman, Erick Rowan, and Karrion Kross.
The match begins with Dallas and Rollins locking up in the center of the ring, each vying for control. Rollins gains the early advantage with his technical prowess, countering Dallas's power-based offense with precision strikes and fast maneuvers. But Dallas refuses to back down, using his size and strength to overpower Rollins and gain the upper hand.
As the match progresses, both competitors unleash a barrage of moves, each refusing to give an inch in their quest for victory. Rollins employs his signature high-flying arsenal, soaring through the air with breathtaking dives and aerial assaults that keep Dallas on the defensive. But Dallas proves to be a resilient opponent, weathering Rollins's onslaught and mounting several counterattacks of his own.
In the final moments of the match, Rollins, alongside Frazer battle off Dallas's trio of monsters. Rollins looks for a Curb Stomp, that Dallas avoids. Dallas hooks on for Grim Affection, but Rollins latches onto the arm, trapping Bo before spinning him into a RainTrigger knee strike. A definitive Curb Stomp follows and Rollins is able to secure the victory giving Bo his first clean singles loss since returning.]
With Survivor Series fast approaching, the men Dallas has targeted come back to haunt him, as Rollins and Frazer form something of a truce with The Judgement Day, seeking to take down the common enemy in Bo Dallas.
We get some interesting interactions such as Kross trying to convince JD that he can see the darkness in him, harkening back to JD's NXT character of old, only for JD to tell Kross that he doesn't know anything about him before shattering his nose with a wicked headbutt.
With Dominik Mysterio, Finn Bálor, JD McDonagh, Nathan Frazer & Seth Rollins banding together Bo seems to be just one man short. It's the RAW prior to Survivor Series when Dallas, Strowman, Rowan and Kross stand on stage staring down the babyface quintet. The crowd waits with baited breath before Love Is Blind hits and Joe Gacy strolls on stage, making his main roster debut to side with his NXT foe.
They charge the ring and a brawl breaks out, and as security tries to keep the ten men apart, we here a distinguished William Regal shout
"WarGames!"
Survivor Series 2024:
Team Dallas (Bo Dallas, Braun Strowman, Erick Rowan, Joe Gacy & Karrion Kross) vs Team Rollins (Dominik Mysterio, Finn Bálor, JD McDonagh, Nathan Frazer & Seth Rollins) - WarGames
[It is decided that Joe Gacy and Seth Rollins will be opening this match. Both men selected by their teams for their stamina in matches like these, Gacy from his CZW days, Rollins having been WWE's premier workhorse for years.
The bell rings and they make their way on to the steel connector between the two rings. They begin wallaying on each other with forearms before Joe sneaks in a boot to the midsection, Gacy attempts a powerbomb on the steel, but Rollins reverses with a back body drop.
Seth looks for a superkick, but Gacy catches the foot and sends Rollins into the left ring. Rollins looks for a spinning forearm, but Gacy ducks and gores Rollins with a shoulder thrust. Joe sails over Rollins into the ring, and using his deceptive athleticism, looks for his handspring lariat.
Rollins catches him with a superkick and tries for a Pedigree. Gacy is able to muscle up Rollins into an Alabama Slam, he then throws Rollins into the turnbuckles forcing Seth to take a seat. A big crossbody to the seated, cornered Rollins follows and Gacy begins to reign.
Joe starts targeting the bad back sending Rollins writhing with forearms and knees to the lumbar. He eventually gets a knee on the spine with a tight grip around the mouth, controlling Seth's breathing. Rollins begins to fire up and fight out with elbows to the midsection. Rollins hits a leaping knee strike to Gacy and takes him down a peg.
Rollins attempts a Curb Stomp, but Gacy moves landing Winds Of Change as Rollins turns around. Gacy tries for a running senton, but Rollins moves this time. Curb Stomp attempt, Gacy moves, handspring lariat, Rollins ducks, superkick, Curb Stomp connects.
Rollins knows he can't make the cover so he climbs to the top to inflict more damage. Frogsplash, but Gacy gets the knees up. Joe shoves Rollins into the ropes hoping to connect with an elbow to the back, but Rollins rebounds with a spinning forearm. Gacy ducks locking on for a German Suplex, Rollins lands on his feet and closes in with a V-Trigger, Gacy rebounds off the ropes into a Falcon Arrow and the countdown begins.
Erick Rowan is the next entry, joining Joe Gacy as a focused duo. Rowan pounces on Rollins, but Seth fights back, attempting a RainTrigger but Rowan catches him by the face, in an Iron Claw like grip. Rowan looks for a slam using the claw grip, but Rollins hooks onto the head and reverses into a DDT.
Rollins begins to litter both Joe and Rowan with corner forearms, Rowan eventually catches Rollins and attempts a two handed chokeslam. Rollins dropkicks the body of Rowan mid-slam, and recuperates. He attempts a Pedigree, but Rowan reverses with a back body drop, Rollins lands on his feet and nails an enziguri to stumble the big man.
He mounts Rowan in the corner and begins landing repeated right hands, Rowan shoves him off the middle turnbuckle and closes the distance with a big boot. He positions Seth in the corner before slapping Gacy and hyping him up, ala The Bludgeon Brothers.
Gacy charges for a crossbody to the downed Rollins, but Seth springs up, sails over the running Gacy and lands a dropkick to Rowan. A leaping knee to the mouth follows and Rollins gets Rowan back in Pedigree position.
Gacy comes over with a clothesline that Rollins ducks before hitting a superkick to Gacy, Rowan tries to whip Rollins into the corner but Seth reverses and Erick smashes into Gacy. Rollins jumps to the middle turnbuckle raining down with a barrage of right hands to Rowan then Gacy.
Rowan and Gacy try to catch their bearings before turning around into a Phoenix Splash Crossbody from Rollins and the countdown begins.
Finn Bálor is the next entry, entering a couple of chairs into the field for him and Rollins. They stare each other down, remembering all the wars they've been through and begin to beat down on Rowan and Gacy. It's going well at first, with Gacy especially being incapacitated, before Rowan stops Bálor mid chair swing.
He mule kicks Rollins and rips the chair out of Finn's hands before tossing Finn into the corner. Rollins shortly after joins him. Rowan proceeds to biel toss Rollins who tucks and rolls to come out unscathed. Bálor is then biel tossed on top of Rollins before Rowan throws the aforementioned chair into the face of Bálor.
Rowan attempts to chokeslam Seth on top of the other chair, Rollins scrambles and kicks the chair over so it's legs up. Rowan proceeds with the chokeslam anyway, delivering Rollins onto the bottom of the chair. He then sets up another chair in the corner, wedging it between turnbuckles. He vaults Bálor in that direction, but Finn slides low to avoid connection, only for Gacy to bull pounce him into the chair anyway.
Rowan and Gacy survey the carnage they've caused, as Bálor tries to crawl into the other ring. Rowan joins him on the steel connector and despite Finn's valiant efforts, is able to claw slam him onto the steel beam as the countdown begins.
Bo Dallas is the next entry, and he doesn't waste time getting his hands dirty. He simply passes his objects of destruction their tools. A table, a length of chain and a toolbox. He then observes as his monsters begin to wreak havoc.
Gacy whips at Rollins with the chain, before wrapping it around his face and neck. Rowan squeezes between Bálor's fingers with pliers, applying pressure as he kneels on his back.
Gacy throws the toolbox into the face of an unsuspecting Rollins. Gacy sets up the table against the turnbuckles. He tries to whip Rollins into it, but Seth catches himself, he fights back against Rowan and Gacy but Joe gets a knee to the face before lifting Rollins on his shoulder and charging him through the table.
Rowan yanks Bálor up and delivers him with biel tosses onto the chain and toolbox as the countdown begins.
Dominik Mysterio is the next entry, and he quickly realizes the challenge he's up against. He ducks under Rowan and Gacy, tackling Bo and unloading with right hands. Rowan and Gacy drag him off and begin mercilessly beating on him.
Dallas calls them off, dragging Dominik into the right ring, telling Rowan and Gacy that he'll handle Mysterio. He looks for Grim Affection, but Dominik escapes and rolls backwards with Dallas before hitting a dropkick to the back. Bo is in position, but as Dallas runs the ropes, Rowan catches him by the throat.
Rowan chokeslams Dominik into the arms of Gacy who connects with a German Suplex. The ominous duo gaze down at the broken body of Mysterio, before feeding him to Dallas, who connects with Grim Affection as the countdown begins.
Karrion Kross is the next entry, and introduces a very special weapon. A barbed wire wrapped 2x4 as well as a suspicious grey baggie.
He begins brandishing Bálor and Rollins with the wood and wire. He rips at the flesh and rakes it across the face of Rollins. He begins toying with Bálor, and releases the 2x4 asking Finn to stand up and show him what he's got. Bálor fires up, and sweeps the legs sending Kross back first onto the barbed wire. He then stomps on the chest caving Kross further in.
He beckons Rowan and Gacy to try their best, and as they begin to swarm, the numbers game becomes too much. Rowan with a spinning heel kick, Gacy with a crossbody against the ropes. They continue to dismantle their foes as the countdown begins.
JD McDonagh is the next entry, and introduces several chairs. He cracks Gacy, Rowan and Dallas repeatedly, bruising them with the stiff chair strikes.
He gets Bo in the corner and hits a running dropkick with the chair under his feet, ala Rob Van Dam. McDonagh is rolling, but here comes Kross. Karrion and McDonagh have had something of a personal sub rivalry, and Karrion relishes punishing McDonagh. A fallaway suplex downs McDonagh and leads to Kross wielding a chair.
Swing and a miss, swing a miss, swing and connects with the foot of JD who was going for a roundhouse, swing and the chair lodges itself around the head of McDonagh, headbutt by McDonagh with the chair around the head, both men down and the countdown begins.
Braun Strowman is the next entry, the final for Team Dallas. He introduces multiple tables and sets them up in a row of three. Dominik chooses this time to reappear and swiftly gets chokeslammed through one of the tables.
Braun is able to get JD up in a hanging triangle lock with the chain wrapped around his neck, but Bálor and Rollins come to the save. Finn, Seth and JD work to take down Gacy, Rowan, Strowman and Kross.
McDonagh scaling the cage, Rowan, Dallas and Strowman starting to recover, Gacy on one table, Kross on one table, Rollins and Bálor climb, frogsplash through the table from Rollins, Coup De Grâce through the table from Bálor, moonsault from the top of the cage by McDonagh!
Everyone is down as the countdown begins.
Nathan Frazer is the next and final entry, Frazer is a one man wrecking crew as he enters, showing off his agility using both rings to his advantage. Frazer clears Kross, Gacy, Strowman, Rowan but faulters as he encounters Dallas.
Bo taunts Frazer from his knees, and as Frazer hesitates to take the kill shot, Rowan takes advantage with a claw slam to Nathan. Rollins capitalizes with a superkick to Dallas and a chair shot to the head of Rowan, once Erick's head is sufficiently trapped inside the chair, Rollins hops onto the back and hits a modified Pedigree, jamming the chair into the throat and jaw.
Gacy is seen stalking Rollins, having wrapped the barbed wire from the 2x4 around his arm, he charges in with a handspring barbed wire wrapped lariat to Rollins. Bálor closes in with a shotgun dropkick into the corner before fetching the grey baggie. He opens it, emptying out thumbtacks onto the canvas.
Bo comes over, striking with Bálor. Finn gets the upper hand and climbs for a standing Coup De Grâce, similar to how he tried to put The White Rabbit away at SummerSlam. He misses, going feet first into the tacks, Dallas grabs hold of the head and connects with Grim Affection on the tacks.
Three seconds later, and Team Dallas has survived WarGames. Bo collects up his soldiers, standing above the battered bodies of his opposition. One question remains clear, who can stop Bo Dallas?]
With Team Dallas pulling out a massive victory inside arguably the most grueling match type in WWE history, they look forward to moving on from the men they dismantled at Survivor Series.
One man, though, refuses to let them. That man is Nathan Frazer. Still haunted by the price he paid, the friend he lost, the halt in momentum, due to Bo's arrival in NXT.
A couple of weeks following WarGames, Frazer comes out to call out Bo Dallas, Seth Rollins tries to talk Frazer down and calm him, but Nathan is insistent. He failed to take Bo down, he failed to make things right, he needs to beat Bo Dallas.
Strowman, Rowan, Kross and Gacy emerge. Gacy states that Bo isn't here tonight, but they would be more than happy to show Frazer exactly what he's in for if he wants to keep...chasing rabbits.
The monsters storm the ring and surround Rollins and Frazer in a very hound like way. Just before they pounce, a theme song hits, the lights go up and wouldn't you know it, motherfucking Axiom arrives.
Frazer & Rollins take advantage of the distraction and Axiom lends his hand, leading to the monsters retreating. Rollins guards the ring as Axiom and Nathan Frazer stare each other down.
'Hug It Out' chants run through the arena, and Axiom & Frazer embrace, putting the past behind them.
Over the next two weeks, we get two very interesting matches. The first, a street fight between Bo Dallas and Nathan Frazer, in which Frazer finally gets an opportunity at singles revenge on Bo in a brutal, chaotic brawl. Dallas wins this match with help from his possee.
The second, Karrion Kross vs Seth Rollins, a good showcase for Kross as he steps up against a main eventer and one of the best in the world. Rollins wins in a good match, but it's what happens after that draws attention.
Rollins is seated in the corner when the lights go out, section by section, plunging Rollins into darkness and for the first time, Seth Rollins meets The White Rabbit.
The Rabbit crawls towards Rollins who closes his eyes in fear, creating parallels to a similar scene five years ago. Rollins, though, this time, stands up and stares down The Rabbit.
Seth grabs a microphone and stares down this fiendish entity. "Crown Jewel, me and my boys vs you and yours."
The Rabbit cocks his head to the side and the lights go out once more, when they come up, a hat remains in the ring. A hat very similar to Uncle Howdys', Rollins lifts it and a rabbit jumps out. At the bottom of the hat is a note, written on light blue, Firefly Funhouse themed paper.
"WE ACCEPT."
Crown Jewel 2024:
Axiom, Nathan Frazer & Seth Rollins vs Bo Dallas, Braun Strowman & Erick Rowan
[Five years after Bray Wyatt defeated Seth Rollins at this same event to become Universal Champion, Rollins faces off against his spiritual successor and younger brother, Bo Dallas. Frazer and Axiom share a quick nod of understanding, their strategy clear: use their speed and agility to outmaneuver their larger opponents. On the other side of the ring, Dallas, Strowman, and Rowan stand tall, their imposing presence a stark contrast to the quickness of their adversaries.
The match begins with Axiom and Dallas squaring off for the first time since NXT when Dallas took Axiom's title. The two competitors circle each other cautiously before locking up in a test of strength. Axiom utilizes his lightning-fast strikes and acrobatic prowess to keep Dallas off balance, darting in and out of range with precision. Shortly after, Nathan and Rowan engage in a battle of power versus speed, with Frazer using his agility to evade Rowan's powerful strikes while delivering rapid-fire kicks and strikes of his own.
As the match progresses, Rollins enters the fray, unleashing a flurry of high-flying maneuvers on his ex-partner, Strowman. Braun struggles to keep pace with his nimble opponent as Rollins utilizes his speed to his advantage, ducking and weaving around Strowman's attempts at offense before delivering an enzuigiri that sends the big man staggering backwards.
Rollins lands a knee to the nose and a step-stool Curb Stomp off the back of Frazer shortly after, but Rowan saves the match. Axiom and Nathan join forces, working in tandem to take Rowan out and wear him down with a series of double-team maneuvers. Rollins exits the ring and, acting in the role of Reigns, assists in hitting a Shield Bomb through the announce table on Rowan.
Despite the valiant efforts of Dallas, Strowman, and Rowan, the tide of the match begins to turn in favor of Rollins and his team. Axiom unleashes a devastating flurry of strikes on Dallas once Strowman and Seth tag out, culminating in a rattling roundhouse kick that leaves the former champion reeling. Meanwhile, Nathan Frazer climbs to the top turnbuckle and launches himself into the air, executing a picture-perfect shooting star press that connects squarely with Bo Dallas, leaving him sprawled out on the canvas.
With Dallas incapacitated, Nathan seizes the opportunity to go for the pin, hooking the leg as the referee counts the three. The crowd erupts into cheers as Rollins, Axiom, and Nathan Frazer celebrate their hard-fought victory, Frazer finally getting his revenge on the man who permanently altered his career.]
January arrives and the Dallas clan set their sights on the Royal Rumble, more specifically, helping Bo to win the Royal Rumble. To fulfill his destiny at WrestleMania.
When the Rumble arrives, they're doing a great job of tearing through everyone in the match. Rowan and Gacy aren't even entries, but continuously skirt around the rules, helping Bo, Kross and Strowman rack up eliminations.
They eliminate the likes of Finn Bálor, Kevin Owens and Sami Zayn before they encounter the one man wrecking crew that is Randy Orton. Orton swiftly eliminates Kross and Strowman before turning his attention to Dallas. Bo is able to force him into position for Grim Affection, but Orton escapes landing an RKO and eliminating Bo Dallas.
When the Rumble has concluded, Bo has a hard time accepting this loss, and sics his men on Orton. Orton gets a victory over a game Karrion Kross leading to the onslaught by Strowman, Rowan and Gacy. However, this draws the call of the disgruntled men Bo's crew eliminated at the Rumble.
Kevin Owens and Sami Zayn.
Kevin and Randy already have a friendly history, and Zayn, coming off an Intercontinental Title loss to Ilja Dragunov in August, partners up with his long time tag partner to fight the cause.
Bo acknowledges the history his brother had with Randy Orton, including Orton burning down his childhood home, The Wyatt Compound.
Finally, at Elimination Chamber, much like The Shield and The Wyatt Family over a decade prior, we get a six man tag.
Elimination Chamber 2025:
Bo Dallas, Braun Strowman & Erick Rowan vs Kevin Owens, Randy Orton & Sami Zayn
[It's very poetic, Bo has been very much hitting all of Bray's best moments in modern day versions. The demonic alter-ego debuting at SummerSlam against Finn Bálor, facing off with Seth Rollins at Crown Jewel and now a six man tag at Elimination Chamber.
Dallas lets his opponents know ahead of this match that he has some tricks up his sleeves, but that a truly good magician never reveals his secrets.
There's plenty of fun interactions, Strowman & Zayn having been Braun's first feud away from The Wyatt Family, Strowman & Owens and the terrorizing Kevin went through in 2018, Rowan & Orton facing off for the first time since Orton went after The Wyatt Family in 2017, Bo & Sami reigniting their NXT feud from 2014.
The match ends when Braun sets Owens, Zayn and Orton up in separate corners. He biel tosses Orton, biel tosses Sami and goes for Owens, but Kevin fights back hitting a Stunner on the big man. Bo comes in and eats a Pop-Up Powerbomb for a near-fall.
Kevin gets Dallas in the corner for a Kevin Cannonball and connects, once, twice, Kevin looking for a third cannonball from the corner. Zayn stops Owens and tells Kevin to let Sami end this. Bo staggers up and Sami looks for a Helluva Kick from the corner to the right of the one Owens is stood in.
HELLUVA KICK! TO OWENS!
Kevin falls into Zayn's arms and Sami pushes him to the ground before walking off, leaving Owens defenseless.
Bo crawls over looking for Grim Affection, Kevin escapes, superkick connects. Both men fall and Owens makes the hot tag to Orton. Orton clears out Rowan, Gacy, Kross and Strowman with RKOs before setting up Dallas for the punt. No one to help the wounded rabbit, The Viper closes in.
Orton's momentum is halted though by a hand grabbing his foot at ringside, the person is in a hood and just as Orton shakes free of his grip, he turns around into Grim Affection for the win.
Bo Dallas has pinned Randy Orton. His family in ruins all around the ring, Bo celebrates his victory, and is proven to be a very truthful man. He really did have quite a few tricks up his sleeve tonight.]
It is advertised that on RAW the following night, we will find out the man who cost Randy Orton at Elimination Chamber.
When the time comes, Bo, flanked by his men, states that long ago his brother put into motion a plan. A plan that would unite six people together, the six most optimal people to incite change into this company. They were handpicked by Bray since the beginning.
Braun Strowman, Bray's black sheep, the man he personally discovered and brought into the WWE to be part of his family.
Erick Rowan, Bray's left hand and the man who carried out Bray's commands for years, one of his most loyal soldiers.
Joe Gacy, a man who felt an indescribable spiritual connection to Bray Wyatt, Bray told Bo that he didn't know who the final member was, but that the man meant to fill the role would, that they would feel an intrinsic, undeniable pull.
Karrion Kross, a man with goals very similar to Bray, and a man who was being mentored by Bray backstage prior to his passing, his golden child.
And now that just leaves one person. Someone who knew Bray very well, someone Bray found much success with in this very ring. So without further ado, the final member of The Wyatt Si-
Randy Orton enters, he denounces this ceremony and is out for blood tonight. Bo states that it's actually perfectly convenient that Orton be here for this, seeing as Randy also knows this person very well.
"In fact, Randy, you're the reason this person wasn't here for five years. The past is a funny thing Randy, the axe forgets, the tree...oh, the tree always remembers."
Realization sets in on the face of Orton before the hooded figure blasts Randy as he turns around. The hood comes off, and there stands, the final member of The Wyatt Six.
Matt Hardy.
Randy Orton is able to get his revenge on Matt Hardy in Matt's last WWE match ever, a street fight on an episode of RAW. It's a grueling, physical battle, but Orton knows the numbers game is too large for him to seek revenge on Bo Dallas.
Besides, Dallas has his hands full.
Just as quickly as The Wyatt 6 began, some subtraction begins to occur. One week, Rowan will be with them backstage only to not come to the ring and go missing, Kross and Strowman face similar fates, leaving only Dallas, Gacy and Hardy.
Dallas begins to question where his family members have gone, and Gacy vows to protect him. That is moments before Dallas and Gacy head to the ring, and Matt Hardy is no longer with them.
Backstage footage airs of something destroying Matt Hardy, beating him violently, and as the being turns its head, it is made clear.
The Demon is here.
Heartbeats fill the arena and Gacy exits the ring to guard the perimeter. Red lights dawn on the squared circle, before The Demon attacks Gacy at ringside making quick work of him.
The Demon crawls into the ring before Dallas grabs a mic, kneeling down to The Demon's level.
"I know what you want, there's only one place for souls like ours to do this. Hell In A Cell."
On the go home show for WrestleMania, Finn Bálor and Bo Dallas have a face to face, Finn says that The Demon never got to meet The Fiend but it will get to meet The Rabbit.
"In layman's terms, Bo. You bring your demons, I'll bring mine."

Hi guys,
I’m toying with the idea of penning a sequel to ‘Alas Babylon’, which is now in the public domain where I live.
I was hoping to draw on your prepper expertise about how things might have progressed, bearing in mind the book came out in 1959!
I have two main questions:

1. As you know the protagonist’s house is situated by a river, which the Bragg family use for fishing. Randy complains about the lack of electricity. Would it have been feasible at the time to install a water wheel to give their home hydro power? They do have access to car batteries.
   
2. The Bragg’s neighbors the Henrys conceive a system of making corn whiskey using copper tubing scavenged from cars and having their mule grind it to make molasses. Could the same or similar equipment be used to make bioethanol to power vehicles? There is a mechanic in their community.
   

Thank you again and please forgive my ignorance.

First/Previous/Next
I’s but a boy and no higher than a mule’s ass when I fell in alongside the others in the shotgun infantry because I couldn’t ride a mount for the life of me and besides, whenever there was wreckage up the way or somewhere we couldn’t get a wagon through, I’d slip ahead and function just as well as any scout in my quick footwork. The Rednecks (called so much because of the kerchiefs we displayed around our throats) were a marching group that I was born into—there’d at one time been such companies that traversed the wastes besides the wizards. That was before Baphomet or Leviathan or even Mephisto; this was when the demons we’d come across were of lowly intelligence or manageable strength. That is not to say that there were never any close calls in those days—after all, the demon armies that’d come so long before had taken the world, but still a human could scratch by and sometimes even bands of us would take up arms, march in the dens of those blasphemous creatures, and deal with them in the ways we knew how. The day I’d been given the long gun, Jackson had not been so eager to do so because I think he was my father and he always had a certain warmth and he’d taken me in as a son, but I never knew for sure or even asked. It was in the way that I’d sometimes catch him watching me from the corner of my eye whenever I was feeding the hounds or cleaning around camp, and that’s how I’d come at guessing he was my dad—it was that and his affections that’d be rare and foreign in the company.
The Rednecks marched the eastern United States in the days with more towns and even in that time there was a hope among them that this too should pass as all other historical calamities, but the eve of destruction was upon us (maybe it was always). No one remembered dates in our company so I couldn’t say when my birthday was and so I don’t know how old I ever was in my life, but that didn’t matter because an adult was so when they were given their weapon and pushed to the fore. We were warriors for God and some would comment on how we’d tricked ourselves, because sometimes, camped on roadsides or even in downtowns when allowed, we’d erect that great big wooden crucifix that Sibylle kept along with her things and we’d kneel and pray on the ground and it was good—for all of those I’ve witnessed bonding themselves in their religion, damning themselves or others because of their bodies, our religion (not so much old-time as the song goes) seemed to set us free. As much as we concerned ourselves in those prayers, it was that we were the image of God, and so should do God’s work. So, we did.
The company marched north in the foothills of the Appalachians with those great dead and brown mountains on their lefthand then they’d lodge in Charlottesville for a time and then cross over the range and march south with the mountains on their lefthand again till they reached midway through Tennessee and then they’d cut southwest and touch with Marietta before heading northeast then north again. It was a cyclical patrol they took and it just so happened that Sibylle was pregnant all those years ago on the verge of a swing up north and that’s how I came into this world in one of those old canvas tents, the first sights probably dirt and whatever rags that’d been gathered around; some of those in the company told me that Sibylle had squatted, dropped me clear on my head then remounted her horse and ordered everyone else to carry on—she was strong, but I always took that as a folk story anyway.
The story goes that Sibylle took many men to her tent—women too when the mood so pleased her—and so it could’ve been any number of the men in the company that was my father, but I really like to think it was Jackson.
The woman wasn’t ever looked down on for it—her promiscuity was seen as a strength if nothing else and besides she wasn’t married—it took me growing up to understand she’d went on with a persona to do the things she did. She was the first to fight, the last out of a bad situation, and whatever nonsense a man might give her, she’d return with near immediate violence. She was a hard woman, but not without kindnesses in her own way. Maybe the world did it to her, or it could’ve been the fighting, or it could’ve been any number of other things—it would do no good to speculate over a dead person like that. What I do know is that stories would permeate whenever we’d sit around trash wood fires and people did speculate her motives. She wore a cowboy hat and a pistol across the front of her pants so that the holster swung between her thighs, and she was missing her left eye—over the socket was a brown leather patch tailored in Charlottsville. My mother—if that is what she should be called—spat, drank, fought, spoke gruffly, and was business until nighttime. Given the nature of her, the stories around those fires would come and oftentimes the questioning over her missing eye would enter circulation; some said it was thumbed out of her skull by a scorned lover and yet others guessed it was a demon that got it. No one ever knew for certain because she never offered an explanation, and I was never told.
As far as I know, the woman weened me quick as a babe and then I was out of her tent and among the company; this is where Jackson took me on and mentored me; my first words—I don’t recall what they were—were said to him. When I was still much too small to even help sufficiently with chores, I remember he’d tell me stories from books, and it wasn’t long until Jackson was teaching me the letters and the words they formed; his recital was dim in the tent at night whenever he’d pitch an elbow alongside my sleeping bag on the floor and lay there and read to me by the light of a candle. I’d fall to sleep quick, but he never seemed to mind; more than once I woke before him and the candle would still be going, and the book would be placed beside him on a small table and at some point, in the night, he would’ve thrown an arm across me.
The childhood I had in the company was shorter than others, but for the moments it had, I do cherish. I learned to read which is more than most and I learned the self-sufficiency that came from such a life, but that’s not exactly so accurate; for all the skills they’d given me, self-sufficiency was hardly a bother in those times I patrolled the Appalachians with them. It’s not like anything else. It was family in the way that I trusted each of them—every single one. And as I grew up, we’d sleep sometimes three or five to a tent so that I’d never worry because there were always warm bodies beside me. Warm bodies that’d fight for me just as I’d for them. If it came to it, we would die for one another, because our goal of ridding the scourge was greater than any one of our lives. So, we believed, and maybe we were right.
Or maybe we were fools; some of the townsfolk or merchants or travelers we’d occasionally converse with had no qualms in telling us so. It wasn’t that we were ever contracted to take out demons, so oftentimes we’d be given flak in our endeavors. A town would be just as likely to look at us pitiably as they would be to offer us refuge or meals and sometimes, we’d accept supplies that were offered freely, but it didn’t matter because we did what we did for ourselves and it wouldn’t matter the reserves we had—the only time the company was threatened outright by humans were the events in which we attempted to conscript others; the conscripts were plentiful, but many townsfolks did not care for us taking their citizens. Parents cursed us for leading their children astray, city leaders decried us for depleting their populace, but there was always more ready to take up the righteous cause. In the time when I started the fight, our numbers fluctuated gently above or below the cusp of a hundred.
Then I had a brother too, during a time before I’d been put to the company’s task of demon-slaying he was born, but I think biologically we only ever shared Sibylle; even still when the boy was ushered on by her, Jackson took him to raise as well and the boy was handsomer and smarter than I’d been, but there was little jealousy I had for him. His name was Billy and as years went by, he shared the face of another man in our company—John. It’s doubtful that John ever made a claim on my brother—there was none I ever knew of anyway—but not a soul among us seemed outwardly affronted by the bohemian arrangement of our family. John in question was a like many of the men in our company, aloof and his origins were from a land I didn’t know from the south; I’d heard it said a few times that when he’d enlisted years prior, his name before was Juan and the others among the gang took to calling him John; if it bothered him, he never showed it—what he cared about most was the guitar he kept with him wherever he went. Some naked black nights among the rocky hills, around the trash wood fires, he would serenade the gathered crowd in Spanish song, and I never knew the words, but his voice was always slow and never loud and it was only once the company procured a cache of liquors that he’d call for his guitar and someone would bring it, and no one complained; often times a person might glimpse the sway of those gathered, lilting sitting silhouettes listening against the darker shadows beyond.
I’d been given the gun and put to the sole mission and quickly fell in with John because he led the infantrymen and with me being the newest as well as the youngest, the hazing began immediately; I didn’t know how to walk a straight line or keep up with anyone else (never mind I had half the stride of a man then) and any time I’d tidy my pack, I’d find my gear strewn on the ground and the deflated bag resting atop it like a blanket.
My feet ached and John shouted, “Vamanos!” So, I vamanosed at the rear of the pack. We were marching ahead of the wagons and the others, and we’d just left a small trading unit on our trek up I-85, beyond Marietta but not quite across what’d once been Lake Hartwell; some of the maps read okay but many of the roads were hard travelling with their uprisen destruction and the strange weeds we saw from time to time that sprouted from cracks like twisted decaying yellow fingers. The roads could be hard travelling on whatever vehicles we had and so the infantrymen would be sent ahead to be sure the way was clear. The traders we’d met further south on I-85 said there was a nest somewhere and they’d given the place a wide berth and we’d walked so far ahead of the company I was certain the traders were stupid or liars as the road beyond seemed empty and clear save the dead rust buckets lining each shoulder that’d long since been pushed or towed from the way. Just as I’d thought so, John came to a halt at the front and knelt and withdrew a scope to gaze ahead and gave a brief signal for all others to go low.
Twenty people knelt there on the broken asphalt and I was among them, at the rear as it was my first bit of action, so I saw them exchanging glances to one another while John peered through the scope and many of their faces were not much older than mine and one of them lifted a ball cap from his head and steam rolled off his short kept hair before he scooped the cap back over his crown, holding it by the bill. “You smell that?” asked the young girl next to him.
“Stinks,” someone said.
The young man with the cap finally muttered, “Oh, I know that smell.” He then removed his pack and began fighting with it.
John whispered, “Masks!” The word hissed through his teeth, and he was quick to put on his gas mask and did so with an expertise greater than anyone else present. He took his scattergun from the strap on his shoulder and pulled from his knees onto his heels.
The mask was difficult to see through, and hot with the sun coming on us the way it was, and I shifted around for my peripherals were consumed by the blackness therein. There were few less quick on the draw than I and one of them was the boy with the cap; he’d dropped his hat and was still attempting to yank the strap of the mask free from the pack he’d thrown between his knees; he had the filter end out and was pulling hard and panicked while the head straps remained stuck on some piece of equipment within the recesses of the bag. John crept near the boy, gun held like a mop by his side and tore the mask free from the bag before punching the boy lightly in the chest with the hand that held the mask; the man let the mask fall to the boy’s lap. The boy scrambled to slide into it and John watched over us, returning to his position at the fore and I saw the creatures scratching across the road up the way, raised grotesquely swollen heads sloppily rolling on their small bodies.
“Mutants,” said the young man once the mask was over his face; his cap lay on the ground, shorn from his head.
All readied their guns, so I took mine and saw that some reached for sidearms then shifted across either side of the road at John’s motioning requests. We took to the sides, hiding among the bulwark of jalopies and I stuck near the rear of the group, sidling down against the wheel of a van and peeked around the corner to spy on the creatures drawing nearer. Gas expelled from their heads then reflated and I can not say who it was that fired first, all I know is that the maelstrom of bullets that followed was deafening; expertly the company pincered the creatures, taking careful aim and ending each. Chlorine gas erupted from the manmade holes in the creatures’ heads and their bodies laid in the road, flat and grotesque in the yellowing fluids that ejaculated from their wounds.
John moved forward and began taking his sidearm to those demons that still pushed on a limb or trembled with life and the others knew the drill and began doing the same and I crept from my hiding spot behind the van, partially in awe at the quick organization and partially ashamed for never having fired my weapon. I took to the crowd of demons and began firing my own weapon at any potential among their blasphemous ranks and in minutes the crowd of fart heads (I’d not yet heard that nickname) were as dead as could be.
The Chlorine gas dissipated and some of the infantry began removing their masks and the young man who’d had difficulties with his mask prior now kept it protruding off his forehead like a horn and he was smiling as were the others and I felt my hands shaking; the recoil of the shotgun could’ve been to blame, but I think it was an introduction to new terror, the possibility of mortality—of my own mortality.
John removed his mask and joined the crew of us there in a knot among the unmoving demons and he rummaged through his coat and removed a small cigar, lit it from a match, then placed it in the corner of his mouth. “Coño,” he spoke to me, and I knew that word, “Why are you so scared? I see you shaking. What’s gotten under your skin?” His smile was playful and then the others joined in teasing me and from there on, I promised to steel my nerves forevermore, knowing I’d break it anyway.
So it would be that before the rest of our jolly band arrived on the scene, the scouts would push on in fewer numbers and John specifically asked for me to accompany them.
Moving from the south were the others and their blots became more focused on their arrival and ahead of them all was Sibylle riding the aged painted stallion; beyond her were wagons and jury-rigged vehicles and walkers too, and I thought I could just make out the gas-powered caleche Jackson drove for the plumes of smoke it sent from its exhaust.
“There’s a nest ahead we should clear,” said John, dead in tone and shouldering the strap of the shotgun.
The young man, still with his mask clasped to his forehead, searched the muck, and found the hat he’d lost. “Smells somethin’ awful.” He made a face.
A handful of us moved ahead, perhaps six of us, and left the others to meet the rest of our crew.
The young man, now carrying the gas mask by his fingers lackadaisically with his shotgun in the crook of his elbow, fell in alongside me. “Name’s Gibby. You?”
“Harlan.”
“Nice to meet’cha, Harlan. You’re one of Sibylle’s aint you?”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Well sure, you hang with that mechanic all day. What’s his name?”
“Jackson.”
“That’s the one. He’s good with his hands, but I hear he’s a lame shot.” There was quiet among us as we took the road further, each of us kicking up loose asphalt or snagging boots along those weird weeds; John was in the front, three others in the middle—they jabbered among themselves—and me and Gibby there at the back. The sky was azure, and the clouds were white as cotton and drifted overhead like there wasn’t an issue with the world. A flock of birds took across in a lopsided formation and upon either side of the road and beyond were dead woods without leaves, naked and gray and tired seeming. “Don’t take none of what that old guy said about you. I mean, don’t let it go to your heart. You know?”
“I wasn’t.”
“He’s just a real tough sonofabitch. I’ve been with the company,” Gibby’s eyes traced the sky overhead like he figured the math invisible before his eyes, “Three years or so and he’s a good one. He’s saved me so many times I’ve lost track.” The young man grinned, and I saw he was missing a few teeth. “You saw what happened with that mask of mine. He might talk hard, but he’s soft in there.”
“I guess.”
“You didn’t ever shoot anything moving before today, did you?”
“I shot a feral hound some time ago.”
Gibby looked on with mild surprise, “Did you? Wasn’t a good dog, was it? Like a pet?”
I shook my head.
“It gets easier with time—the scouts and the ones in the infantry always crack up and try to take potshots at the newcomers. You’re green so don’t let it get you down.”
“Alright.”
“Never seen a nest, have you?”
“Nope.
“Well, you’re in for something.”
John froze in his step and traced his eyes across the ground before turning to us and calling us to gather. Marked across the dilapidated road were yellowed smatterings of liquid; chlorine hung in the air. “Masks,” he whispered, “Guns ready.” Each of us subordinates did as was ordered. He pushed us near the trash wood off the road, past an overturned emptied trailer, and as we pushed through the median where a thin and vacant forest grew sickly, there was another road just beyond, just as poor, and further still there was a hole the size of a well on the far side of that newly seen road and we hushed along, following John’s lead and we went crouching in the shadow of him, keeping mind of noise. He motioned me forward in the line and the sound emanating from the pit was liquid and nauseating.
“Yes?” I asked as I came nearest to him, hunkered as low as I could be.
“Ever use a grenade?”
I shook my head and unease swelled but I pushed it away.
He took the round object from his belt and passed it to me. “There’s a pin. Pull the pin. Throw the grenade in that hole. It’s that simple.”
I moved to the edge of the hole, teeth bared from within my mask, fingers wrapped hard around the grenade, and I came to the edge and was immediately struck by a sudden lurch of vertigo as it went further into the earth than I could’ve imagined—the creatures clung to the walls of the tunnel, fat heads opening for the gas to spill forth from their ridged cloacal maws. I teetered on the tips of my toes and the air was thin and the lens of the mask through which I saw the world became fogged from the gas that erupted from the impossibly deep pit. There, just beyond those wretched things, I felt as though there was a light in the darkness breathing up at me like the earth and stone beneath was alive.
Ripping the pin from the grenade, I held it outstretched and dropped the thing; it went bouncing from to and fro within the hole and I was dazed and could not pull away.
Two hands yanked me from there just as I’d gone blind in the gas and the explosion erupted, sending a vibration beneath our feet. John ushered me away and the others followed, and I dared a glance over my shoulder to see the earth open then close and the tunnel fell in on itself—one of those things had clamored to the opening only to touch the ground with a near human palm before being sucked beneath. The ground encircling the hole fell in as did a portion of road and once it was done, there was a massive dip in the earth there, a testament to what was.
We took up along the tree line of dead vegetation, and I was still staring at the place the nest had been, dust coming to a fog around our knees and John barked out, “Keep your eyes sharp—see if there’s any stragglers.” There weren’t any left, but we took up a formation, sweeping the area; Gibby whispered something and kicked a rock and John flinched at the noise, giving the young boy an expression.
The nest had been cleared and we awaited the arrival of the others on the open road in a semicircle fashion, maintaining a level of apprehension at any potential threat—once the rest of the convoy had arrived at our location, we fell in alongside them and I took a moment to find Jackson; he was there in the caleche alongside Billy who sat over on his side in the throes of a good nap with his face in his hand—smoke bellowed up from the rear of Jackson’s contraption so that an open spot formed in the convoy for no one wanted to catch a face full of the black fumes. I began walking alongside the wagon’s slow pace.
“How was it?” asked Jackson.
“Scary,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said, “It’s always scary. Did you kill anything?”
“I did.”
“Good. If you keep doing that, you’ll be just fine.”
“John’s something.”
“He is. But you’d do well to keep on his good side. He’s tough, but competent.”
We moved on the rest of the day till the sun threatened darkness by horizon clouds and we took up camp just on the edge of Lake Hartwell—though by that time it was hardly a lake and looked shallow enough to be a nothing more than a decorative reflective pool.
The convoy unpacked canvas tents, took to burning stews over butane eyes and lighting lanterns and meager fires and John pulled me aside in the fray of passersby and told me that if I were to ever hesitate with an explosive like that again, he’d kick me into the hole and save everyone the trouble. I merely nodded at him and he took on towards the front of the convoy where Sibylle would be and my troupe of scouts was disbanded and I aided Jackson in folding out the rear of our wagon and we put on supper while Billy, still small and talkative, rummaged through the larder boxes I removed from the caleche and the boy, mischievous, found the jar of sugar we kept and began excavating the granular powder with his fingers and lathering his tongue with it and grinning; I stepped after him and snagged the jar from him, returning the cap over the container.
“Hey!” said Billy.
“We’ve only got so much.”
“So? We can get more.”
A warm smile overtook me then, “You plan on paying for it?”
“Sure. I’ll pay you back.”
“Of course, you would. How about until you’ve got enough money, you don’t eat all the sugar, huh?” I asked him.
A thought dawned over him, “It was your first patrol! Did you shoot anything? Did you powpow them?”
“Come help,” I moved over to Jackson where the man was cutting the bad parts from potatoes and I began at them with my own knife and Billy sat on the ground at our feet, playing with the bits that fell from our knives.
“Did you kill monsters?”
“Shh,” said Jackson, “Don’t bother Harlan.”
“I can talk about it,” I said.
Jackson frowned, “Alright.”
“What were they like?” asked Billy.
“There were dragons and shadow monsters and more,” I laughed.
“Were there, really?”
“Sure.” I laughed and dropped a potato into our pot broth.
Jackson pointed his knife not in anger, “Don’t joke about dragons.”
“Do dragons exist?” asked Billy.
“You just don’t joke about them, okay?” said Jackson.
“Have you ever seen them? Tandy and Tubs says they’re made up.”
“Well,” said Jackson, sending his own potato into the broth, “They’re right then.”
We ate a mess of watery stew—potatoes and onions and cloves of half-good garlic was what was left for hearty prep and in the night, after we’d finished our meal and washed our utensils and taken to the tent, Billy found the play gun that Jackson had made for him from scrounged scrap metal and pointed it at me and told me that he’d shoot me and I laughed and wrestled the gun from his little hands, putting him into a headlock and tossing the metal piece to the dirt floor of the tent.
“Quit playing—s’time for bed,” Jackson told us and although I was too old for it, Jackson read a story to Billy and I listened and I think Jackson knew I was listening because he’d periodically hesitate a page turn and look over to see me in my bedroll still awake; the story was old and it was about a man named Don that liked to read books and the man wanted to be a knight, but he had it all wrong.
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“Well, Sir, it wuz, ohhhhhhh ... bout 1985, I reckon it were. I wuz jest gettin back to the house after a long night of runnin shine at the old still site. A bunch of weird shit went on that night. It wuz like I kept a’hearin voices in the woods. Now, I ain’t speaking bout no human voices. Nor am I speaking Sasquatch voices. They wuz high squeaky voices, and creepy and sech. I got the impression they wuz tryin to call me off into the woods. Of course, I had a haid full of acid during my shine run, so I didn’t really pay the voices no mind. But still, there wuz sumthang bout these here voices. They twernt the usual voices I wuld hear.”
“So, I git back to the house. I decided to relax a bit before bed. I warmed me up a leftover Sasquatch burger to eat. Then I kicked back in my Lazy-Boy that I stole, and scorched a fat doob while I watched “Anal Intruder 14” (My favorite of the series) on VHS. Then there wuz a knock at my door. ‘Goddamn it!!’, I thought, ‘Who’s knocking on my door at 7am in the morn?!?’”
“When I opened the damn door I found old Sheriff standing thar. I sed ‘Goddamn it, you fat sumbitch! What the fuck are you doing bothering me this early in the morning?!?’ Sheriff sed ‘Look, Roy, I know it’s early, but I am here on official business. Old Mrs. Miller called. Her old man, old “Big Cock from Talking Rock” didn’t come home last night. He went out coon hunting near here but didn’t show up for breakfast. Have you seen him?’ I told Sheriff I ain’t seen shit, then shut the door. But old Sheriff stuck his foot inside the door jam to keep me from closing my door.”
“I gave old Sheriff a look like I wuz pissed, and I wuz. Then he put up his hand and sed ‘Roy, please?’ I could see that the sumbitch wuz troubled, so I sed ‘Well shit, you may as well come on inside and tell me about it.’ “
“Sheriff sat down on the couch while I sat back down in my Lazy-Boy. Sheriff asked ‘Is that one of them Lazy-Boy recliners? Man, they sure is comfortable. I used to have one, but some sumbitch broke into my house recently and stole mine. I sure would like to catch that miscreant!’ I looked at Sheriff and sed ‘Prolly darkies. They will steal everything not nailed down.’ ‘Yep’, agreed Sheriff.”
“I asked ‘What’s troubling ya, Sheriff?’ Sheriff sighed, then started in. ‘Well, Roy, Mrs. Miller told me some troubling things, and ... uh, Roy, could you put your dick away while we talk?’ I asked Sheriff if he wanted me to turn off “Anal Intruder 14” too, and he said he did. So I shut off my Zenith and put my thumpin stick away.
“Sheriff continued, ‘Mrs. Miller claims old Big Cock has been talking all crazy, about hearing malevolent voices in the woods at night. He even said he saw some little green men and that they were the source of the voices. Roy, I don’t want to tell you this, but old Big Cock thought these little green fellas meant to kill him.’
“Then Sheriff sed ‘Roy? ROY!!!’ I had nodded off, so I made Sheriff repeat hisself. When he finished he asked, ‘Well, what do ya think, Roy?’ I held up two fangers and sed ‘Two thangs, Sheriff. First, you need to stop assuming that I give a fuck about your shit. You need to pull up yer big girl panties and do yer goddamn job. I ain’t yer fucking daddy. Two, I like old Big Cock, so instead of giving you the ass whuppin you deserve, I is gonna hep ya.’”
“Then I asked, ‘Sheriff, you ever heard talk of the Pukwudgie?’ Sheriff thought fer a moment, rubbing his chin and narrowing his eyes. I then sed to Sheriff ‘You don’t know what the fuck a Pukwudgie is, dumbass. Quit acting like you is trying to think.’ ‘Sorry Roy’, sed the Sheriff. I retorted, ‘Yep, you IS a sorry sumbitch.’”
“By this point I’d had enough of this shit-head, so I pulled out my lil old Sig P226 outa my conceal holster I have sewn into my taint and pointed it right at Sheriff’s head. Sheriff’s eyes grew bigger than 2 dinner plates. He starts crying out ‘ROY? NOOOOOOO!!!!!! BIG COCK!!!!!! REMEMBER???? BIG COCK!!!!!!’ Then I thought about “Old Big Cock From Talking Rock”. I lowered my pistol.”
“Old Big Cock and I met in Vietnam, during the war. I wuz at this here whore house called “The Slanted Crack”, jest a bangin away on sum sweet, young thang when I heard a voice from behind me say ‘She’s dead’. I thought ‘What the fuck?’, but kept on pounding that gook. Then the voice sed ‘Dude, I told you, that chick is dead.’ I turned around and thar stood Old Big Cock From Table Rock.”
“I sed ‘What the fuck is you talking about, GI?’ That’s when BC walked up and sed ‘Yeah, dude, I fucked that bitch. Then I shot her in the top of her head.’ I looked down at the bitch. I guessed it made sense because she was not really participating. I looked back up at BC and asked him why he shot the bitch. BC sed, ‘Well, I figured that she just fucked me, so I owed her a fucking, so BOOM!! Yer fucked! Heh heh heh!!!’ After that, BC and I hung tight.”
“Eventually we got separated, as I got assigned to a unit sent into Cambodia to do sum nasty business. BC and I lost touch. Then, low and behold, I ran into him after the war at the feed store whar I wuz buyin sum corn fer a batch of shine. He jest happened to move into town fer sum white-bread job. By then he already got him a wife and family and turned to God.”
“Of course, old BC could not reconcile his newfound belief structure with my Satanic worship, shine runnin, whorin, and racist-terrorism lifestyle, so we did not really hang anymore. Of course, it wuz that old whore he married that got him on the straight and narrow. The old BC I remember from Nam wuz all about banging slanty eyes, knifing Cong, and blowing up children’s hospitals. He shore had changed.”
“But I do not begrudge BC a good family life. It ain’t fer ME, mind ya. But that damn war changed a lot of folks. If’n family is what BC needed, then so be it. I would still run into old BC in town from time to time. We wuz both friendly, and genuinely glad to see one another. But ever time I brung up the war he just got quiet and sed he didn’t want to talk about it.”
“Now, sir, I reckon most folks who wuz in Nam try to ferget. I cannot blame ‘em. It ‘twas pure hell. But yer old Roy has sum pretty good coping mechanisms, so it did not get on top of me like it did sum fellers. Fact is, and I am not ashamed to admit it, I had me a fucking blast in Nam! I got to hang out of choppers, firing machine guns at those little fuckers on the ground. There wuz non-stop whoring and fighting. Fer a poor old southern country boy from the hills, it was goddamn exciting!!”
“But I still got a soft spot fer old BC. We had us sum good times together, we did. There wuz this one time we stopped a caravan of trucks on this little mule path of a road in the jungle. We figured they may be moving soldiers and weapons to the enemy, so we stopped it. BC went to check on the cargo in the first truck. He radioed to us and sed ‘Well, they ain’t exactly Cong’. But due to the shitty radio BC wuz a’carryin, we only heard ‘EXACTLY ... CONG’. So we stormed the caravan and shot ever living thang in them trucks. We lit ‘em up!!”
“Turned out it wuz a caravan of local kids being bussed to a school. Whoops!! The CO blamed BC, who blamed his radio. 33 Vietnamese kids snuffed, and all because of a misunderstanding. Ha ha ha ha!!! The CO let BC off the hook. He was happy that these little fuckers now would not have a chance to grow up and shoot back at us. Shit like this kind of gave Old Big Cock a conscience, I thinks.”
“There wuz this other time in Nam when sum us guys got sent to a native hospital to vaccinate sum thar little kids. Old BC and I decided to have us sum fun. Whilst all them lil gooks wuz in the tent getting thar shots, we lit up sum firecrackers and tossed them in the tent. Well, Sir, one them grown-up gooks had a gun. He apparently mistook the firecrackers fer gunshots, so he showed his jammy.”
“That did not go over well with our GIs in the tent. The boys standing guard opened fire on the grown-up gook with their M-16s, taking out 5-6 kids in addition to their intended target. We all know them thar little gooks are sumtimes booby trapped with explosives. Not wanting to take any chances, I grabbed my M-16, stepped into the tent, and yelled ‘BOMB!!’ At that point, everyone opened fire!!”
“Well, once we got dun stacking up all the dead gook kids, we realized there wuz no bomb. The CO called me over and demanded to know why I screamed ‘bomb’. He screamed at me, ‘YOU COCKSUCKING HILLBILLY F#GGOT SON OF A BITCH!! DID YOU EVEN SEE A BOMB?’ I sed ‘No Sir!’. He continued, ‘THEN WHY IN THE HELL DID YOU YELL “BOMB” AND GET ALL THESE CHILDREN KILLED?’ I replied, ‘Sir, them lil swarthy gooks are always booby trapping thar kids. I figured it would save the lives of our good old American boys if’n we jest cut to the chase and eliminate the threat altogether, Sir.’”
“The CO thought a moment, the sed ‘GOOD THINKING, SOLDIER! GOOD THINKING!!! KEEP IT UP!’, then he patted me on the shoulder and that wuz the last I heard of it. I found old BC sitting on the ground holding one them dead gooks. He had tears streaming down his face.”
“I sed, ‘Goddamn, BC, you look like you is due fer the Thorazine Tent. The fuck is wrong with you?’ Old BC picked up a little severed leg and a little severed arm that apparently belonged to the mini gook he wuz a’holdin. With tears coming out of his eyes, Old Big Cock whimpered ‘I can’t put him back together. I can’t put him back together. I can’t put him back together. I CAN’T PUT HIM BACK TOGETHER!!! I CAN’T PUT HIM BACK TOGETHER!!!!!!’ “
“I sed to myself ‘Yikes! This sumbitch has snapped!’ I took old BC’s guns, then had a word with the CO about Big Cock’s condition. The CO told me ‘BASH THAT SICK FUCKER OVER THE HEAD, TIE HIM UP, AND THROW HIM IN THE BACK OF THE TRUCK. WE’LL SHIP HIM OFF FOR EVALUATION LATER. NOW, LET’S GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE. MOVE! MOVE!! MOVE!! MOVE!! MOVE!! MOVE!!”
“That wuz the last I saw of BC until he showed up here in town. He got shipped off to the funny farm hospital. But they wouldn’t send him home. They had him pushing a broom and cuttin taters and sech, just no combat and no guns.”
“After reminiscing, I looked at old Sheriff and sed, ‘I reckon I need to see what I can do fer old Big Cock. Whar the fuck his old lady at? I need to talk to her. Sheriff asked ‘Do ya think that’s a good idea, Roy? She’s real tore up.’ I picked up the carved stone ash tray on the table next to my chair and slung it hard at Sheriff’s head. THUMP!!!! It gave him a nice, bloody gash in his forehead. Sheriff let out a howl, ‘OHHHHHHHHH!!! Goddamn, Roy! That hurts! Why did you do that?’ I sed ‘Don’t ever question me, snot-head. Now shut the fuck up and let’s go see BC’s bitch.’”
“It took us about an hour to get to BC’s house. It twere jest an average looking, white bread house. The lawn was manicured, there were a white picket fence, and 2 little statues of a couple nicely dressed negro fellers in the front yard. As Sheriff knocked on the front door, I whipped out my cock to take a piss off the porch. Sheriff musta heard the tinkling sound cuz he turned and sed ‘Roy!! What are you doing?!? STOP THAT!’ With my right hand, I gave him a stern back-handed bitch slap across his fat face. WHAPPP!!!! Then I sed ‘Shut up.’ About that time the door opened.”
“Old Mrs. Miller opened the door just as I wuz putting my cock back in my pants. Sheriff sed ‘Hello Mrs. Miller. I brought along an old friend of your husband, Roy. He lives back up in Sasquatch Hollar, near where John had been coon hunting.” Mrs. Miller sed ‘Yes, I know Roy. He was in the service with my John, in Vietnam.’ The little woman wuz not too fond of me cuz soon after they moved to town I picked up BC one afternoon, got him all coked up and ended up crashing his BMW into Bigfoot River with a dead stripper in the trunk.”
“I sed ‘Why hello there, Mrs. Miller. Sheriff here has been telling me about your husband and his problems. I came to see if’n I can help.’ Despite her feelings about me, she seemed genuinely glad I wuz here. We went inside the house and sat down. Mrs. Miller served us coffee, then we started talking.”
“Just like Sheriff has told me, old Big Cock had been acting funny lately. He started acting paranoid and talking about little green men in the woods. They wuz whispering to him in the dark woods and beckoning him to follow, though he never did. His wife sed she tried to keep him at home, but that BC sed they were calling him and he had to go; he had to find out what they wanted. He had to follow them. Clearly his wife was really concerned, but it sounds like there wuz nothing she could do to stop him from returning to those dark woods to try and break the spell they had on him.”
“Sheriff then told Mrs. Miller that I wuz an ex-commando and that I specialized in paranormal occurrences and investigations. The poor, desperate old lady looked to me with big, doe eyes hoping that I had something to say that would ease her mind, and maybe help find her beloved man. Mrs. Miller gently asked me, ‘Roy, do you think John is still ... alive?’”
“I replied, ‘Fuck no. That sumbitch is dead as hell.’ Poor Mrs. Miller went to crying hysterically. Sheriff scolded me fer being blunt with the woman. When he got her settled down she asked me what I knew of what happened. I guess I owed the old woman an explanation.”
“So I sed, ‘Look, I don’t know fer sure if old Big Cock is still alive or not ...’ Then Mrs. Miller interrupted me, saying ‘...John. Please call him John.’ I said ok. Then I continued, ‘The thang is that from everthang you and Sheriff been telling me, this is a case of the Pukwudgie.’”
“Mrs. Miller did not understand. So I explained to her that the Pukwudgie, or the little people, are small, green demonic people that live in the woods. They hate humans, and try to lure them to their deaths. Mrs. Miller looked terribly shocked. She asked ‘Are these things... these Pukwudgie, are they ... REAL?’ I sed ‘Shit yeah, they is real, woman. I seen ‘em. Best thang to do is to ignore ‘em. Well, that, and shoot the little bastards.’”
“I continued, ‘Yessir, I have seen those little peckers. You will be out thar in the deep, dark woods, runnin shine, or huntin, er fishin, or performing some Satanic magic, then you start hearing talking. It starts out real low. It sounds like a conversation between 2 or more of them, but you cannot understand them because they is speaking so fast.’”
“I went on, ‘Then, all a sudden, they call out yer name. That’s when shit starts gettin REALLY creepy. They get yer attention and then they call you to them. They will show themselves to ya if you follow their call. They is sum ugly motherfuckers too. They stand about 3 feet tall and look like little green trolls. Then, once you have contact with them, they try to lead you off into the woods. Some say that they want to lead you off so they can kill ya. I guess they ambush ya er sumthang. When I see one I usually pull my pistol and blow their heads to bits. It explodes like a cantaloupe, but it splatters this green goo.’”
“Mrs. Miller asked, ‘So, you have never followed on of these ...Pukwudgie... off into the woods?’ I sed ‘Hell no. I kill the little fuckers. BUT, they been known to get inside yer head and put a spell on you to whar ya can’t resist thar call. In that case, they lead ya off into the woods and you are never seen er heard from again ... ever.’”
“I know this wuz troubling news for Mrs. Miller, but she needed to hear the truth. After a few moments of silence, Mrs Miller asked if I would go to the woods where Big Cock went coon hunting and see if I could either find him or find his body and return it to her fer a proper Christian burial.”
“I sed ‘Look, I like Old Big Cock....uh, I mean, John. But if the Pukwudgie got him, then there prolly won’t be no sign left. They would drag him off into some underground lair.’ Then Mrs. Miller pleaded with me. She sed ‘Look, we don’t have a lot of money, but I could pay you. How about ... $5,000.00? I just got to know.’ I still wuz not eager to go about fucking with them thar sneaky little critters. But Mrs. Miller wuz getting real desperate. I wuz feeling sorta sorry fer her. I also felt some sense of duty to Big Cock, a fellow soldier.”
“I came to a conclusion. I sed ‘Ok, Mrs Miller, I will do it. I will try to find yer husband, or at least what happened to him out thar, but on 2 conditions.’ Mrs. Miller eagerly nodded. I continued, ‘First, you pays me my $5k up front, as in now.’ She sed ‘Done. I have the cash upstairs. What is the second condition?’”
“I sed ‘The second condition is that you go into that kitchen over thar, drop your drawers and bend over the table so I can fuck ya.’ Mrs. Miller’s face sank, and tears started rolling down her face. Softly she spoke, ‘John always said you are an evil man, Roy. He said you do not know the Lord. He said you did horrible things in Vietnam. Now I believe him.”
“As Mrs. Miller is talking I glance at my watch. Goddamn, it wuz noon already and I still ain’t got no sleep after last night’s shine run. Then I remembered the voices. I heard them motherfuckers last night at the Still site!”
“I butted Into Mrs. Miller’s evangelical bullshit and sed ‘I know whar they is! Those Pukwudgie were calling me last night at my Still site, which was when Old Big Cock went missing in the same general area. I thought I wuz jest high - and I wuz - but those were the weird, outa the ordinary voices I heard.’ Now I had Mrs. Miller’s attention. Even old Sheriff wuz on the edge of his seat.”
“Mrs Miller excitedly asked me would I go get her husband. She sed ‘Oh, sweet Jesus, Roy, you KNOW where he is. Will you go? Will you please go?’ I sed ‘Yep, I’ll go, and I will kill ever last one of then Pukwudgie critters. If John is thar, I will git him.’”
“Then I sed, ‘Mrs. Miller, ya’ll don’t got to pay me none. Old Big Cock is my friend. So you can keep yer money.’ She nodded, with hope in her eyes. Then I sed ‘Now git yer ass in the kitchen.’ She looked stunned. I sed, ‘Bitch, I may be not gonna charge ya, but I is still gonna fuck ya. So git in that thar kitchen and git yer britches off! The longer you take, the longer it will take me to find Old Big Cock!!’ She sheepishly did as she was told.”
“After I nutted in Mrs. Miller’s cooter, I told Sheriff to give me the keys to his police cruiser. He sed ‘Roy, you know I can’t do that.’ Then BAMMM!!!! I punched that prick right in the throat. He went down like a sack of taters. As he was lying there, desperately gasping fer breath, I fished his car keys out of his pocket and took his pistol. Then I walked out the door, leaving Sheriff writhing on the floor, and Mrs. Miller lying in fetal position and sobbing on the kitchen floor. I checked Sheriff’s pistol. It was a .380. I stopped in my tracks and sed ‘This is f#ggot shit!!’, then tossed the cheap, pussy gun on Mrs. Miller’s front lawn. I got into Sheriff’s car and then headed back to Sasquatch Hollar. I figured I would get me sum real firepower and then go kill sum Pukwudgie. On the drive I wondered how those little critters would taste grilled.”
“So I got back home and prepared to do my loadout. Fer you f#ggot-homosexuals out thar, that means getting reddy fer battle. I went into the house and the first thang I did wuz put on some fightin’ music on my music player. I chose some Dying Fetus, which be sum extreme deth metal. I stuck the CD in the player then cranked that sumbitch loud enuff old Satan hisself had to cover his ears. I wanted to get inta the mood, if’n ya knows what I mean. Next wuz my vest. It is a Russian tactical belt/vest I pulled off a dead commie bastard. I fucking hate commies! Then come the blades: 2 ProTech Godfather switchum blades and a big old Kabar. Finally, it wuz time fer the guns.”
“But before I could do my gun load-out, I had to change CDs to enhance my mood. I took out the Dying Fetus and replaced it with Goatwhore, cranked so fucking loud that even the angels above will have debilitating tinnitus. Then came the guns.”
“Them Pukwudgies are little and sneaky. I am gonna need a shotgun fer this hunt. But I also want shell capacity. So I went to my safe and pulled out my Saiga 12. I loaded some drums with 3” magnums in double-ought buckshot. This setup will literally shred them little munchkins to pieces.”
“Next came my backup weapon. Since we weren’t talking bout anything big, I pulled out my Sig M400 AR-15. It wuz already loaded wit a 60 round mag. I grabbed me 5 more loaded 60s, all green tips. Next wuz my sidearm. Again, small pussy targets. I had the PERFECT choice: My FN Five-seveN! I put that sumbitch in a holster and on my gun belt, with 2 extra 20 round mags. Those 5.7s will gut the little monsters.”
“Now fer my backup handgun. I chose my CZ75 SP-01. My particular one had 18+1 capacity. I just stuck this fucker and 2 extra mags in my belt, privateer style! Finally, jest fer Insurance, I got out my Kimber micro-9s. These are basically pocket guns of last resort. I sticks em in my overalls’ front pockets.”
“Then came the piece-de-la-resistance: My Ruger Super Redhawk revolver chambered fer .480 cartridges and with an 8 inch barrel. This wuz my true LAST RESORT CCW piece. I pulled down my drawers and inserted this big beautiful bastard right up my ass, barrel first, fer Deep Concealed Carry. I let the handle stay on the outside and fit it snug up into my taint. Then I put my draws back on and suited up.”
“I headed straight fer my still site. By now it wuz 3 pm. Them lil fuck-faces won’t come out until after dark. Like I dun sed, I ain’t been to sleep. So I thought, fuck it, I’ll lean up agin one these old hardwood trees and gits me sum shut eye while waitin fer dark.”
“I woke up just as the sun wuz settin, feeling this sharp pain in my nethers. I looked down and found a squirrel chewing on my nuts! I snatched that motherfucker up by its neck and sed ‘You mangy sumbitch!’, then SNAP!!!! I broke its neck. I then built myself a fire and skinned and gutted the critter. He wuz gonna be my dinner!”
“As I went about my business I wondered how my balls had flopped outa my overalls. I knew Pukwudgie were in the area. I also knew something else bout these buggers....something I didn’t tell Mrs. Miller. These Pukwudgie are sexual deviants who will molest ya. Ya see, I thought I wuz safe till dark. But I wuz wrong. Those fuckers were already out and about. Most likely I had one or more watching me this very moment!”
“Well, I roasted the squirrel then ate it, washing it down with shine from my tactical flask that says “BIGFOOT SLAYER!” on it. I stayed real still and as motionless as possible while I ate, like I had no idea I wuz being watched. I could hear that little bastard tip-toeing around me in the woods. That ball-fondling dwarf Pukwudgie f#ggot!”
“What struck me as odd is why these little motherfuckers chose jest now to show up here. I’m out in these here wood all the time, but have not seen ‘em in a long time. Hmmmmm ...”
“Then came the speaking, the odd, indecipherable language. I laid back agin a tree and closed my eyes. Eventually the midget-speak wore down. Then it got quiet. It wuz too quiet, in fact. Then, as if someone was right up at my ear whispering forcefully, I heard ‘ROY!!’ I sprang to attention, scairt shitless. Even though I wuz expecting it, it wuz still a fucking shock.”
“I started creeping around, outside of the light of the fire. It wuz blacker than a nigg*r out in these here woods. By now it was a quarter to 8. Then I heard the voice again. It sed ‘ROY!’ It was clearly from one of them Pukwudgies. You can always tell them, as they sound like Muppets on acid. I moved toward the direction of the voice.”
“I pushed through sum heavy brush and briars, then came out into a little opening. Thar it wuz. Right in front of me wuz one of these little leprechaun motherfuckers. It wuz green and seemed to glow slightly. It wuz sneering at me, then sed ‘Come, this way, Roy’, as it motioned me toward a path into the dark woods. I figured I ought not kill it cuz I need info on Old Big Cock. Of course, that did not mean I could not cripple it.”
“I snapped up my scatter gun and fired ...BOOM!! I shot the lil puppet monster below it’s waste, completely shredding its little legs with the buck shot. I walked over and stood over it as it wuz writhing in pain. Then the craziest dang thang happened: it opened its eyes, looked up at me and started talking. Now, one may think these Pukwudgie would start casting evil spells and shit when cornered. But this one wuz different.”
“The Pukwudgie looked up at me and sed ‘Why did you blow off my legs, you sick motherfucker?’ I told the critter to watch its mouth or I would blow that off too. But the wounded Pukwudgie kept on, saying ‘I can’t even walk now, you stupid fucking hick! Couldn’t you have found a goat to fuck tonight so you would not have to be out here turning my legs into shredded wheat, you ass-eating cock-sucker?’ I wuz a little taken back by its language.”
“I then stepped on the little prick’s lame legs and put all my force on them. The Pukwudgie let out a powerful scream of pain. Then I asked it about Old Big Cock. We went round and round, with the munchkin not giving up any intel. So I settled on a course of action. BLAMMMM!!! Another blast from my scattergun and this little twat no longer had a head.”
“I looked around what wuz left of it. He had sum funny looking leprechaun clothing on. Honestly, it wuz dressed like one of them thar Canadian figure skater homos. I searched the pockets and pulled out a wad of paper. It be nuthin but trash it had picked up and stuffed into its pockets. What an asshole.”
“So thar I wuz, in the middle of the dark woods with a dismembered Pukwudgie. My only lead is dead. But afore I tossed all that wadded up paper from the critter’s pocket, sumthang caught my eye. It wuz sumthang hard and metallic. I cut my sure-fire flashlighter on. It wuz sum motherfucking dog tags, like what ever soldier is issued. I looked closely. What I dun read from those tags almost made me shit a brick. The name on the tag was ‘John Miller’. SHIT!!! These are Old Big Cock’s dog tags! That creepy little varmint jacked these dog tags from BC!!”
“Then all hell broke loose. There came a huge commotion from all around me. Several of those little Pygmy voices were chanting ‘Roy, Roy, Roy, Roy...’ I had a bad feeling about this. Then, all at once, they charged me, from all sides. Turned out thar were five of them Pukwudgies, and they were coming at me and carrying little weapons.”
“I just tore into sum hysterical laughing at the sight. They wuz just cuter than fuck!! They wuz like puppets carrying toy swords, and sticks and sech. It wuz hilarious! All five of em stopped within a couple feet of me, perplexed by my uncontrollable laughing. They jest stood around me and looking at each other. Apparently they had never seen sech a sight. Most of thar victims turn and high-tail it in terror. But I didn’t. Finally, one of the Pukwudgies spoke.”
“This real little one looked like he wuz dressed up to be a riverboat card dealer and he carried a sharpened stick. Speaking to me in a voice that sounded like Grover from Sesame Street, it sed ‘Roy, you do not run. Are you not fearful that your life may be lost?’ That just caused me to laugh ten times harder. Again, they started looking at each other. Then the one behind me and carrying a tiny pitch fork came up and jabbed me in the ass with it. Then it demanded to know why I wuz laughing.”
“I finally got my laughing under control and got quiet and caught my breath. I then turned around to look at the little pecker that just stabbed me in my ass. It wuz dressed up like a little wizard, with sequins and a purple robe, like it had jest escaped from a gay pride parade. I lost it, and started laughing uncontrollably again. They wuz all dressed up like they were going to a gay disco on Halloween night.”
“They managed to get my long guns as I wuz writhing in laughter. Then they told me to get to my feet cuz they wuz taking me back to thar lair as their prisoner. As they marched me toward their lair I wuz still cackling up a storm. This wuz the funniest situation that I been in since I accidentally blew up the Vietnam Special Olympics thinking it wuz sum kind of weird military exercise.
“The Pukwudgie lair was underground. I had to get on my belly and crawl into a cave. Then I had to stay on my belly and crawl downward a bit. We came to an oppening with a fire burning on the floor. At least in this larger chamber I could stand up, even though I had to stay bent over.”
“Of course, I could have gotten free and slaughtered those little pricks at any time. But my task wuz to find old Big Cock. So I let them take me prisoner. It wuz pretty easy to, cuz I plum went into hysterics when I got a look at these little dwarf things and their very gay clothes and heard their cartoony sounding voices.”
“Then I spied a big pot hanging over the fire. They wuz cooking a stew of some sort, and it smelled all gamey and gross. I took their spoon and started stirring it, which really pissed off the critters. This one started kicking my ankle with the pointing-end of his costume looking shoe. I kicked that sumbitch and it landed against the wall. That got them rip-roaring mad. Jest then I got the fright of my life. As I stirred the gross looking stew, a human head floated up in the pot. IT WUZ BIG COCK’s HEADS!! Then I noticed Big Cock’s large wang floating in the pot.”
“Poor old Big Cock! He did not deserve to die like this... Murdered and eaten by maniacal muppets. The critters surrounded me and told me to get away from the cooking pot. I sed ‘You little fuck-tards kilt my friend. Now you is gonna have to pay. So I reached into my ass and pulled out my .480 revolver. The Pukwudgies stepped back at the sight of my large weapon. Then all hell broke loose. ‘BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM!!!!!’ I dropped all 5 of those motherfuckers, right thar in the lair. These little twats have been known to work sum black magic fuckery, so I took my Ka-Bar and cut the heads off all five of them.”
“I found me an old burlap bag then fished Big Cock’s remains out of the stew and put ‘em in the bag. There wuz the head, both hands, and his hawg. I tied up the bag. Right before I left I thought ‘what the fuck?’, and spooned out sum of that stew and tasted it. Surprisingly, it weren’t bad. I found me an old styrofoam container one of these lil rascals must have found and brought home. I used it to hold some that stew I thought I would bring home fer dinner. So with the bag carrying Big Cock’s remains, and my take-out stew, I crawled outa thar.”
“I went back to my cabin first so I could put my stew on ice fer later. Then I departed. I had to be the bearer of bad news to Mrs. Miller. It wuz about 1:30 am, I reckon, when I knocked on her door. Mrs Miller opened the door in her night robe. Brutha, the front of that robe showed off them titties right fine! I could even make out the nipples through the fabric. I sed, ‘Honey, I dun found yer man. Then I set that burlap bag on her floor. I handed her BC’s dog tags. Then I pointed to the bag of body parts and sed ‘What’s left of him is in here. You want to take a look, or you wanna jest save it fer a proper funeral?’
“At this here point, Mrs. Miller broke down cryin. About that time I heard old Sheriff call out ‘Honey? You coming back to bed?’ Then that fat, sloppy sumbitch came walking down the stairs wearing nothing but his drawers and patrol hat. He saw me and sed ‘Oh, hi, Roy.’”
“I wuz speechless. I sed, ‘What the fuck is you doing? You fucking BC’s bitch?’ He stammered about and sed ‘Well, Roy, she is hurtin and I jest tried to comfort her, then one thang led to another.’ “
“Mrs. Miller had then composed herself and walked over. She apologized for falling apart like that. The she hugged me, saying thank you for finding out what happened to John and for bringing his remains home so she can have a service and grieve properly. I told her I wuz sorry fer her loss.”
“Then I sed, ‘You know what you need, Mrs. Miller?’ She looked puzzled. I sed ‘You need a good fucking slapped on yer ass. That fat-fuck Sheriff couldn’t make a dog come to dinner. Why don’t ya let old Roy, The “Pope of Joy”, take you upstairs and DESTROY your pussy? We’ll make Sheriff just sit there and watch, like in a cuck video.”
“So the three of us went upstairs. I tied up Sheriff to a chair and he had to sit there and watch me bang his new girlfriend the rest of the night! He even cried a little. Ha ha ha ha!!!!”
“The next morning I woke up lying next to Old Mrs. Miller. Sheriff wuz still tied up at bedside, but he wuz sleeping. His head wuz down and he wuz snoring. I wuz still a bit shook up by Big Cock’s death. Mrs. Miller wuz sleeping soundly, which wuz to be expected after I put a pounding on that pussy.”
“I sed out loud, ‘Old Big Cock, wharever you is right now, I hope ya know I is sorry fer how this turned out, buddy. But, as tribute to you and all the fun we used to have back in Nam, please accept this gesture as a token of our friendship.’ Then I reached fer my Ruger .480.”
“At the sound of the report from the pistol, Old Sheriff, still tied up, fell over in the chair, landing hard on the floor with a THUD. I then sed ‘Well, Mrs. Miller, you fucked me good. So now I returned the favor. You are FUCKED!’ Indeed, her brains were splattered all over the wall.”
“I untied old Sheriff and told him that he wuz going to have the distinct pleasure and privilege of buying me breakfast at the Waffle House this morning. He asked why I executed Mrs. Miller. I sed I wuz jest settin Big Cock free.”

I called my uncle Roy yesterday. I had not heard from the old mountain man is a couple weeks, which was odd because he has been reaching out to me regularly in recent weeks. I called to check on him to see if he was ok.
Uncle Roy lives way up in the mountains of North Carolina. I have to reach him by satellite phone because he has no land line and there are no cell towers for miles and miles around. He lives completely off the grid.
So I dialed up Roy. The phone rang and rang. I thought that maybe he was busy at his still or skinning a Bigfoot or something. Then there was a pickup. I said “Hello? Hello? Uncle Roy, are you there?”
Nobody answered. It was quiet at first; too quiet. Then I heard a growling sound. It was real quiet at first, then rose in volume and ferocity. It sounded dog like, but from a really BIG dog. Then I heard another beast growling in the background. I could tell by the timbre of the second growl that it came from another source.
Then there was a blood curdling howl. It sounded as if I had accidentally dialed a hotline straight to Hell. The ungodly and demonic sounds coming through my receiver made me freeze in terror. I said “Uncle Roy?!? Are you there?!? What’s going on?!?!?!”
Then something happened because all hell broke loose on the other end. There were growls - vicious growls - and sounds of a struggle. Then I heard what sounded like a man letting out a battle cry, “AAHHHHHHHH!!!!” There were some thuds, more vicious growls, and then “Die ya sumbitch!”, followed by the sound of a yelping hurt dog. Then “BOOM!!” and another yelp. What in the heck was going on?!? It sounded like some kind of horrific murder scene.
Then uncle Roy picked up. “Who in tarnation this here be?” Roy asked in an agitated voice. I said “Uncle Roy? It’s me, The General! What’s going on?!? Are you ok?!?” Roy said “General? Well, Goddamn, boy! You has got ya sum Goddamn good timing, let me Tells ya! You jest saved my life, son!” He continued, “Looky here, General, I gots me sum unfinished bidnez here. Let me clean up this slop and I’ll give ya a ring in a little while. Don’t worry nun abouts me. I is fine now! Heh heh heh!”
So late last night uncle Roy called me back. He explained that he had been in an ordeal when I called, but he managed to get himself out of it. I asked him to tell me what happened, which he did. What follows is my transcription of uncle Roy’s story, kept as authentic as possible.
“Well sir, I had got my ass up early yesterday cuz I had to go down into town to pick me up a special package at the UPS store. I went on down there, picked it up, loaded it into the back of my old pick-em-up truck and headed home. When I got to me parking spot off the side of the road, I had my old mule, “Jethro” tide to a tree and a’watin fer me. I strapped the crate onta Jethro’s back and led that sumbitch up the side of the mountain and on inta Sasquatch Hollar. After a couple hours we made it to my cabin.”
“I unloaded that thar mule, then put him in the shed. I dragged my package inside and fetched me crowbar to open her up. Well, I pried it open, pulled out all that thar protective wrap, and there she was: Ariana Grande!!”
I paused and then asked, “Ariana Grande? What? You mean that idiot singer?” Roy replied, “Yep, that’s who I mean.”
I start thinking, “Oh shit... Roy kidnapped that ditzy pop singer out of some sort of preternatural attraction. He is going to make her into some kind of farm-hand/sex-slave.” I said, “Roy, is she ... alive?” Roy responded, “Fuck no, boy, she ain’t alive. She’s fer fuckin”. That did not make me feel any better.
I love my Uncke Roy. But he is a very peculiar man who is not troubled by things like morality and laws. I know Roy has done some messed up stuff, but abduction and necrophilia had never crossed my mind.
I said “Roy, you got to get rid of her body. She’s a pop star. They are going to be looking for her. Uncle Roy, you can’t do this”. Roy responded, “What the fuck is you goin on about, boy?”. I told him “Roy, you have possession of a dead celebrity and you want to fuck it. Goddamn, that’s sick!”
Uncle Roy then broke out laughing. He said, “You fucking asshole! She ain’t no real girl. This here is one of them thar sex robots. It cost me a pretty penny too. I wanted one that looked like Gwen Stefani, but they wanted too much money fer that one. They gives me a big discount if’s I take one of them thar Arianna Grande models. I don’t even know who in the hell she is, but she looks like one of them thar hybrid girls, you know, half white and half somethin er other.”
Ah, a sex robot. Uncle Roy got a sex robot. I was relieved. After I realized my mistake I turned my attention back to the story and what the hell happened earlier. I asked Roy to continue.
“So, I got that Grande doll out of the box and sat it there on the couch. I sed to her ‘My, ain’t you a purty thang! Now git in that thar kitchen and fixes me up sum grub. GIT!’. But, that robot didn’t move one anch. I commanded her agin. Nuthin. I thought to myself ‘either this thang is broke er it’s so lifelike that it’s got a bitch’s attitude and needs to be treated jest right to werk.’ So I decided to give it another try.”
“I sits down next to Ariana, puts my arm around her, and puts my other hand high on the ham. I then leaned over and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. I said, ‘Baby, go whips me up sum vittles and I’ll let ya suck my cock while I eats em.’ Still, nothin.”
“So I figured she wuz playing hard to git, and I wuz Not havin me any of that. So I grabbed that bitch by the hair and punched her in the throat, repeatly. Well, apparently, I hit her too goddamn hard cuz her hed came off in my hand. ‘SHIT!!’, I yelled. This cheap motherfucker dun fell apart before I even git ta fuck her.”
“So I studied the situation and cyphered that I best git what I can while I can. I pulled out my old wang and stuck it in her mouth while I held the severed hed to my crotch. Nuthin. Now, I bought this fucking thang because it’s a robot and supposed to move and act like a real woman. I wuz gettin a might pissed. I tried harder, face-fucking that thar thang. Nuthin.”
“I yelled ‘FUCK!!’, and slung that Ariana Grande head agin the wall. It hit with a loud ‘THUD’ and then fell on the floor. Then a thought hit me. Maybe this thang needs to be turned on. It is a robot after all. Shit, fer that matter it prolly needs to be charged up. Well, sir, I knew how to rectify this here situation.
“I dragged that headless Ariana Grande doll body out to my shed where I kept my tractor. So what I did wuz I got me a pair of jumper cables and attached them to the battry on my John Deere. I cranked that muthafuka ta life and then I attached the other end to Ariana by clamping them to her little wine-glass titties. As I did I sed, ‘Oh, excuse me, Ms. Grande’, as I chuckled to myself.”
“After a minute of chargin, that old headless Grande doll started smoking. I wuz all fandangled, and let out a ‘SHIT FIRE!!!’ Her little titties were a’ meltin!! I frantically unhooked the bitch and put out the far. Dejected and defeated, I dragged that robotic bitch back inta my cabin.”
“So there she wuz, laying on my living room floor, right on my Sasquatch skin rug, the severed Grande robot hed and its topless body with burned-up titties. I decided to study on this situation a bit while I eats me sum vittles.”
“I had me sound ground Bigfoot meat thawin out, and it wuz ready to fix up. I wuz planning on making me up sum Sasquatch burgers. Now, ya got to understand that Sasquatch meat ain’t like no cow or pig meat. This Bigfoot meat is sum nasty shit. First of all, it’s dark meat. And I mean it is black! It is also greasy as goose shit. It’s kind of like bar meat, but nastier.”
“You cain’t jest mold Bigfoot meat inta a burger, ya see. You gots to put sum stuff inta it to make it mold together. You can mix ya in some hamburger meat, or bread crumbs, or whatever. But tonight I had me sumthang REAL special to mix in. I had acquired me sum fresh hawg semen and cow blood! I got it down at the local slaughter house. They jest give that shit away!!!”
“What I like to do is put that old Sasquatch meat in a big old bowl, all ground up, then poor in the blood and semen. Then I roll up my sleeves and dive in with my hands, grinding and squeezing and mixin it all up. See, hog jizz is a lot thicker than human jizz. It’s also a lot tastier, lending a nice bouillabaisse note to the dish. The cow blood gives it a nice tangy body. I also like to ad some A-1 sauce to da mix.”
“Now, Son, ya got to bear sumthang in mind here. Yer old Uncle Roy is gettin on up thar in years. In fact, I don’t even know how old I is. But I do know that sumtimes I slip up whar I used to be sharp as a whip. This here wuz one of those days.”
“Ya see, I had kilt me a big old 10’ tall Sasquatch a couple week ago. That skanky sumbitch came a creepin’ up to my shed in the dead of night. They know that’s whar I stash sum of my hooch, and they like to sneak in there and get ‘em a sip. What that sumbitch did not know is that I been havin sum run-ins with them thar damn dogmans lately and I wuz out and about on my property.”
“Now, Son, I know ya know what a dogman is. They is basically a werewolf. The sumbitches is wolves but they can stand and walk on 2 legs like a man. They anywhere from 7’ to 15’ tall, and they is pure evil! They also is dangerous. They a lot more dangerous than a Bigfoot.”
“Them thar Bigfoots Are Big, dumb apes. BUT, they is smart enough to know when they been whipped. Ya see, me and then sumbitches pretty much got us an understanding that if they don’t fuck with me, then I won’t kill ‘em. Therefore, they give me my space. That sed, they will still fuck round witcha, like sneaking around trying to steal your shine stash, just like a bunch of naggers.”
“But these damn dogmen ain’t like that. Oh, sure, they is smart. But they ain’t got no self-awareness like a Bigfoot. They am full o hate! A Bigfoot will contemplate, it will study a situation. That old dog man, he is pure evil straight from hell. They ain’t worth a shit fer eatin either. They taste like sulfur! I don’t want anything to do with them nasty beasts. When I Kills em I jest drag em off my mountain and set the nasty turds on fire.”
“So, a pack of them thar dogmans came through Sasquatch Hollar. I knowed they been fucking around on my homestead cuz I seen the paw prints. We ain’t got us none of them thar wolves here in North Carolina. So, when you see them really big canine tracks suddenly show up on your property, you can know they is dogman.”
So, there I wuz, on my rooftop, with a jug of shine and a 6.5 Creedmore rifle with nightvision optics. I wuz a’plannin to kill me sum dogman scum when up came this dumbass old Sasquatch, slinking up to my old shed to get him a nip of Old Roy’s mountain shine.”
“I watched that Bigfoot fer a long time, peeking out from behind trees, tiptoeing closer a little at a time, craning his neck to make sure nobody wuz around, then tiptoeing sum more. It wuz Goddamn pathetic! Them Bigfoots are nuthin but giant pussies. It took that dumb bitch 10 minutes to get from the hard woodline to the door of my shed.”
“That old Sasquatch did not know I wuz anywhar around. I had been following it’s movement through the nightvision scope on my rifle. By the time it got to my cabin I had flipped the safety off. Then it got to my shed. It stepped up to the shed door, slowly put its paw on the door latch, then looked to its left. Then it looked to the right, slowly turning its entire upper body in that direction. Then it turned back to the shed door, presumably about to enter.”
“BOOM!!!!!” The report of the 6.5 blast wuz a’ deafening! That critter’s head exploded like a cantaloupe, splattering blood and brain everywhar! It wuz a glorious sight to behold!”
“I decided I would let that dead critter lay where it died fer a spell as bait fer them sumbitchin Dogmans. Unfortunately, it didn’t werk that night, or else they jest don’t like Bigfoot meat. They is, after all, natural enemies of each other, the dogman and the Sasquatch.”
“So, at dawn, I dragged that headless Bigfoot into my cabin and laid it out on my kitchen counter. Any veteran Sasquatcher knows that you got to tenderize that critter a’fer ya can eat it. Only a newb skins a Sasquatch and throws it right on the grill. So I commenced to beaten the corpse with a mallet. Then, I wuz gonna jest let it lay there an rot fer a few days, like how ya age beef. It won’t hurt ya one bit to rot yer meat a bit a’fer eatin it.”
“Now here’s a’where I fucked up. I needed to gut that sumbitchin critter. But, I had received a cyber notice that a new amateur video of an Asian chick being fucked on a public bus Had jest been uploaded on Pornhub. I decided to take me a look at it, then gut the squatch later. Well, later never come. I fell asleep and then totally fergot about the task. That dead critter laid out on my kitchen counter fer a good 2 weeks, it did. I guess I jest kind of assumed the cleaning job wuz all dun.”
“So, fast-forward ahead and there I wuz, gettin ready to fix me sum Sasquatch burgers. I had my ground up Bigfoot meat all mixed up in a bowl with hog jism and cow blood, and completely in the dark on the current internal chemical happenins with that Bigfoot corpse laid out on my kitchen counter. I noticed it wuz gettin a’kind of bloated. But I did not know that it was because of all those internal gases buildin’ up in the dead critter’s body cavity. I sure as shit did not know it wuz about to explode!”
“Then it happened. KA-BOOOOOOM!!! That Sasquatch corpse a’layin’ on my counter plum exploded!! Rotten Bigfoot guts and blood went everywhere! It covered my kitchen and my livinroom. Everthang!”
“Well sir, I wuz pissed! I started throwin shit, and tearin up shit. I even drew my .44 magum and started blasting shit. Then I saw that goddamn headless Ariana Grande robot layin on the floor. ‘Fuck it’, I thought. ‘Jest FUCK IT!’ So I took down my draws and raped that thang!!”
“Well, I did not know - because of all the goins on in my cabin - that a couple of them thar nasty Dogmans had snuck up and was a’watchin me through the winder. What a sight they must have seen! There I wuz, in the middle of a blood and gut soaked scene, bare-assed and fucking that headless doll.”
“That scene must’ve driven them Dogmans inta a hot-n-heavy, horny, murder frenzy, cuz they smashed down my door, grabbed me and the headless Grande robot, and dragged us off into the woods. Man, I was a’scairt! These Dogmans were big. They both stood a good 12’ tall, or MORE!”
“Those rotten critters dragged me off into their lair, a cave just the other side of Poltergeist Ridge. They throwed me down against the far cave wall. Then they turned their attention to the doll. They both had ‘em a couple big old red shankers stickin out of their loins. They would sniff the doll, then try to mount it. The holes weren’t big enough to accommodate their big dog wangs, so they would get all frustrated and growl at the robot, then they would try agin.”
“Now, this is where the shit got weird. I could not escape because them infernal dogman beasts were a’blocking the entrance to the cave. And I was admittedly amused by the sight of these goddamn thangs trying to get it on with a doll. I could not contain myself and let out a’laughin at them. I sed, ‘You stupid sumbitches!! Ha ha ha ha ha!!!!’ That’s when they dropped the robot and both turned in my direction, throbbing erections pointed right at me. ‘Uh Oh!’, I thought.”
“Those two Dogmans began moving toward me. I knew they intended to make luv on me, doggy style. That’s when my satellite phone started ringing. I pulled that sumbitch out of the case on my gun belt, but before I could answer it, the dogman on the left swatted it outa my hand. Then they turned their attention on the ringing phone.”
“Them damn thangs were all agitated by the ranging and were a’swipin at it. They musta hit ‘answer’, and that’s when you heard all the growlin’. When they heard your voice on it they went crazy! They musta thunk you wuz inside the phone and it perplexed them.”
“With them dogmen distracted by the phone, I decided it wuz time to make my move. I bolted forward and grabbed what wuz left of that Ariana Grande sex doll -pretty much just the torso - and used it as a club, beating the shit out of them thar dogman critters. I wuz a’fightin fer my life!”
“I wuz a’swangin old Ariana around and a’whackin them critters off! I remembered the Kabar knife on my belt and whipped out that sumbitch. Then I used Ariana as a shield. I closed in on the first critter, which wuz already wounded, and stabbed it right in its heart. It let out an unholy ‘yelp’ as I hit the organ.”
“Then the other dogman lunged at me. In one motion I swiftly withdrew the long knife from the heart of the first critter and slashed at the second one, slicing its hard-on clean off. Then that one let out a yelp and a cry of pain as it reached down and grabbed its crotch. I sed, ‘Take that, bitch!’, and thrust my blade into its heart. ‘Boom!’, it hit the ground!”
“Both them motherfuckers were ded! Then I answered the phone, and it twere you, General. You saved my life!”
Roy went on to tell me that he burned the bodies of the Dogman creatures, and the Ariana Grande fuckbot. He then went into town to see his insurance man to file a claim on his homeowners policy for the mess at his cabin. He checked into a local hotel called “The Sasquatch Inn” while ServPro is out at his home cleaning up the mess. After he got settled in for the night he called me and told me this encounter story.

I started at the beginning, the event that is central to everything else. I started it in my novels seven years later. What do you think?
I know it needs help, I'm all over the map, because I'm pulling material from 20+ years of me writing. But as a first chapter, how does it work? Because the ones I posted, 1,3,and 5 in two parts? It might be the second chapter, or not, I don't know if the jump is ready yet.
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The bedroom is dark, illuminated only by the steady light coming from the power indicator from the computer. The door swings open, bumping into the dresser with a thud. An older well-fit man fills the entrance as he flips the light switch flooding the room with bright painful light.
“Up and at ‘em Sam, we’ve got to go,” he says.
Sam grumbles and pulls the blankets up over her head and tried to shield the light. The man moves to the bed pulls the blankets from her flannel-pajamas form. He gives her a shake.
“Grr, dad,” she mumbles out and tries to pull the blankets back to the cocoon of warmth.
"You're the one who wanted to go with me. There is a plane down up on the mountain. Come on.” He turns and is going to toss some clothes at her but finds them scattered around the room in complete disarray. "And when we get back, you are putting some organization to this room."
"Come on, dad; I'm an adult now,” Sam whines.
“I am well aware of your actual age, that doesn’t discount your rules, if I recall, you’re seventeen, still living at home and not paying rent.” His voice carries heavy karmic justice as his mouth curls into a grin.
“You’re taking advantage and enjoying it too much.”
“Yes, I am. What father of a teenage daughter wouldn’t? The devil is in the details, as you always say.”
"Yeah, yeah. Mini-lecture done, I’m coming. A little privacy please?" she asks as she works her way into wakefulness.
"I'll be outside warming up the truck; don't take too long."
"I know, dad."
He leaves the room with a large smile on his face, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
Sam works her way out of bed slowly and pulls off her pajama top. With speed, she reaches for long sleeved T-shirt and pulls it on, gently placing the crystal on a leather band around her neck above the cloth.
She shivers and picks up speed as the frigidness of the room nips at her exposed skin. Sam quickly assembles a pair of long underwear, pants, and a sweatshirt pulling each on in turn. She moves to a mirror on the dresser and looks at herself. Through a yawn, she tries to do something with her hair sticking out in every direction. Her hands pat at it, but it just stands up with a mind of its own.
“Why do I care? I don’t, it’s not like the snow and trees are going to comment. Dad might,” she lets roll in her thoughts as she reaches for a well-worn baseball cap and puts it on, tucking her short blonde hair over her ears and adjusting it to perfection.
Sam feeds her feet through a pair of snow pants, followed shortly by a second pair of thick socks and assembles her heavy work boots, meticulous in working the laces to secure them tightly. She reaches for her heavy coat resting haphazardly over the back of a chair feeding her arms in and sealing up the zipper and snaps as she pads heavily out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Sam emerges from the cabin, turning the lights off inside, leaving only the single bulb on the porch and those of the truck to light the darkness. She shivers against the cold as she moves towards the truck with a plow on the front, 'Search and Rescue' painted on the side, a trailer on the back with two snowmobiles and the necessary gear. She climbs into the passenger seat, quickly pulling the door closed.
“Present.” She says as she puts on her seatbelt.
Her dad reaches down and pulls up a large metal coffee cup handing it to Sam. "Coffee, strong, to wake up my navigator."
"Yeah...yeah...yeah,” Sam says, taking the offered cup. She gives the rising steam a long enjoyed sniff, takes a small sip, then reaches for the folded maps on the dashboard in front of her. "Coordinates?"
He unzips his coat, removes the folded paper from his pocket and hands it to Sam. She reaches up poking the button to turn on the light above her head balancing the coffee and his handwritten scribbles.
"Why can't people have emergencies on a real people schedule?" She asks with a yawn.
"It's not the way it works, Sam."
Her father navigates carefully down the snow covered road with rushed caution for miles as Sam is comparing the note with the coordinates to the map and making an assessment.
He slows as they approach a split in the road. Sam look up in contemplation. One has been recently plowed, the other has a few inches of untouched snow on it.
"Which way is going to be faster?" he asks.
"If we go around to the bridge, it'll be too long," Sam offers pointing towards the plowed road. "And depending on how they came in, that whole side of the mountain is going to be unstable if it hasn't come down on them already. Here’s hoping it hasn’t.”
“You’re the master here, what is your gut telling you, Sam?”
“Stop using me that way, dad. I get that I see things that most people don’t—”
“—I’m not.”
“You are, acknowledgement accepted,” Sam says taking one last look at the maps something is nudging at the back of her mind. “I suppose rescuing people is better than being used as a mule for moving secrets.”
“Sam—”
“We’re past that, bygones.” She states ending the conversation with an upheld hand.
He obliges and waits, having seeing her do this before, pulling into her thoughts.
She takes a heavy breath, exhaling out all the errant thoughts in her mind. She touches to the map, the coordinates of what are written of the plane going down. She hears it as if a thought[HC1] , a faint voice in her mind. ‘That’s not where you need to go.’
‘Then where?’ she responds in thought, but there is no response.
Her hand moves on the map, and her father sees it, “Severin’s creek? That’s quite distant, Sam.”
“I’m still thinking, Dad. Something isn’t right with the coordinates here,” she touches to his handwritten note. “I can’t put my finger on it—well I am-- it’s not feeling good.”
“We need to make a choice Sam, people’s lives depend on it.”
“I get that,” she snaps, as information that’s intangible crosses her mind’s eye in a mix of emotions. She closes her eyes, and presses her hands to them wishing it to stop. It does abruptly.
“Sam?”
“I’m okay.” she opens her eyes. “I won’t explain, because I can’t. I just know, and you told me to trust it. Severin's creek, snowmobiles from there like this,” she traces her finger on the map. “We pack the last half-mile or so. That should keep us clear of an avalanche or on top of it if it's already down."
“Then that is what we do,” he says putting the truck into four-wheel drive, and turning it to the unplowed road.
Sam continues to study the maps, her finger moving about tracing paths as if all the dangers each possess are available to her. “Why can’t I explain this? My reasoning?” she reminisces as yet another path ends badly.
“I’m sorry, Sam,” he says after a few minutes as she’s continually studying the maps. Her growing frustration level notable.
“It works or it doesn’t, is all I can offer, Dad. A thousand ways it didn’t work, maybe we’re one of them and history tells it.”
“Not the positivity I’m used to.”
“It’s not a very positive situation. We get stuck, we’re screwed and they die, if they’re not already dead. A plane at that altitude coming down like that? Survival is in the low percentiles.”
“There you go, that information not given.”
“Dad?!” she fires with warning.
He digresses, “We won’t get stuck.”
“You just know that.”
“I don’t, but I trust that you wouldn’t have guided us this way if you saw something different.”
Sam is about to object again but he cuts her off. “You don’t know what it is, neither do I, but I know to trust it.”
“I wish I could.”
“I can’t image what you see in that mind of yours, how you put it all together to make a call, but you do.”
“Dad?”
“Sam, I don’t know. If you want to bounce it off me, I’m okay with that, we’ve got a drive ahead of us. If you don’t, I’m okay with that as well.”
“I’ll choose the latter, if that is okay.”
“It is,” he says with a nod.
***
The sun is just starting to rise as Sam and her dad spot the airplane wreckage. A small plume of smoke rises from the forward section resting in a deeply gouged crater to the west; the tail end eastward higher on the ridge.
"I'll take the tail," he says, indicating the more extensive and further section. Directing Sam towards the front. "Call it in and radio if you find anyone."
"Got it. Be careful, dad; it doesn't look stable up here."
“I’ll take that under advisement, but I’m the one who is supposed to worry about you.” He sees Sam is about to argue the point. “Don’t even try, young one.”
“I won’t. The warning still stands, I see more than you do.”
Sam snowshoes towards the front section of the plane. There are no outward signs of life or movement as she approaches. She un-straps the snowshoes and watches her head to avoid the sharp edges of the shredded exterior of the plane. She digs down, moving large chunks of snow until she's able to get her flashlight inside.
"Anyone alive in here?"
"One," a female voice sounds through a labored breath.
"Hang in there; we'll get you out of there. Can you tell me how many were on the plane?" Sam asks as she continues to dig a hole to get inside the plane.
"Five, the flyers are dead, the other two I don't know." She returns with a thick British accent.
"You're sure they're dead?" Sam asks as she digs.
"Yes."
“The other two, are they with you, or the tail part of the plane? You don’t know?” Sam poses some options.
“The tail.”
Sam pulls her radio. "Dad confirmed five on board; I've got one alive, two dead."
"Copy." the radio crackles.
"My name is Sam; what's yours?" Sam pauses her digging and listens when there's no response. "Are you still with me?"
"Yes."
"Are you hurt?"
"Nothing life-threatening."
Sam gets her head and flashlight in enough to see. The woman is partially buried, her back against the side of the airplane, a slope of snow between them.
"Anything broken?"
"Right clavicle. Yes, I can walk out of here when you unbury me and get me something warm."
"On it," Sam says, not expecting the ungrateful nature of the woman. "I'm sorry; I didn't catch your name."
"I didn't give it. Just do your job."
"Yes, ma'am."
Sam's radio crackles. "Sam, two alive here. One able to walk, the other we're going to need the sled and a medical evacuation as soon as possible."
"Copy that. Calling it in." Sam rolls onto her back, switches the radio channel, finding difficulty with gloved fingers. "Dispatch, Rescue One on scene. Three confirmed survivors, two deceased. Two survivors are mobile, one critical. Pack unstable, advise pickup at the meadow at the fork of Severin's creek."
"Copy Rescue One,” comes through static on the radio.
Sam tucks the radio back into her pocket and continues to dig. When she's made the hole big enough, she squeezes through, then pulls her pack inside, sliding down to where the woman is. She places the flashlight upward, lighting the plane's interior, and settles in to check on her. A flash of recognition crosses Sam's expression as she quickly checks to see if her eyes dilate.
"I told you I was fine!" she snaps, moving her head quickly to the side and away from the direct light.
"Actually," Sam corrects as she starts moving the snow from around her, "You said 'nothing life-threatening,' but given you've been buried up here for a couple of hours, shock, concussion, hypothermia, Internal bleeding come to mind, to mention a few."
"I am familiar."
Sam, trying to keep it light and her talking continues. "Been in situations like this before, then?"
"Not this particular one."
"Okay, not particular, but I’ll assume similar," Sam says, pausing for a moment again, sensing recognition. "This is my first rescue involving a plane."
"Hum." she returns, avoiding a direct answer not wanting the human connection.
"Bet it was frightening. I don't like flying, wouldn't catch me anywhere near an airplane, and this..." She rolls her eyes around. "Is why. You're probably thinking the same thing now, huh?"
She nonchalantly shrugs her shoulders then winces at the pain in her shoulder. Sam pauses her digging and looks right at her with a quizzical look, their eyes meet. Sam shakes her head softly as if clearing an errant thought. The woman’s expression changes to cautious curiosity as she watches Sam.
"Don't worry; we'll take good care of you. It's not far to the snowmobiles, and then only a half an hour to where the chopper can pick up your friend." Sam says continuing to dig. The woman doesn’t answer as she analyzes Sam, her actions, and tone, as if reading her like a book. "Family?" Sam asks, again gaining no answer. "Co-worker? Acquaintance? Do you know them?" Sam sits up for a moment and runs her arm across her forehead; she's working up a sweat at this pace. She pulls off a glove and unzips her coat to get some air.
"Yes, I know them..." the woman starts, hoping it will stop her questions, but her words trail off her eyes catching the shimmer of the crystal on a necklace around Sam's neck.
"Anyone I can have Dispatch contact? Let them know you're okay?" Sam asks.
"No." The tone in which she answers moves both of them to look directly at each other. For Sam, it is out of surprise at the response, the woman in fear of having answered truthfully and hoping the fear in her voice didn't relay.
"Okay," Sam returns cautiously. "Didn't mean to poke a nerve.”
The woman shakes her head slightly, indicating it was nothing of concern. "Have we met before?" she asks soft, almost loving tone.
Sam is thrown even more with the sincerity and nicety behind the query than the question itself. "I was going to ask you the same thing. You're familiar to me, but... "
Sam's radio crackles interrupting her thought then is further interrupted by a loud bang followed by a second that echoes through the canyon. Both women are startled by the sound.
"What the hell was that?" Sam asks, scrambling for her radio; she depresses the button. "Dad? Dad?! Dad, come back?" there is nothing but a crackle. "Dad?"
The ominous silence is interrupted by a slight rumble, which Sam isn't sure she's hearing. Sam’s eyes fill with fear as she meets those of woman, confirming what she's thinking.
"Avalanche!" Sam throws throwing herself on top of woman out of instinct.
It's mere seconds before the snow impacts the side of the plane, rolling it down the slope like a twig in a rapidly flowing stream. Sam and the woman are bounced about inside the plane, the sounds of bones snapping, their bodies bending and contorting in unnatural ways as they are thrown around like rag dolls.
The woman smashes face-first into a protruding piece of one of the windows, the entire left side of her face torn open. Sam’s arms and legs fight for a position within the revolving space; then a snap is heard, her body goes limp and smashes lifelessly to the roof of the plane. Everything goes black.
******
There is only a foot of breathing room within the plane; the flashlight is just under the snow, giving off a slight glow. Sam is lying primarily on the top of the hard-packed snow. The woman is a few inches from her, trapped at an angle upright buried from the chest down, the left side of her face completely covered in blood where the glass from the window has cut deeply, the retina of her eye near completely missing, her blood staining the white around her. The breath from both of them mists into the air. The woman’s hand begins to move, and then a grunt of pain. Her hand painstakingly frees itself from the snow and moves towards her face, touches it then stops at the excruciating pain it causes. She lets loose a muffled scream that she quickly halts as she bites back the agony brought about, but it's enough to bring Sam into consciousness. Sam takes a couple of slow breaths as she looks around, blinking at the moisture in her eyes. Sam rolls her head to see the woman and her condition from the soft glow from the flashlight.
"Ouch..." Sam says through muffled tones. "Uh...ma’am?...Miss?” she asks in a hushed whisper. “Please…say you’re okay?"
She responds with what Sam can only distinguish as a grunt, her body moving only with the careful breaths she is drawing.
"I'll take that as a no. Bad?"
"Dreadfully..." she says through a groan.
Sam's face scrunches up in disgust as the woman rolls her head to where the dull glow from the flashlight shows the wound.
"Uh, yeah, that's Halloween horror mask overdone with the blood bad. Try not to move, and I'll see if I can, uh..." Sam falls into silence as the realization starts to settle in that she can't feel or move anything.
After an extended period, the woman breaks the silence. "You still there?" she asks, moving her hand towards Sam's face.
"Yeah...I can't seem to…um move or… feel anything." Sam starts to choke on the thought.
"Hold still," the woman says with a calmness that carries a warning to Sam to listen and not argue even if she could. The woman’s hand moves slowly towards where Sam's voice emanates. She assesses Sam's position; she feels for what she can reach, not finding anything warm and wet. "From what I can appraise, you're not bleeding, but I cannot be certain, is it completely dark in here, or--”
“Flashlight visible, but your left eye, it’s totally shredded, and…I’m guessing blind.”
“My assessment as well,” the woman returns evenly. “Can you feel that?"
"Should I?" Sam asks trying to move her neck to see what's going on.
"Don't move unless you have to." She returns with strength in her calmness.
"Doesn't that hurt?" Sam asks, being able to see her face closer and the depth of the wound, yet she moves as if there is no pain at all.
"I have a high pain tolerance."
"Damn woman, I'd say so! If that were me, I'd be crying like a baby."
"Crying doesn't solve anything." The woman moves her hand around behind Sam's neck, and with a slow, methodical touch and through her pain in the movement, feels down the back of Sam's neck, rolling her slightly towards her, feeling some more, and then lets out a sigh that Sam can only take as frustration.
"What is it?"
"You're not going to be any use for me," she says with a hint of disappointment.
"Translated into what it means for me?" Sam asks carefully.
"You won't be able to get me free before I bleed out. And you’ll freeze to death long before anyone finds us."
"Yeah? Well, sorry about that. If it's any comfort, you are not bleeding that much. You've got movement; dig yourself out."
"My face is not what is of concern.”
“How can it not be? Are you on some kind of crazy drug?”
The woman avoids Sam’s comments and continues. “Whatever has me pinned has most likely ruptured my femoral artery."
"Yeah? Well, that sucks. What about me?"
As if to satisfy a whining child, "Feels like a clean fracture." She continues to touch behind Sam's shoulder.
"Of what? My spine, huh? You sure?" Sam asks and receives only silence. "You know you can answer, it's not like the news could be any worse than not knowing and letting my imagination run amok, ‘cause I have quite the vivid one."
"Ignorance can be bliss," she responds as if talking about something else.
"Yeah? Really? I don't think so. I prefer knowledge; I absorb it like a sponge. Where there is a will and the know-how, there is a way; you just have to figure it out."
"You would if..." the woman trails into silence as if catching herself speaking out of turn. She gently rolls Sam back to the snowpack. "Are you having trouble breathing?"
"Not really," Sam says as the woman’s hand finds its way to Sam’s neck and takes her pulse.
"Is your satchel close at hand?" she asks, her accent begins to fade, and Sam catches it, and the recognition battle starts again.
"You mean my pack? No, not that I can see or that you could reach. But don't worry, there is a beacon in my coat, just for these sorts of emergencies. There was already another team heading this way. Besides, my dad is out there."
"Your dad is dead," She returns evenly. “As are we." Her hand feels the leather band holding the necklace.
"No, he's not." Sam spits back. "He's a survivor, just like me. All I have to do is wait for him to find me."
"The naivety of youth, and..." she starts, then again stops short as if speaking out of turn. "He won't let him live, or us. Any friends of yours will be far off course."
"What are you talking about?" Sam asks, and when she doesn't respond. "Your not family, not friends, not co-workers who crashed with you?"
"Yes.”
"There's something you're not saying about this whole mess, elusive at every turn.” Sam pauses and tries to pull the memory to the front of her mind.
“The coordinates you were given do they match the location you came to?”
“Uh…” Sam pretends to think but already has the answer. “Now that I think about it, no. I just trusted what I knew.”
“Huh,” the woman says simply as she continues to assess Sam’s condition.
"You a doctor or something?"
"Once upon a time, you could say I was."
"Kind of young, aren't you? I don't mean that in a bad way, just you know, doctors have all those years of medical school and..."
"I'm a lot older than I appear to be," the woman responds as her hand traces down the band of the necklace.
"Yeah, kinda know the feeling,” Sam says with truthful humor. “Same could be said about me.” She takes a moment, looking the woman over. “It's driving me crazy; you’ve got to know that. But, you see, I have this perfect memory, and I know I have seen you somewhere before. I remember everything--I mean everything!"
"Eidetic memory," she returns more to herself as a statement.
Given their closeness, Sam hears her clear as day. "Yeah, so if you know what that is, you understand why that's impossible."
"Not impossible. We have crossed paths, just not in your lifetime," the woman mumbles as she finds the crystal on the necklace. She lets her finger roll over it, caressing it gently. It shimmers in a prismatic effect at her touch. "Do you know what this is? What it can do for you?"
"It's just a rock on a necklace."
"It's more than that."
"Okay, it's sentimental; it’s the only thing I have of my mom's." Sam's voice fills with sadness. "It's not even a real crystal-- some kind of synthetic knockoff that she kept in a cheap jewelry box, never wore it until…it’s not important,” Sam says, shying away.
“But it is. You really don’t know?”
“Apparently not, it’s just important to me, okay?” Sam fires at her. “So while I can't stop you, I can ask you kindly to keep your paws off."
"There is assistance to be had here for both of us, but I need you to trust me."
"Trust you? I don't know you from a hole in the wall.” Sam takes a few moments to think it over as the woman waits, indicating that she won't take 'no' for an answer but that an answer, either way, is time-sensitive and world-saving important. "Tell me your name."
"That is what it takes to earn your trust?" The woman asks as she moves and begins digging through the snow down towards her left side.
"What are you doing?" Sam asks cautiously.
The woman grimaces as she wiggles her hand down through the snow and to her waistband, feeling what she is after is still here. She lets out a sigh of relief as she works it back up to the surface. Unfortunately, the action causes her great pain, and Sam watches completely lost. When the woman’s hand comes free of the snow, it’s covered in blood but is holding a small credit card-sized flimsy piece of black bendable material. She feels her way to Sam’s face; Sam contorts against the touch.
"Can you see this?"
"Yeah...flimsy black square thingy. Looks like a fridge magnet, though why you’d have one of those and think it’s somehow worthy of trade? Oh, never mind." Sam relinquishes. “Continue.”
"There is a series of numbers and letters on one side, lower corner, can you see them?"
"Kind of hard, it's black, and it's darker than shit in here." Sam squints. "Yeah, I think so. Turn it clockwise 180 degrees."
The woman rotates it accordingly. "Make sure you get all 38 digits?"
"You’re blood and snow is all over it…I can’t see it all.”
The woman uses her thumb and wipes across it, hopefully clearing the image.
“Doesn't matter, I'll remember it just like having a picture. What I don't understand is why it's important right now?"
"They can't find this on me, dead or alive. You got it?”
“Yeah, got it, trapped in my noggin’ with all the other useless information. What is it?”
The woman puts a great amount of effort, bends the card into two, breaking it, then tediously locates both pieces and snaps them again. "It'll be fine if they find it on you," she says as she seeks out Sam's pocket and places the debris inside. "It'll all make sense to them then."
"Something important I take it?"
"Yes." There is a long, drawn-out pause, and Sam can see and sense the debate going on within the woman as if she is preparing for the most significant moment in her life. "You will comprehend everything shortly; you need to entrust what you are feeling and experiencing. It has to be protected at all costs, including my life and yours if necessary."
"What are you talking about? That card thingy? It must have some important information on it for it to be worth that much. Willing to die for it and all. But yet you broke it, so no one can use it, well unless they’re uber-technical, which they probably are, but even then--"
“You always talk this much?”
“When I’m nervous or in pain--not feeling anything other than a cold nose, so nerves. Justified, given we’re both gonna die up here, and you’re rambling on about gibberish and little black cards, with strings of numbers on them, making me remember them because what? Can’t you? I get it if it’s a combination or, better yet, a bank account. Wait, too long even if it were more than one, not on any of the pertinent institutions, not even on one of the not so reputable ones. Even if you break it up.” Sam’s mind cycles through all the information she’s processed in years past working with her dad. “Decryption code, but no one is dumb enough actually to write it on the device…I’ve been around, that’s just unprofessional and such. No, it has to be something more. Keycode fits, something happens to you-me?” she says with a varying voice. “Someone else finds it who has the other half, connect-e-mundo, sense is made, key unlocked, super-secret information provided. Yes?” she asks.
“Possibly.”
“And that right there is what we call a ‘yes,’ but you’re too….whatever--insert your choice of words there--stuck up, stubborn, protective, uptight, so-on and so forth, to admit it. But I hit it head-on, you know it, I know it, and thus I must ask, why do you defend the castle when the walls have already fallen?”
The woman takes a breath, realizing quickly she’s up against a peer. “It is of little consequence in the grander scheme of things that could happen, but it is a connection that could lead them to my involvement. The other I can’t just tell you, you’ll understand. I can’t explain--you must be accepting and open for this to work," she says with frustration.
"For what to work? You're not making any sense here. Probably due to the blood loss and all."
“No, I am clear of mind and thought,” the woman says, focusing.
Sam is about to say something back to her, but she stops as she picks up on the feelings, and the overwhelming emotion coming from the woman hits her. Sam falls into silence, giving respect to what she just felt, taking it in, and gives her the proverbial floor to continue with her silent non-objection.
“I have not spoken my true name nor identified with it since I came to the realization of what I was and what I was to become.”
A calming silence comes from the woman. The air in the compartment becomes emotionally charged. Sam bites off her questions when she senses the invisible building waves of feeling filling the small space. At first, Sam is afraid but then finds comfort in the openness, the conveyance on a level she can’t explain. As if tangible and tactile, the woman becomes aware of Sam's openness to what is happening and surrenders to her aid.
“Uh, what…I uh…” Sam stutters out.
"This might not go as expected," the woman says as she wraps her hand tightly around the crystal on the necklace and squeezes. She whispers with a vulnerability that shakes in her voice. "My true and given name is Amanda."
"What are you--” Sam stops as a warm wave of sensation overwhelms her. "Expecting?"
The stone begins to give off light. A cascade of streaming colors hovers around Sam, like a force field generated from the small rock around her neck. The glowing aurora builds to near blinding strength and then fades back into the crystal as if sucked in by the vacuum of space. The woman seethes as her hand heats to hot orange, curling wisps of smoke rising indicating the physical burn. She holds as long as possible, then releases the crystal with a long drawn out exhale, taking the excruciating pain with it. She pulls in a couple of slow, calculated, pain-relieving gasps pressing her hand into the snow dousing the heat.
"Uh...what was that?" Sam asks, a deep and heavy fear in her voice.
"The only way to keep it safe," the woman’s words break into a muffled choking cough, blood rolls out of her mouth.
Sam sees it and is about to speak to it when her eyes roll up into her head; her breath catches in her throat, then releases in a scream of pain both physical and emotional so strong it penetrates the soul to the core. An invisible wave explodes out like a nuclear mushroom cloud, the two of them at the center.
The woman lowers her head in responsibility and sorrow, knowing what Sam is experiencing, for it has been bottled and buried inside her with no way of release until now.
[HC1]Different word.

I am re-working a very lengthy (Many thousands of PAGES story). I'm changing its POV, its structure, and its order. I am starting from the beginning, and want some help in getting this first chapter together to use as a base for the others going forward. Big things for me: -- I want to be able to relay the thoughts of a character (in this case, Sam). -- I need help with that British accent for The woman (She does have a name, she's the other protagonist). --I need some guidance on how to separate the 'thoughts' from the actions/dialogue so they stand out. --I want to get rid of all the 'unnecessary words and descriptions.'
The bedroom is dark, illuminated only by the steady light coming from the power indicator from the computer. The door swings open, bumping into the dresser with a thud. An older well-fit man fills the entrance as he flips the light switch flooding the room with bright painful light.
“Up and at ‘em Sam, we’ve got to go,” he says.
Sam grumbles and pulls the blankets up over her head and tried to shield the light. The man moves to the bed pulls the blankets from her flannel-pajamas form. He gives her a shake.
“Grr, dad,” she mumbles out and tries to pull the blankets back to the cocoon of warmth.
"You're the one who wanted to go with me. There is a plane down up on the mountain. Come on.” He turns and is going to toss some clothes at her but finds them scattered around the room in complete disarray. "And when we get back, you are putting some organization to this room."
"Come on, dad; I'm an adult now,” Sam whines.
“I am well aware of your actual age, that doesn’t discount your rules, if I recall, you’re seventeen, still living at home and not paying rent.” His voice carries heavy karmic justice as his mouth curls into a grin.
“You’re taking advantage and enjoying it too much.”
“Yes, I am. What father of a teenage daughter wouldn’t? The devil is in the details, as you always say.”
"Yeah, yeah. Mini-lecture done, I’m coming. A little privacy please?" she asks as she works her way into wakefulness.
"I'll be outside warming up the truck; don't take too long."
"I know, dad."
He leaves the room with a large smile on his face, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
Sam works her way out of bed slowly and pulls off her pajama top. With speed, she reaches for long sleeved T-shirt and pulls it on, gently placing the crystal on a leather band around her neck above the cloth.
She shivers and picks up speed as the frigidness of the room nips at her exposed skin. Sam quickly assembles a pair of long underwear, pants, and a sweatshirt pulling each on in turn. She moves to a mirror on the dresser and looks at herself. Through a yawn, she tries to do something with her hair sticking out in every direction. Her hands pat at it, but it just stands up with a mind of its own.
“Why do I care? I don’t, it’s not like the snow and trees are going to comment. Dad might,” she lets roll in her thoughts as she reaches for a well-worn baseball cap and puts it on, tucking her short blonde hair over her ears and adjusting it to perfection.
Sam feeds her feet through a pair of snow pants, followed shortly by a second pair of thick socks and assembles her heavy work boots, meticulous in working the laces to secure them tightly. She reaches for her heavy coat resting haphazardly over the back of a chair feeding her arms in and sealing up the zipper and snaps as she pads heavily out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Sam emerges from the cabin, turning the lights off inside, leaving only the single bulb on the porch and those of the truck to light the darkness. She shivers against the cold as she moves towards the truck with a plow on the front, 'Search and Rescue' painted on the side, a trailer on the back with two snowmobiles and the necessary gear. She climbs into the passenger seat, quickly pulling the door closed.
“Present.” She says as she puts on her seatbelt.
Her dad reaches down and pulls up a large metal coffee cup handing it to Sam. "Coffee, strong, to wake up my navigator."
"Yeah...yeah...yeah,” Sam says, taking the offered cup. She gives the rising steam a long enjoyed sniff, takes a small sip, then reaches for the folded maps on the dashboard in front of her. "Coordinates?"
He unzips his coat, removes the folded paper from his pocket and hands it to Sam. She reaches up poking the button to turn on the light above her head balancing the coffee and his handwritten scribbles.
"Why can't people have emergencies on a real people schedule?" She asks with a yawn.
"It's not the way it works, Sam."
Her father navigates carefully down the snow covered road with rushed caution for miles as Sam is comparing the note with the coordinates to the map and making an assessment.
He slows as they approach a split in the road. Sam look up in contemplation. One has been recently plowed, the other has a few inches of untouched snow on it.
"Which way is going to be faster?" he asks.
"If we go around to the bridge, it'll be too long," Sam offers pointing towards the plowed road. "And depending on how they came in, that whole side of the mountain is going to be unstable if it hasn't come down on them already. Here’s hoping it hasn’t.”
“You’re the master here, what is your gut telling you, Sam?” “Stop using me that way, dad. I get that I see things that most people don’t—” “—I’m not.” “You are, acknowledgement accepted,” Sam says taking one last look at the maps something is nudging at the back of her mind. “I suppose rescuing people is better than being used as a mule for moving secrets.” “Sam—” “We’re past that, bygones.” She states ending the conversation with an upheld hand.
He obliges and waits, having seeing her do this before, pulling into her thoughts.
She takes a heavy breath, exhaling out all the errant thoughts in her mind. She touches to the map, the coordinates of what are written of the plane going down. She hears it as if a thought , a faint voice in her mind. ‘That’s not where you need to go.’
‘Then where?’ she responds in thought, but there is no response.
Her hand moves on the map, and her father sees it, “Severin’s creek? That’s quite distant, Sam.”
“I’m still thinking, Dad. Something isn’t right with the coordinates here,” she touches to his handwritten note. “I can’t put my finger on it—well I am-- it’s not feeling good.”
“We need to make a choice Sam, people’s lives depend on it.”
“I get that,” she snaps, as information that’s intangible crosses her mind’s eye in a mix of emotions. She closes her eyes, and presses her hands to them wishing it to stop. It does abruptly.
“Sam?”
“I’m okay.” she opens her eyes. “I won’t explain, because I can’t. I just know, and you told me to trust it. Severin's creek, snowmobiles from there like this,” she traces her finger on the map. “We pack the last half-mile or so. That should keep us clear of an avalanche or on top of it if it's already down."
“Then that is what we do,” he says putting the truck into four-wheel drive, and turning it to the unplowed road.
Sam continues to study the maps, her finger moving about tracing paths as if all the dangers each possess are available to her. “Why can’t I explain this? My reasoning?” she reminisces as yet another path ends badly.
“I’m sorry, Sam,” he says after a few minutes as she’s continually studying the maps. Her growing frustration level notable.
“It works or it doesn’t, is all I can offer, Dad. A thousand ways it didn’t work, maybe we’re one of them and history tells it.”
“Not the positivity I’m used to.” “It’s not a very positive situation. We get stuck, we’re screwed and they die, if they’re not already dead. A plane at that altitude coming down like that? Survival is in the low percentiles.”
“There you go, that information not given.”
“Dad?!” she fires with warning.
He digresses, “We won’t get stuck.”
“You just know that.”
“I don’t, but I trust that you wouldn’t have guided us this way if you saw something different.” Sam is about to object again but he cuts her off. “You don’t know what it is, neither do I, but I know to trust it.”
“I wish I could.”
“I can’t image what you see in that mind of yours, how you put it all together to make a call, but you do.”
“Dad?”
“Sam, I don’t know. If you want to bounce it off me, I’m okay with that, we’ve got a drive ahead of us. If you don’t, I’m okay with that as well.”
“I’ll choose the latter, if that is okay.”
“It is,” he says with a nod.
The sun is just starting to rise as Sam and her dad spot the airplane wreckage. A small plume of smoke rises from the forward section resting in a deeply gouged crater to the west; the tail end eastward higher on the ridge.
"I'll take the tail," he says, indicating the more extensive and further section. Directing Sam towards the front. "Call it in and radio if you find anyone."
"Got it. Be careful, dad; it doesn't look stable up here."
“I’ll take that under advisement, but I’m the one who is supposed to worry about you.” He sees Sam is about to argue the point. “Don’t even try, young one.”
“I won’t. The warning still stands, I see more than you do.”
Sam snowshoes towards the front section of the plane. There are no outward signs of life or movement as she approaches. She un-straps the snowshoes and watches her head to avoid the sharp edges of the shredded exterior of the plane. She digs down, moving large chunks of snow until she's able to get her flashlight inside.
"Anyone alive in here?"
"One," a female voice sounds through a labored breath.
"Hang in there; we'll get you out of there. Can you tell me how many were on the plane?" Sam asks as she continues to dig a hole to get inside the plane.
"Five, the flyers are dead, the other two I don't know." She returns with a thick British accent.
"You're sure they're dead?" Sam asks as she digs.
"Yes."
“The other two, are they with you, or the tail part of the plane? You don’t know?” Sam poses some options.
“The tail.”
Sam pulls her radio. "Dad confirmed five on board; I've got one alive, two dead."
"Copy." the radio crackles.
"My name is Sam; what's yours?" Sam pauses her digging and listens when there's no response. "Are you still with me?"
"Yes."
"Are you hurt?"
"Nothing life-threatening."
Sam gets her head and flashlight in enough to see. The woman is partially buried, her back against the side of the airplane, a slope of snow between them.
"Anything broken?"
"Right clavicle. Yes, I can walk out of here when you unbury me and get me something warm."
"On it," Sam says, not expecting the ungrateful nature of the woman. "I'm sorry; I didn't catch your name."
"I didn't give it. Just do your job."
"Yes, ma'am."
Sam's radio crackles. "Sam, two alive here. One able to walk, the other we're going to need the sled and a medical evacuation as soon as possible."
"Copy that. Calling it in." Sam rolls onto her back, switches the radio channel, finding difficulty with gloved fingers. "Dispatch, Rescue One on scene. Three confirmed survivors, two deceased. Two survivors are mobile, one critical. Pack unstable, advise pickup at the meadow at the fork of Severin's creek."
"Copy Rescue One,” comes through static on the radio.
Sam tucks the radio back into her pocket and continues to dig. When she's made the hole big enough, she squeezes through, then pulls her pack inside, sliding down to where the woman is. She places the flashlight upward, lighting the plane's interior, and settles in to check on her. A flash of recognition crosses Sam's expression as she quickly checks to see if her eyes dilate.
"I told you I was fine!" she snaps, moving her head quickly to the side and away from the direct light.
"Actually," Sam corrects as she starts moving the snow from around her, "You said 'nothing life-threatening,' but given you've been buried up here for a couple of hours, shock, concussion, hypothermia, Internal bleeding come to mind, to mention a few."
"I am familiar."
Sam, trying to keep it light and her talking continues. "Been in situations like this before, then?"
"Not this particular one."
"Okay, not particular, but I’ll assume similar," Sam says, pausing for a moment again, sensing recognition. "This is my first rescue involving a plane."
"Hum." she returns, avoiding a direct answer not wanting the human connection.
"Bet it was frightening. I don't like flying, wouldn't catch me anywhere near an airplane, and this..." She rolls her eyes around. "Is why. You're probably thinking the same thing now, huh?"
She nonchalantly shrugs her shoulders then winces at the pain in her shoulder. Sam pauses her digging and looks right at her with a quizzical look, their eyes meet. Sam shakes her head softly as if clearing an errant thought. The woman’s expression changes to cautious curiosity as she watches Sam.
"Don't worry; we'll take good care of you. It's not far to the snowmobiles, and then only a half an hour to where the chopper can pick up your friend." Sam says continuing to dig. The woman doesn’t answer as she analyzes Sam, her actions, and tone, as if reading her like a book. "Family?" Sam asks, again gaining no answer. "Co-worker? Acquaintance? Do you know them?" Sam sits up for a moment and runs her arm across her forehead; she's working up a sweat at this pace. She pulls off a glove and unzips her coat to get some air.
"Yes, I know them..." the woman starts, hoping it will stop her questions, but her words trail off her eyes catching the shimmer of the crystal on a necklace around Sam's neck.
"Anyone I can have Dispatch contact? Let them know you're okay?" Sam asks.
"No." The tone in which she answers moves both of them to look directly at each other. For Sam, it is out of surprise at the response, the woman in fear of having answered truthfully and hoping the fear in her voice didn't relay.
"Okay," Sam returns cautiously. "Didn't mean to poke a nerve.”
The woman shakes her head slightly, indicating it was nothing of concern. "Have we met before?" she asks soft, almost loving tone.
Sam is thrown even more with the sincerity and nicety behind the query than the question itself. "I was going to ask you the same thing. You're familiar to me, but... "
Sam's radio crackles interrupting her thought then is further interrupted by a loud bang followed by a second that echoes through the canyon. Both women are startled by the sound.
"What the hell was that?" Sam asks, scrambling for her radio; she depresses the button. "Dad? Dad?! Dad, come back?" there is nothing but a crackle. "Dad?"
The ominous silence is interrupted by a slight rumble, which Sam isn't sure she's hearing. Sam’s eyes fill with fear as she meets those of woman, confirming what she's thinking.
"Avalanche!" Sam throws throwing herself on top of woman out of instinct.
It's mere seconds before the snow impacts the side of the plane, rolling it down the slope like a twig in a rapidly flowing stream. Sam and the woman are bounced about inside the plane, the sounds of bones snapping, their bodies bending and contorting in unnatural ways as they are thrown around like rag dolls.
The woman smashes face-first into a protruding piece of one of the windows, the entire left side of her face torn open. Sam’s arms and legs fight for a position within the revolving space; then a snap is heard, her body goes limp and smashes lifelessly to the roof of the plane. Everything goes black.
There is only a foot of breathing room within the plane; the flashlight is just under the snow, giving off a slight glow. Sam is lying primarily on the top of the hard-packed snow. The woman is a few inches from her, trapped at an angle upright buried from the chest down, the left side of her face completely covered in blood where the glass from the window has cut deeply, the retina of her eye near completely missing, her blood staining the white around her. The breath from both of them mists into the air. The woman’s hand begins to move, and then a grunt of pain. Her hand painstakingly frees itself from the snow and moves towards her face, touches it then stops at the excruciating pain it causes. She lets loose a muffled scream that she quickly halts as she bites back the agony brought about, but it's enough to bring Sam into consciousness. Sam takes a couple of slow breaths as she looks around, blinking at the moisture in her eyes. Sam rolls her head to see the woman and her condition from the soft glow from the flashlight.
"Ouch..." Sam says through muffled tones. "Uh...ma’am?...Miss?” she asks in a hushed whisper. “Please…say you’re okay?"
She responds with what Sam can only distinguish as a grunt, her body moving only with the careful breaths she is drawing.
"I'll take that as a no. Bad?"
"Dreadfully..." she says through a groan.
Sam's face scrunches up in disgust as the woman rolls her head to where the dull glow from the flashlight shows the wound.
"Uh, yeah, that's Halloween horror mask overdone with the blood bad. Try not to move, and I'll see if I can, uh..." Sam falls into silence as the realization starts to settle in that she can't feel or move anything.
After an extended period, the woman breaks the silence. "You still there?" she asks, moving her hand towards Sam's face.
"Yeah...I can't seem to…um move or… feel anything." Sam starts to choke on the thought.
"Hold still," the woman says with a calmness that carries a warning to Sam to listen and not argue even if she could. The woman’s hand moves slowly towards where Sam's voice emanates. She assesses Sam's position; she feels for what she can reach, not finding anything warm and wet. "From what I can appraise, you're not bleeding, but I cannot be certain, is it completely dark in here, or--”
“Flashlight visible, but your left eye, it’s totally shredded, and…I’m guessing blind.”
“My assessment as well,” the woman returns evenly. “Can you feel that?"
"Should I?" Sam asks trying to move her neck to see what's going on.
"Don't move unless you have to." She returns with strength in her calmness.
"Doesn't that hurt?" Sam asks, being able to see her face closer and the depth of the wound, yet she moves as if there is no pain at all.
"I have a high pain tolerance."
"Damn woman, I'd say so! If that were me, I'd be crying like a baby."
"Crying doesn't solve anything." The woman moves her hand around behind Sam's neck, and with a slow, methodical touch and through her pain in the movement, feels down the back of Sam's neck, rolling her slightly towards her, feeling some more, and then lets out a sigh that Sam can only take as frustration.
"What is it?"
"You're not going to be any use for me," she says with a hint of disappointment.
"Translated into what it means for me?" Sam asks carefully.
"You won't be able to get me free before I bleed out. And you’ll freeze to death long before anyone finds us."
"Yeah? Well, sorry about that. If it's any comfort, you are not bleeding that much. You've got movement; dig yourself out."
"My face is not what is of concern.”
“How can it not be? Are you on some kind of crazy drug?”
The woman avoids Sam’s comments and continues. “Whatever has me pinned has most likely ruptured my femoral artery."
"Yeah? Well, that sucks. What about me?"
As if to satisfy a whining child, "Feels like a clean fracture." She continues to touch behind Sam's shoulder.
"Of what? My spine, huh? You sure?" Sam asks and receives only silence. "You know you can answer, it's not like the news could be any worse than not knowing and letting my imagination run amok, ‘cause I have quite the vivid one."
"Ignorance can be bliss," she responds as if talking about something else.
"Yeah? Really? I don't think so. I prefer knowledge; I absorb it like a sponge. Where there is a will and the know-how, there is a way; you just have to figure it out."
"You would if..." the woman trails into silence as if catching herself speaking out of turn. She gently rolls Sam back to the snowpack. "Are you having trouble breathing?"
"Not really," Sam says as the woman’s hand finds its way to Sam’s neck and takes her pulse.
"Is your satchel close at hand?" she asks, her accent begins to fade, and Sam catches it, and the recognition battle starts again.
"You mean my pack? No, not that I can see or that you could reach. But don't worry, there is a beacon in my coat, just for these sorts of emergencies. There was already another team heading this way. Besides, my dad is out there."
"Your dad is dead," She returns evenly. “As are we." Her hand feels the leather band holding the necklace.
"No, he's not." Sam spits back. "He's a survivor, just like me. All I have to do is wait for him to find me."
"The naivety of youth, and..." she starts, then again stops short as if speaking out of turn. "He won't let him live, or us. Any friends of yours will be far off course."
"What are you talking about?" Sam asks, and when she doesn't respond. "Your not family, not friends, not co-workers who crashed with you?"
"Yes.”
"There's something you're not saying about this whole mess, elusive at every turn.” Sam pauses and tries to pull the memory to the front of her mind.
“The coordinates you were given do they match the location you came to?”
“Uh…” Sam pretends to think but already has the answer. “Now that I think about it, no. I just trusted what I knew.”
“Huh,” the woman says simply as she continues to assess Sam’s condition.
"You a doctor or something?"
"Once upon a time, you could say I was."
"Kind of young, aren't you? I don't mean that in a bad way, just you know, doctors have all those years of medical school and..."
"I'm a lot older than I appear to be," the woman responds as her hand traces down the band of the necklace.
"Yeah, kinda know the feeling,” Sam says with truthful humor. “Same could be said about me.” She takes a moment, looking the woman over. “It's driving me crazy; you’ve got to know that. But, you see, I have this perfect memory, and I know I have seen you somewhere before. I remember everything--I mean everything!"
"Eidetic memory," she returns more to herself as a statement.
Given their closeness, Sam hears her clear as day. "Yeah, so if you know what that is, you understand why that's impossible."
"Not impossible. We have crossed paths, just not in your lifetime," the woman mumbles as she finds the crystal on the necklace. She lets her finger roll over it, caressing it gently. It shimmers in a prismatic effect at her touch. "Do you know what this is? What it can do for you?"
"It's just a rock on a necklace."
"It's more than that."
"Okay, it's sentimental; it’s the only thing I have of my mom's." Sam's voice fills with sadness. "It's not even a real crystal-- some kind of synthetic knockoff that she kept in a cheap jewelry box, never wore it until…it’s not important,” Sam says, shying away.
“But it is. You really don’t know?”
“Apparently not, it’s just important to me, okay?” Sam fires at her. “So while I can't stop you, I can ask you kindly to keep your paws off."
"There is assistance to be had here for both of us, but I need you to trust me."
"Trust you? I don't know you from a hole in the wall.” Sam takes a few moments to think it over as the woman waits, indicating that she won't take 'no' for an answer but that an answer, either way, is time-sensitive and world-saving important. "Tell me your name."
"That is what it takes to earn your trust?" The woman asks as she moves and begins digging through the snow down towards her left side.
"What are you doing?" Sam asks cautiously.
The woman grimaces as she wiggles her hand down through the snow and to her waistband, feeling what she is after is still here. She lets out a sigh of relief as she works it back up to the surface. Unfortunately, the action causes her great pain, and Sam watches completely lost. When the woman’s hand comes free of the snow, it’s covered in blood but is holding a small credit card-sized flimsy piece of black bendable material. She feels her way to Sam’s face; Sam contorts against the touch.
"Can you see this?"
"Yeah...flimsy black square thingy. Looks like a fridge magnet, though why you’d have one of those and think it’s somehow worthy of trade? Oh, never mind." Sam relinquishes. “Continue.”
"There is a series of numbers and letters on one side, lower corner, can you see them?"
"Kind of hard, it's black, and it's darker than shit in here." Sam squints. "Yeah, I think so. Turn it clockwise 180 degrees."
The woman rotates it accordingly. "Make sure you get all 38 digits?"
"You’re blood and snow is all over it…I can’t see it all.”
The woman uses her thumb and wipes across it, hopefully clearing the image.
“Doesn't matter, I'll remember it just like having a picture. What I don't understand is why it's important right now?"
"They can't find this on me, dead or alive. You got it?”
“Yeah, got it, trapped in my noggin’ with all the other useless information. What is it?”
The woman puts a great amount of effort, bends the card into two, breaking it, then tediously locates both pieces and snaps them again. "It'll be fine if they find it on you," she says as she seeks out Sam's pocket and places the debris inside. "It'll all make sense to them then."
"Something important I take it?"
"Yes." There is a long, drawn-out pause, and Sam can see and sense the debate going on within the woman as if she is preparing for the most significant moment in her life. "You will comprehend everything shortly; you need to entrust what you are feeling and experiencing. It has to be protected at all costs, including my life and yours if necessary."
"What are you talking about? That card thingy? It must have some important information on it for it to be worth that much. Willing to die for it and all. But yet you broke it, so no one can use it, well unless they’re uber-technical, which they probably are, but even then--"
“You always talk this much?”
“When I’m nervous or in pain--not feeling anything other than a cold nose, so nerves. Justified, given we’re both gonna die up here, and you’re rambling on about gibberish and little black cards, with strings of numbers on them, making me remember them because what? Can’t you? I get it if it’s a combination or, better yet, a bank account. Wait, too long even if it were more than one, not on any of the pertinent institutions, not even on one of the not so reputable ones. Even if you break it up.” Sam’s mind cycles through all the information she’s processed in years past working with her dad. “Decryption code, but no one is dumb enough actually to write it on the device…I’ve been around, that’s just unprofessional and such. No, it has to be something more. Keycode fits, something happens to you-me?” she says with a varying voice. “Someone else finds it who has the other half, connect-e-mundo, sense is made, key unlocked, super-secret information provided. Yes?” she asks.
“Possibly.”
“And that right there is what we call a ‘yes,’ but you’re too….whatever--insert your choice of words there--stuck up, stubborn, protective, uptight, so-on and so forth, to admit it. But I hit it head-on, you know it, I know it, and thus I must ask, why do you defend the castle when the walls have already fallen?”
The woman takes a breath, realizing quickly she’s up against a peer. “It is of little consequence in the grander scheme of things that could happen, but it is a connection that could lead them to my involvement. The other I can’t just tell you, you’ll understand. I can’t explain--you must be accepting and open for this to work," she says with frustration.
"For what to work? You're not making any sense here. Probably due to the blood loss and all."
“No, I am clear of mind and thought,” the woman says, focusing.
Sam is about to say something back to her, but she stops as she picks up on the feelings, and the overwhelming emotion coming from the woman hits her. Sam falls into silence, giving respect to what she just felt, taking it in, and gives her the proverbial floor to continue with her silent non-objection.
“I have not spoken my true name nor identified with it since I came to the realization of what I was and what I was to become.”
A calming silence comes from the woman. The air in the compartment becomes emotionally charged. Sam bites off her questions when she senses the invisible building waves of feeling filling the small space. At first, Sam is afraid but then finds comfort in the openness, the conveyance on a level she can’t explain. As if tangible and tactile, the woman becomes aware of Sam's openness to what is happening and surrenders to her aid.
“Uh, what…I uh…” Sam stutters out.
"This might not go as expected," the woman says as she wraps her hand tightly around the crystal on the necklace and squeezes. She whispers with a vulnerability that shakes in her voice. "My true and given name is Amanda."
"What are you--” Sam stops as a warm wave of sensation overwhelms her. "Expecting?"
The stone begins to give off light. A cascade of streaming colors hovers around Sam, like a force field generated from the small rock around her neck. The glowing aurora builds to near blinding strength and then fades back into the crystal as if sucked in by the vacuum of space. The woman seethes as her hand heats to hot orange, curling wisps of smoke rising indicating the physical burn. She holds as long as possible, then releases the crystal with a long drawn out exhale, taking the excruciating pain with it. She pulls in a couple of slow, calculated, pain-relieving gasps pressing her hand into the snow dousing the heat.
"Uh...what was that?" Sam asks, a deep and heavy fear in her voice.
"The only way to keep it safe," the woman’s words break into a muffled choking cough, blood rolls out of her mouth.
Sam sees it and is about to speak to it when her eyes roll up into her head; her breath catches in her throat, then releases in a scream of pain both physical and emotional so strong it penetrates the soul to the core. An invisible wave explodes out like a nuclear mushroom cloud, the two of them at the center.
The woman lowers her head in responsibility and sorrow, knowing what Sam is experiencing, for it has been bottled and buried inside her with no way of release until now.

Hi all,
I am as happy as you are. First of all big thanks to THE DEV SM for setting new early access standards, as well as to the YouTubers/Influencers giving us first impressions.
Playing the game in early access (EA , LOL), I have encountered the following PERSONAL points that could use Slavic Magic`s "attention". Just my to cents (add yours in the comments).
I am happy, we are building a community around this game, by being part of this sub Reddit.
So, your vote on this post would be appreciated for visibility and SM`s attention, as well as your observacions and feedback, Early access (0.7.955).
Early game:

1. Anbindebalken (animal pole ox), why allow to order a new animal when only 1/1 stable space is available? Suggestion: bind order-able animals to stable space. "no space available, build another animal shelter, in order to ... etc.".
   
2. Working Area, when selecting a production building, the current work area (or prev. defined work area) it is not shown. Suggestion, should be shown instead of being redifined every time. Players like re-affirmation of their past decisions :), aka double-checking, I am a Manor Lord after all.
   
3. Animal hunter hut/ forager hut/ , why have a work area option when having berries or animal item count (50/64)? What does a work area do for this production asset, if any function?
   

General:
Building mechs:
4 point system: Currently:

1. points width
   
2. point width
   
3. point depths
   
4. point depths
   

Suggestion:

1. point width/road
   
2. instead of width/road, go to - 1. first point depths
   
3. now select, 2. point dephts
   
4. conclude with point 4. width point, facing road, where you have started. Bullet point 1.
   

Like drawing a clockwise circle...point for connecting to point 1, facing the road.
Try building it around a corner...90 degree, around an exciting asset. It works ... but fun times.
​
Diplomacy:
Who is Hildebolt von de Berenreute, in my MAP? where am I, we, when selecting regions?
Map:

1. Is ground fertility randomly generated compared to forest vegetation? If, no: village will develop into same areas North, East, South, West with fields ... not giving challenge / variety for New Game.

MISC:
What does a Mule do in game?
Are shops bringing produce to the storage/granary when shop shop storage = full? Or does player have to assign a family to granary to do so? For the granary you need someone assigned but in storage you don`t? Consistency?
​
personal comment:
- love it
- keep building, talking & ruling my Lord.
​
BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY: keep feedback short and consice and going to make it our game. :) Because we finally have someone again in 24 listening.
And don`t be a D*** my L.
Love and happy launch weekend.
EX T2, AB, Game Dev & QA
Please humble me in my lack of knowledge but also please keep the feedback going in this thread to make this game great and how we want it to be.
​
-Sebalord

Short version:
Level 2 party has convinced a hill giant to adventure with us because we previously lucked / DM mistaked our way into owning a Mattock of the Titans (totally busted legendary weapon exclusively for giant sized creatures). DM is going to mess with this almost certainly, but he's not the kind to just plot twist something cool away from us with no meaningful chance of keeping it, even if it does have the ability to be game-breakingly OP.
I want to figure out how to keep this crazy creature with his game breaking legendary weapon on our side once the complications start coming. Also want to think about what it means when we start facing encounters matched to his power level. I'm a min-max kinda chronurgist wizard with a monk and a barbarian companion who don't yet have subclasses and we'll be coming up on 3rd level soon. What are our options, especially for my spells, my companions' subclasses, and possible magic item preferences for common or uncommon items?
Overly Long version I mostly wrote for my own amusement / to waste some time at work:
We are three players playing a Chronurgist Wizard (me), a Barbarian polearm master, and a Monk using the revised class from the recent unearthed arcana (it's great, replace the PHB base class immediately). The campaign hook is we're assisting with a liberation / revolutionary movement on the side of one half of a bitter civil war. We are currently 2nd level and I bet 1-2 sessions away from 3rd. Our game is being made up on the fly with a mix of loosely planned events and random tables and the DM is already noticing we're a powerful trio and is throwing above-CR encounters at us. Sessions are short, not doing anything like a 6 encounter day.
A couple of sessions ago the DM rolled a random magic item and well... he was a little high while he was doing this and I think he rolled on the wrong table. We found a Mattock of the Titans. It's a +3 weapon that does 5d6 damage on a hit. It's also a siege & excavation tool that can dig up 100 cubic feet of earth in one round. The catch to it is it is 10 feet long and can only be used by a huge creature with 20 or more strength. It's been a challenge moving it around, but no way is my power gamer ass giving up on a legendary weapon this early in the game, no matter how weird and useless it is right now.
The plan at first was to negotiate with army leadership or the wizard guild / intelligence agency working with them, and trade it for some magical gear more level appropriate and sized for humanoids rather than having to keep lugging it around with a mule team hoping to find some use for it.
But then last session, we were traveling to a trade city, walking through through the endless grain fields of the this nation's peasant farmer masses and we came across a hill giant wielding a huge farm implement fighting off a band of ravenous goblins. We rush in to aid him and save his farm. The giant fights well and the DM notes that he seems trained (has 1 fighter level). The idea in the back of my head moves forward a little. After combat the barbarian who is a committed local dedicated to the cause talks to his big dim witted countryman and makes a pitch that he travel and adventure with us to aid in the struggle for liberation, freedom, and equality. (Especially motivated because we're on our way to negotiate with some giants to join our side's army, thought he might be useful).
Rolls a 15. The DM drops a "Oh, I used to be an adventurer, but I took an arrow to the knee" to brush it off. He doesn't seem to be eager to give us something this powerful on our side this early in the game.
I (spy agency magic guild associate, we're like the CIA or KGB assisting in this side of the war for our own geopolitical purposes) try a different tactic and I say "Oh, you used to be an adventurer? Do you like magic items? We have a great weapon that only a giant can use, it's yours as long as you quest with us and you will share equally in any treasure we find." I use my Dhampir vampire bite on one of the rodents I keep with me for a skill bonus and use Chronurgy to reroll my first bad roll and wind up with a 19 with a +6 bonus and the DM says "Well.... I like Magic items! I will fight for our country! You seem like good companions." I don't think our DM actually thought about the connection between this random encounter and the restriction on our legendary weapon, this caught him by surprise, but he's one to roll with it if the dice come up right. It is a big time stoner game, we're winging it.
Our Monk is an independent traveling with us for inscrutable reasons, but the Barbarian and I are devoted to the revolution. We keep our gold in common and make the decision that the best use of a windfall we got from gambling winnings is to find a smith to craft the giant some chainmail.
He seems very happy to be with companions willing to spend to outfit him in good kit. Right now (this all happened at the end of Wednesday's session) we seem to have successfully won the companionship of an outrageously OP for our level walking siege engine. So I want to think through how to make best use of this.
We now could take on a sizable dragon with our 100 HP, very heavy hitting friend and our relatively squishy but still powerful characters doing back-up. We can also just dig out a dungeon, collapse a castle wall, etc. whenever we need to. This is kind of absurd. I do not think that the DM is going to let us just keep having this. We've already gone up against river marsh cultists, and an Aboleth that was out of the main combat mind controlled the barbarian. That seems like a big threat. He'll probably think of other ways to make keeping this NPC a challenge. But he's also the kind of DM who won't just plot mechanic something away from the game. I think if we play smart we can keep this lunacy.
So what do we need to do? We'll be 3rd level soon and I'm totally willing to select spells based around making maximum use of this situation. My current thought is to prioritize Phantasmal Force as it targets the giant's (and many other creatures') worst save. But what illusion in a 10 foot cube would reliably remove the giant from combat if he were under compulsion to attack us otherwise? Or should I instead take suggestion? Less broadly useful as it requires a shared language, it targets a better but still not good save on the giant, but is a more straightforward control effect with predictable results. I know silvery barbs and have the silly OP chronurgist 2nd level ability and can make a successful save unlikely if it's a priority. Any other good options to neutralize this killer if things go wrong?
At 4th I'll probably take Enlarge / Reduce if this NPC continues to be a regular part of the team. Our world is full of underground tunnels and fortresses left over from an ancient war. A huge companion will have some limits.
At 5th, if we still have this insanity, it seems like Dispel Magic becomes a much higher priority in case we need to end an ongoing effect removing the giant from combat or fighting against us. I'm usually lower on Haste than many players with wizards, but with an ally hitting this hard, that extra attack will do a lot.
Barbarian and Monk will be taking subclasses next level. I don't know their options so well, I don't play martial characters as a general rule. Anything one of them could choose that is top-tier in general and also especially useful in this specific case?
It is only semi-difficult to find specific magic items in this game, anything common or uncommon that might help us out in an emergency, or make such an emergency less likely?
We do not have a Charisma character. The monk can persuade at +3, I'm Dhampir and I carry a little cage of rats I can vampire bite when I need a skill or initiative boost, so I can make a social roll at an ok bonus with a little prep. But social encounters are challenging for us.
Also want to think through the ramifications of the DM matching our new party strength with encounters when one member has 100 HP and does twice as much damage as our barbarian doing reckless + power attack or the monk going flurry of blows. I doubt we're gonna just be able to keep running into low level foes and turning them into a fine red mist in a single hit, we're going to start seeing strong monsters well above party level but the PCs still have normal HP for our level.
So what do we do with an ultra high payoff, pretty high risk NPC on the team who is going to draw monsters that would wipe us out without him? What do we do when the DM inevitably threatens us with him leaving us or turning on us? How do we play it safe but take advantage of this in a reliable way?

“Well, Sir, it dun started one night at the county lockup. Ya see, I had come to town fer my monthly supply trip. Per usual, once a month I hook up my old mule, Mabel, to my wagon and ride off inta town. I first stop by the dry goods store to git me sum food stuffs. Then I go by the general store to git me sum reloading supplies. Then I go by my “doctor” ta refill my prescription fer sum of that old sweet H. And of course I pick me up sum corn and sugar, and a shit-ton of sudyfed. Then, if time permits, I stop in at the whore house. As usual, my trouble on this trip began at the whore house.”
“Ya see, I had picked me out this cute little Mexican chick to bang. She took me back to her room. Once in her shagging chamber, instead of immediately takin her drawers off, she grabbed me up all tight and sed ‘I have heard talk of the Great Roy and his great sasquatch cock!’ I sed, ‘Honey, yo pussy is gonna be sore fer a week after tonight.’ Then she put a hand on my belly and started rubbing. Slowly, she worked her way downward, until she came across something hard. She sed ‘Ohhhhh... Is that a gun or are you just glad to see me?’”
“BOOM!!!! It wuz my gun. The dumb bitch got a hold of my Sig that I had stuffed in my pants and managed to cause it to discharge ... right inta her belly! She had a look of horror on her face, feeling that hot lead burning a hole through her tender flesh. I sed ‘You dumb bitch!’ Fortunately, I had not paid her yet.”
“So, I went back out to the parlor and found the Madame. I sed, ‘Shit, that dumb leaf-blower dun shot herself with my gun! Git me another whore! Right now!’ But the Madame wuz none too happy, telling me that the little Mexican chick was a good earner, and that she wuz not paid fer yet. I sed ‘I don’t gives a good fuck bout none of that. I came here to get my freak on and that wuz jest what I intend on doing.’ Well jest about them, sum old dark skinned fella named ‘Escobar’ came a’walkin in.”
“Escobar wuz apparently the dude who supplied the local Madame with whores. The Madame filled him in on what had transpired in the back room. Then Escobar turned his attention toward me. He sed ‘Senor Roy, you owe me. The cost of that whore is $5,000.00. I expect payment RIGHT NOW.’ I sed, ‘Well, shit. Let me looky see if’n I got that much on me.’ I started fishin around in my pockets, like I wuz looking fer cash. Instead, I found my lil old Smith .357 magum, which I promptly drawed.”
“BAM BAM BAM!!!! Escobar hit the floor with a THUD. Unfortunately, sum of Escobar’s associates were jest outside the door. We got into a shootout in the goddamn whore house. Once the smoke cleared, Escobar’s associates were down, as were 5 of the whores. The old Madam wuz REALLY pissed now. She got all up in Old Roy’s face about shooting up her place. That’s when I bitch-slapped her and told her she still owed me a roll in the hay.”
“Right about then I heard the police sirens blarin’. I looked at the Madam and sed ‘You dumb bitch!! Did you call the fucking fuzz on me? Then I back-handed her like she were a red headed step-child.”
“After a minute the local SWAT Team came crashing through the front door of the whore house. Now, the local SWAT Team consists of that sorry-assed, fat-fuck, old Sheriff, His Chief Deputy, Bubba, and his new deputy, Sanchez. They came a’charging in thar, guns drawn, and hollaring fer everyone to hit the floor. In fact, Old Sanchez got right up in my face, waving that lil pussy 9 milly in my face like sum kind of retarded Nick Nolte from “48 Hours”.
“Well, I snatched that lil pistol from Sanchez and pistol whipped the shit outa him with it. As I did it, Bubba stood thar with his mouth hanging open while Old Sheriff did the same. Once Sanchez wuz lyin there unconscious, Sheriff walked over to me and sed, ‘Roy! Now why did you go and do THAT?!? Sanchez is NEW on the force.”
“The Madame came running up to Sheriff telling him all sorts of shit and demanding that he arrest me. I told her to shut the fuck up. Sheriff looked back at me and asked, ‘Now, Roy, tell me what really happened here.’ Now during all this excitement, I failed to notice that Madame had a fucking taser in her hand. She stuck that fuck in my crotch and tased the shit outa my balls. Now let me tell ya something, getting tased in the nads is not at all a pleasant experience. That rat-bastard, Sanchez, came to while I wuz on the floor getting my taters fried, and handcuffed me. I ended up in the local lockup that night.”
“So thar I wuz, sitting my ass in the local jail. I wuz already planning on having a little conversation with Sheriff about this Sanchez prick. I would git my revenge fer this shit. Looking around the cell, there wuz only 1 other person in thar with me...some f#ggy looking guy in skinny-legged jeans weeping into his hands. ‘What an asshole’, I thought.”
“After a few minutes, the little f#ggy guy’s weeping turned into all-out blubbering. I yelled at him ‘SHUT THE FUCK UP!’ He simmered down a little. Then, he got up and came sat down close to me. He told me his name was ‘Eric’ and asked me what I wuz doing in jail. I told him to ‘Fuck off’. But then, I started feeling sorry fer this little asshole, clearly, he did not belong in here. I asked him what a feller like him did to get put into the county pokey.”
“In a wimpy voice, Eric sed ‘I lost my bear.’ I sed ‘lost yer bear? You a bear hunter?’ Eric sed, ‘Well, tonight I wuz. I like bears. That’s my thing... big meaty bears.’ Honestly, I wuz surprised. Old Eric looked like a f#ggy homosexual. Who knew he wuz a bear hunter!! Fer sech a little fella he must have balls the size of melons to hunt bear! Maybe this guy is ok after all.”
“I told old Eric ‘Yeah, I like me sum juicy bear meat too. They ain’t nuthin like a big old hunk of bear meat to fill ya up on a cold night.’ Eric leaned forward and sed, ‘Oh, sister! I hear you!! I mean, I have tried everything on the menu, but there is NOTHING like a BIG MEATY BEAR!’ I thought to myself, ‘Damn! This old boy really likes bear hunting!’ Hell, he’s ok in my book!”
“I went on, saying ‘I usually bear hunt with my old 30.06. What do you use?’ Eric looked at me with a coy expression on his face and sed ‘I use Trojan Magnums’. I nodded my head. I wuz not familiar with Trojan ammo. But I wuz not gonna show my ignorance in front of someone who is such an accomplished bear hunter. I just assumed it wuz one of them new, small batch, specialty ammo makers. Shit, this guy is SERIOUS!”
“I then sed, ‘Man, I sure would like to get a hold of me a big old meaty bear. It’s been a while. Shit, my mouth is watering jest thinking about it!’ Then Eric sed ‘Well, shoot, honey! Jest go down where I go! There’s plenty of bears down there.’ I thought to myself ‘HOLY SHIT!!! This guy is gonna share his honey hole with me!!! Goddamn!!! And he is a SERIOUS bear hunter too!! SHIT!! Now I’m GLAD I got pinched tonight!!’ So I looked at Eric and told him any help putting me on a bar would be much appreciated.”
“Old Eric leaned toward me and in a hushed voice he sed ‘Well, I’ve been getting very lucky down at “The Wet Noodle”. It’s a little bear spot with dancing and cocktails on Highway 92 just across the county line, just inside Mothman County.’ I admit that I wuz plum confused now. I asked ‘dancing and cocktails?’ Eric sed, ‘Oh sure, sweetheart! It’s a dive bar. Just go in there and talk to Bruce. He’s the bartender. Tell him that I sent you and that you are looking for a big old bear. He will set you up!’ I thought, ‘Oh, I get it. Eric is telling me to go talk to Bruce and he would put me on sum bears. To confirm, I asked ‘So, this Bruce fella will hook me up with some good bear huntin?’ Eric sed ‘Honey, you will have you a big bear up your ass before the end of the night!’ ‘HOT DAMN!!!’, I thought.
“About that time old Sheriff came round and told me I could leave. He wuz trying to apologize fer locking me up. I told him to shut up, that this wuz my lucky night! Then, overcome with gratitude fer my new buddy, Eric, I walked over to him and shook his hand. I sed ‘Thanky fer the lead, Eric. I am much appreciative. Look, when you get outa here, ya’ll come look me up. I take ya to do sum Sasquatch hunting.’ Eric raised his hands to his cheeks and expressed surprise. He sed, ‘OH NO!!! Thank you, Roy, but no. I’ll stick to bears. I am only so big back there!’ Goddamn!!! Eric is one SERIOUS bear hunter!! Apparently he LIVES fer bear!”
“I sed goodbye to Eric then walked out of jail. I told Sheriff I wuz gonna borrow one of his patrol cars so I could go to “The Wet Noodle”. Sheriff tried to protest. I told him I wuz taking Sanchez’s car. Sheriff sed ‘Now Roy, Sanchez is in his office writing up his report on you right now. Please don’t go down there starting no trouble. I told Sheriff ‘Not a problem. I’ll hotwire it.’ As I walked out the door Sheriff wuz telling me to be careful and to bring the car back in one piece. I flipped him off as I walked out the door.”
“I broke into Sanchez’s car, hotwired it, and was off in under 2 minutes. I noticed that there wuz Salsa music playing on the radio. ‘Fucking b#aner’, I thought. If I wuz not so amped up fer bar hunting then I would wrap this fucking car around a tree. But as it were, I headed straight to the county line.”
“After about a 30 minute drive I got to “The Wet Noodle”. I parked Sanchez’s patrol car right in the front door, then went inside. I was immediately met by sum loud technotronic music with a loud, thumping beat. It wuz real dark in thar too. Lots of wild dancing and people bumping into you. One thang fer sure: This wuz a hell of a party going on!”
“I found the bar. This well-dressed, stick boy type sashayed over and asked what I would like. I told him I was thar to see Bruce. The man behind the bar sed Bruce wuz in the back getting his dick wet. I laughed and sed ‘Well, I’ll jest wait until he’s done. How about giving me sum Wild Turkey on the rocks?’ The servant obliged.”
“I wuz a little put off bout having to wait to see Bruce whilst he wuz in the back room banging sum bitch, probably a hot little bar maid. But after a few sips of whiskey I started to relax. This joint ain’t half bad. Maybe if they dun something about the music, maybe have a Hank Williams night, and then a Waylon Jennings night, fer example, then I may come to this place on a regular basis. Hell, these old boys here are crazy as fuck!! The dudes are even dancing together! God, don’t That jest beat all!?! Ha ha ha!!!!”
“As I finished up my second whiskey this old boy wearing a sleeveless YMCA tee-shirt and cut-offs walked up to me and asked ‘Are you Roy?’ I told him that would be me. He sed he wuz Bruce and asked what he could do fer me. I sed ‘Well, ya see, I’m a bear hunter. I met this other bear hunter, Eric, who sed I should look you up. He sed you’d put me on sum them thar big bear.’”
“Bruce got all giddy. Apparently he is really into bears too. Bruce sed ‘Ohhhhh, Eric!! Yeah, child, he looooooves bear meat! Bears are the only thing Eric likes. Hee hee hee hee!’ I am thinking, ‘Damn, this Eric dude is a hardcore bear hunter.’”
“I sed to old Bruce, ‘Damn! That Eric boy sounds like a real brute! Ya wouldn’t know it from looking at him. He looks a little scrawny.’ Bruce nodded and sed ‘Yeah, that’s Eric. He can’t put a whole lot of bear meat inside of him. He uses his hands.’ I exclaimed, ‘MOTHER OF GOD!! That little old Eric bear hunts with his BARE HANDS?!?’ Old Bruce nodded.”
“I thought to myself, ‘Son of a bitch! Eric don’t look like much. Hell, I thought he wuz a little f#ggot when I first laid eyes on him. Then, to find out that he’s not only a bear hunter, but that he bear hunts with his BARE HANDS! GODDAMN! That’s one tough sumbitch!’ I was flabbergasted.”
“I turned my attention back to old Bruce, saying ‘Well looky here, Bruce, you got sum bears you can lay on me?’ Bruce thought fer a minute, then snapped his fingers and sed ‘GOT IT! Let me make a quick phone call, honey!’ I thought to myself ‘Honey’?!? Ha ha ha!!! These guys are funnier than watching a Down’s Syndrome kid trying to do algebra!”
“In about 15 minutes old Bruce was back. He told me that he had a ‘big old bear’ ready fer me. He sed, ‘Now what you want to do, Roy, is to take the road out back. It goes about a quarter mile back into the woods then dead ends. Your big bear will be back there waiting on you! We call this bear “Jackhammer”. He will give you a REAL pounding!’”
“I thought to myself, ‘Holy fuck.. “Jackhammer”!’ Bruce sed ‘It’s all set up, honey. You best be off. You don’t want to leave your bear waiting! You need anything before you go?’ I thought fer a minute. Then I remember what Eric sed about his bear loads. I asked Bruce ‘You got any them thar Trojan Magnums?’ Bruce smiled, leaned down and sed ‘Honey pie, just use your hands.’”
“I thunk ‘SON OF A BITCH!! These motherfuckers are sum shore nuff hardcore tough sumbitches!’ I headed out. I got in my stolen police cruiser and looked around fer a gun suitable fer shootin a bear. That rotten rat-fink, Sanchez, had him a Ruger Mini-14 in thar, and that wuz it. This wuz shit fer bear hunting, so I jest decided to go with the .44 magum I wuz carrying on my hip.”
“Well, Sir, I started off down that little road out back of “The Wet Noodle” and headed into the woods. It wuz dark and spooky in thar. Frankly, it looked like a hook-up spot fer queers. I wuz keeping my eyes peeled fer that big old bear.”
“I reached the end of the road and there wuz a goddamn Toyoter Prius parked there. Boy, this pissed me off something fierce! That sumbitch wuz back in here fucking up my hunt! I swerved over, intending to park, get out, and kick that sumbitch’s ass fer scaring off my big old bear. Then, all of a sudden, this great big old Sasquatch stepped outa the woods and onto the road! It was a MONSTER!! This was an unexpected development!”
“This goddamn Bigfoot were a good 13 feet tall er better. Fer sum reason is wuz pissed off, BIG TIME. That fucker walked over to that Prius and flipped it over. Then it started raping that poor car! It wuz a sight I’ll never ferget. That goddamn Sasquatch must of had a pecker made of steel.”
“I then heard screaming coming from inside the flipped Prius. There wuz, indeed, someone inside. This raised an ethical dilemma fer me. Should I high-tail it outa thar since I wuz undergunned fer a Bigfoot of this size, or should I attempt to help my fellow man? I opted fer helping my fellow man.”
“What I did wuz lock the parking brake, floored the gas pedal, and swung that patrol car around with a sweet drift. When I got even with the winders on that Prius, I stopped and lowered my winder. Now that great big old Sasquatch did not seem to mind; it jest kept right on fucking that Prius. The man inside the Prius saw me. I yelled at him ‘Sorry about this, Buddy, but I couldn’t sleep tonight knowing I had left a fellow man out here in these woods to be ripped to pieces by a Sasquatch.’ I then took aim with my .44 magum and blew half the guy’s head off. BOOM!!!!”
“I floored it! The beast slapped the patrol car as I sped by, breaking out the rear winder. But lookin in the rear view mirror, I seen that the monster went back to raping the Prius. I got back to “The Wet Noodle” and jest kept on a’going. Those motherfuckers in thar are jest too fucking tough and crazy fer my taste!”
“Driving home I thought about that asshole in the Prius. ‘Poor guy’, I thought. But at least he died in a humane way. It wuz funny how one minute I wuz gonna probably beat that guy to death fer running off my bar, then I performed an act of mercy on him. ‘Oh well’, I thought, ‘Fuck him!’”

First/Previous/Next
I’s but a boy and no higher than a mule’s ass when I fell in alongside the others in the shotgun infantry because I couldn’t ride a mount for the life of me and besides, whenever there was wreckage up the way or somewhere we couldn’t get a wagon through, I’d slip ahead and function just as well as any scout in my quick footwork. The Rednecks (called so much because of the kerchiefs we displayed around our throats) were a marching group that I was born into—there’d at one time been such companies that traversed the wastes besides the wizards. That was before Baphomet or Leviathan or even Mephisto; this was when the demons we’d come across were of lowly intelligence or manageable strength. That is not to say that there were never any close calls in those days—after all, the demon armies that’d come so long before had taken the world, but still a human could scratch by and sometimes even bands of us would take up arms, march in the dens of those blasphemous creatures, and deal with them in the ways we knew how. The day I’d been given the long gun, Jackson had not been so eager to do so because I think he was my father and he always had a certain warmth and he’d taken me in as a son, but I never knew for sure or even asked. It was in the way that I’d sometimes catch him watching me from the corner of my eye whenever I was feeding the hounds or cleaning around camp, and that’s how I’d come at guessing he was my dad—it was that and his affections that’d be rare and foreign in the company.
The Rednecks marched the eastern United States in the days with more towns and even in that time there was a hope among them that this too should pass as all other historical calamities, but the eve of destruction was upon us (maybe it was always). No one remembered dates in our company so I couldn’t say when my birthday was and so I don’t know how old I ever was in my life, but that didn’t matter because an adult was so when they were given their weapon and pushed to the fore. We were warriors for God and some would comment on how we’d tricked ourselves, because sometimes, camped on roadsides or even in downtowns when allowed, we’d erect that great big wooden crucifix that Sibylle kept along with her things and we’d kneel and pray on the ground and it was good—for all of those I’ve witnessed bonding themselves in their religion, damning themselves or others because of their bodies, our religion (not so much old-time as the song goes) seemed to set us free. As much as we concerned ourselves in those prayers, it was that we were the image of God, and so should do God’s work. So, we did.
The company marched north in the foothills of the Appalachians with those great dead and brown mountains on their lefthand then they’d lodge in Charlottesville for a time and then cross over the range and march south with the mountains on their lefthand again till they reached midway through Tennessee and then they’d cut southwest and touch with Marietta before heading northeast then north again. It was a cyclical patrol they took and it just so happened that Sibylle was pregnant all those years ago on the verge of a swing up north and that’s how I came into this world in one of those old canvas tents, the first sights probably dirt and whatever rags that’d been gathered around; some of those in the company told me that Sibylle had squatted, dropped me clear on my head then remounted her horse and ordered everyone else to carry on—she was strong, but I always took that as a folk story anyway.
The story goes that Sibylle took many men to her tent—women too when the mood so pleased her—and so it could’ve been any number of the men in the company that was my father, but I really like to think it was Jackson.
The woman wasn’t ever looked down on for it—her promiscuity was seen as a strength if nothing else and besides she wasn’t married—it took me growing up to understand she’d went on with a persona to do the things she did. She was the first to fight, the last out of a bad situation, and whatever nonsense a man might give her, she’d return with near immediate violence. She was a hard woman, but not without kindnesses in her own way. Maybe the world did it to her, or it could’ve been the fighting, or it could’ve been any number of other things—it would do no good to speculate over a dead person like that. What I do know is that stories would permeate whenever we’d sit around trash wood fires and people did speculate her motives. She wore a cowboy hat and a pistol across the front of her pants so that the holster swung between her thighs, and she was missing her left eye—over the socket was a brown leather patch tailored in Charlottsville. My mother—if that is what she should be called—spat, drank, fought, spoke gruffly, and was business until nighttime. Given the nature of her, the stories around those fires would come and oftentimes the questioning over her missing eye would enter circulation; some said it was thumbed out of her skull by a scorned lover and yet others guessed it was a demon that got it. No one ever knew for certain because she never offered an explanation, and I was never told.
As far as I know, the woman weened me quick as a babe and then I was out of her tent and among the company; this is where Jackson took me on and mentored me; my first words—I don’t recall what they were—were said to him. When I was still much too small to even help sufficiently with chores, I remember he’d tell me stories from books, and it wasn’t long until Jackson was teaching me the letters and the words they formed; his recital was dim in the tent at night whenever he’d pitch an elbow alongside my sleeping bag on the floor and lay there and read to me by the light of a candle. I’d fall to sleep quick, but he never seemed to mind; more than once I woke before him and the candle would still be going, and the book would be placed beside him on a small table and at some point, in the night, he would’ve thrown an arm across me.
The childhood I had in the company was shorter than others, but for the moments it had, I do cherish. I learned to read which is more than most and I learned the self-sufficiency that came from such a life, but that’s not exactly so accurate; for all the skills they’d given me, self-sufficiency was hardly a bother in those times I patrolled the Appalachians with them. It’s not like anything else. It was family in the way that I trusted each of them—every single one. And as I grew up, we’d sleep sometimes three or five to a tent so that I’d never worry because there were always warm bodies beside me. Warm bodies that’d fight for me just as I’d for them. If it came to it, we would die for one another, because our goal of ridding the scourge was greater than any one of our lives. So, we believed, and maybe we were right.
Or maybe we were fools; some of the townsfolk or merchants or travelers we’d occasionally converse with had no qualms in telling us so. It wasn’t that we were ever contracted to take out demons, so oftentimes we’d be given flak in our endeavors. A town would be just as likely to look at us pitiably as they would be to offer us refuge or meals and sometimes, we’d accept supplies that were offered freely, but it didn’t matter because we did what we did for ourselves and it wouldn’t matter the reserves we had—the only time the company was threatened outright by humans were the events in which we attempted to conscript others; the conscripts were plentiful, but many townsfolks did not care for us taking their citizens. Parents cursed us for leading their children astray, city leaders decried us for depleting their populace, but there was always more ready to take up the righteous cause. In the time when I started the fight, our numbers fluctuated gently above or below the cusp of a hundred.
Then I had a brother too, during a time before I’d been put to the company’s task of demon-slaying he was born, but I think biologically we only ever shared Sibylle; even still when the boy was ushered on by her, Jackson took him to raise as well and the boy was handsomer and smarter than I’d been, but there was little jealousy I had for him. His name was Billy and as years went by, he shared the face of another man in our company—John. It’s doubtful that John ever made a claim on my brother—there was none I ever knew of anyway—but not a soul among us seemed outwardly affronted by the bohemian arrangement of our family. John in question was a like many of the men in our company, aloof and his origins were from a land I didn’t know from the south; I’d heard it said a few times that when he’d enlisted years prior, his name before was Juan and the others among the gang took to calling him John; if it bothered him, he never showed it—what he cared about most was the guitar he kept with him wherever he went. Some naked black nights among the rocky hills, around the trash wood fires, he would serenade the gathered crowd in Spanish song, and I never knew the words, but his voice was always slow and never loud and it was only once the company procured a cache of liquors that he’d call for his guitar and someone would bring it, and no one complained; often times a person might glimpse the sway of those gathered, lilting sitting silhouettes listening against the darker shadows beyond.
I’d been given the gun and put to the sole mission and quickly fell in with John because he led the infantrymen and with me being the newest as well as the youngest, the hazing began immediately; I didn’t know how to walk a straight line or keep up with anyone else (never mind I had half the stride of a man then) and any time I’d tidy my pack, I’d find my gear strewn on the ground and the deflated bag resting atop it like a blanket.
My feet ached and John shouted, “Vamanos!” So, I vamanosed at the rear of the pack. We were marching ahead of the wagons and the others, and we’d just left a small trading unit on our trek up I-85, beyond Marietta but not quite across what’d once been Lake Hartwell; some of the maps read okay but many of the roads were hard travelling with their uprisen destruction and the strange weeds we saw from time to time that sprouted from cracks like twisted decaying yellow fingers. The roads could be hard travelling on whatever vehicles we had and so the infantrymen would be sent ahead to be sure the way was clear. The traders we’d met further south on I-85 said there was a nest somewhere and they’d given the place a wide berth and we’d walked so far ahead of the company I was certain the traders were stupid or liars as the road beyond seemed empty and clear save the dead rust buckets lining each shoulder that’d long since been pushed or towed from the way. Just as I’d thought so, John came to a halt at the front and knelt and withdrew a scope to gaze ahead and gave a brief signal for all others to go low.
Twenty people knelt there on the broken asphalt and I was among them, at the rear as it was my first bit of action, so I saw them exchanging glances to one another while John peered through the scope and many of their faces were not much older than mine and one of them lifted a ball cap from his head and steam rolled off his short kept hair before he scooped the cap back over his crown, holding it by the bill. “You smell that?” asked the young girl next to him.
“Stinks,” someone said.
The young man with the cap finally muttered, “Oh, I know that smell.” He then removed his pack and began fighting with it.
John whispered, “Masks!” The word hissed through his teeth, and he was quick to put on his gas mask and did so with an expertise greater than anyone else present. He took his scattergun from the strap on his shoulder and pulled from his knees onto his heels.
The mask was difficult to see through, and hot with the sun coming on us the way it was, and I shifted around for my peripherals were consumed by the blackness therein. There were few less quick on the draw than I and one of them was the boy with the cap; he’d dropped his hat and was still attempting to yank the strap of the mask free from the pack he’d thrown between his knees; he had the filter end out and was pulling hard and panicked while the head straps remained stuck on some piece of equipment within the recesses of the bag. John crept near the boy, gun held like a mop by his side and tore the mask free from the bag before punching the boy lightly in the chest with the hand that held the mask; the man let the mask fall to the boy’s lap. The boy scrambled to slide into it and John watched over us, returning to his position at the fore and I saw the creatures scratching across the road up the way, raised grotesquely swollen heads sloppily rolling on their small bodies.
“Mutants,” said the young man once the mask was over his face; his cap lay on the ground, shorn from his head.
All readied their guns, so I took mine and saw that some reached for sidearms then shifted across either side of the road at John’s motioning requests. We took to the sides, hiding among the bulwark of jalopies and I stuck near the rear of the group, sidling down against the wheel of a van and peeked around the corner to spy on the creatures drawing nearer. Gas expelled from their heads then reflated and I can not say who it was that fired first, all I know is that the maelstrom of bullets that followed was deafening; expertly the company pincered the creatures, taking careful aim and ending each. Chlorine gas erupted from the manmade holes in the creatures’ heads and their bodies laid in the road, flat and grotesque in the yellowing fluids that ejaculated from their wounds.
John moved forward and began taking his sidearm to those demons that still pushed on a limb or trembled with life and the others knew the drill and began doing the same and I crept from my hiding spot behind the van, partially in awe at the quick organization and partially ashamed for never having fired my weapon. I took to the crowd of demons and began firing my own weapon at any potential among their blasphemous ranks and in minutes the crowd of fart heads (I’d not yet heard that nickname) were as dead as could be.
The Chlorine gas dissipated and some of the infantry began removing their masks and the young man who’d had difficulties with his mask prior now kept it protruding off his forehead like a horn and he was smiling as were the others and I felt my hands shaking; the recoil of the shotgun could’ve been to blame, but I think it was an introduction to new terror, the possibility of mortality—of my own mortality.
John removed his mask and joined the crew of us there in a knot among the unmoving demons and he rummaged through his coat and removed a small cigar, lit it from a match, then placed it in the corner of his mouth. “Coño,” he spoke to me, and I knew that word, “Why are you so scared? I see you shaking. What’s gotten under your skin?” His smile was playful and then the others joined in teasing me and from there on, I promised to steel my nerves forevermore, knowing I’d break it anyway.
So it would be that before the rest of our jolly band arrived on the scene, the scouts would push on in fewer numbers and John specifically asked for me to accompany them.
Moving from the south were the others and their blots became more focused on their arrival and ahead of them all was Sibylle riding the aged painted stallion; beyond her were wagons and jury-rigged vehicles and walkers too, and I thought I could just make out the gas-powered caleche Jackson drove for the plumes of smoke it sent from its exhaust.
“There’s a nest ahead we should clear,” said John, dead in tone and shouldering the strap of the shotgun.
The young man, still with his mask clasped to his forehead, searched the muck, and found the hat he’d lost. “Smells somethin’ awful.” He made a face.
A handful of us moved ahead, perhaps six of us, and left the others to meet the rest of our crew.
The young man, now carrying the gas mask by his fingers lackadaisically with his shotgun in the crook of his elbow, fell in alongside me. “Name’s Gibby. You?”
“Harlan.”
“Nice to meet’cha, Harlan. You’re one of Sibylle’s aint you?”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Well sure, you hang with that mechanic all day. What’s his name?”
“Jackson.”
“That’s the one. He’s good with his hands, but I hear he’s a lame shot.” There was quiet among us as we took the road further, each of us kicking up loose asphalt or snagging boots along those weird weeds; John was in the front, three others in the middle—they jabbered among themselves—and me and Gibby there at the back. The sky was azure, and the clouds were white as cotton and drifted overhead like there wasn’t an issue with the world. A flock of birds took across in a lopsided formation and upon either side of the road and beyond were dead woods without leaves, naked and gray and tired seeming. “Don’t take none of what that old guy said about you. I mean, don’t let it go to your heart. You know?”
“I wasn’t.”
“He’s just a real tough sonofabitch. I’ve been with the company,” Gibby’s eyes traced the sky overhead like he figured the math invisible before his eyes, “Three years or so and he’s a good one. He’s saved me so many times I’ve lost track.” The young man grinned, and I saw he was missing a few teeth. “You saw what happened with that mask of mine. He might talk hard, but he’s soft in there.”
“I guess.”
“You didn’t ever shoot anything moving before today, did you?”
“I shot a feral hound some time ago.”
Gibby looked on with mild surprise, “Did you? Wasn’t a good dog, was it? Like a pet?”
I shook my head.
“It gets easier with time—the scouts and the ones in the infantry always crack up and try to take potshots at the newcomers. You’re green so don’t let it get you down.”
“Alright.”
“Never seen a nest, have you?”
“Nope.
“Well, you’re in for something.”
John froze in his step and traced his eyes across the ground before turning to us and calling us to gather. Marked across the dilapidated road were yellowed smatterings of liquid; chlorine hung in the air. “Masks,” he whispered, “Guns ready.” Each of us subordinates did as was ordered. He pushed us near the trash wood off the road, past an overturned emptied trailer, and as we pushed through the median where a thin and vacant forest grew sickly, there was another road just beyond, just as poor, and further still there was a hole the size of a well on the far side of that newly seen road and we hushed along, following John’s lead and we went crouching in the shadow of him, keeping mind of noise. He motioned me forward in the line and the sound emanating from the pit was liquid and nauseating.
“Yes?” I asked as I came nearest to him, hunkered as low as I could be.
“Ever use a grenade?”
I shook my head and unease swelled but I pushed it away.
He took the round object from his belt and passed it to me. “There’s a pin. Pull the pin. Throw the grenade in that hole. It’s that simple.”
I moved to the edge of the hole, teeth bared from within my mask, fingers wrapped hard around the grenade, and I came to the edge and was immediately struck by a sudden lurch of vertigo as it went further into the earth than I could’ve imagined—the creatures clung to the walls of the tunnel, fat heads opening for the gas to spill forth from their ridged cloacal maws. I teetered on the tips of my toes and the air was thin and the lens of the mask through which I saw the world became fogged from the gas that erupted from the impossibly deep pit. There, just beyond those wretched things, I felt as though there was a light in the darkness breathing up at me like the earth and stone beneath was alive.
Ripping the pin from the grenade, I held it outstretched and dropped the thing; it went bouncing from to and fro within the hole and I was dazed and could not pull away.
Two hands yanked me from there just as I’d gone blind in the gas and the explosion erupted, sending a vibration beneath our feet. John ushered me away and the others followed, and I dared a glance over my shoulder to see the earth open then close and the tunnel fell in on itself—one of those things had clamored to the opening only to touch the ground with a near human palm before being sucked beneath. The ground encircling the hole fell in as did a portion of road and once it was done, there was a massive dip in the earth there, a testament to what was.
We took up along the tree line of dead vegetation, and I was still staring at the place the nest had been, dust coming to a fog around our knees and John barked out, “Keep your eyes sharp—see if there’s any stragglers.” There weren’t any left, but we took up a formation, sweeping the area; Gibby whispered something and kicked a rock and John flinched at the noise, giving the young boy an expression.
The nest had been cleared and we awaited the arrival of the others on the open road in a semicircle fashion, maintaining a level of apprehension at any potential threat—once the rest of the convoy had arrived at our location, we fell in alongside them and I took a moment to find Jackson; he was there in the caleche alongside Billy who sat over on his side in the throes of a good nap with his face in his hand—smoke bellowed up from the rear of Jackson’s contraption so that an open spot formed in the convoy for no one wanted to catch a face full of the black fumes. I began walking alongside the wagon’s slow pace.
“How was it?” asked Jackson.
“Scary,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said, “It’s always scary. Did you kill anything?”
“I did.”
“Good. If you keep doing that, you’ll be just fine.”
“John’s something.”
“He is. But you’d do well to keep on his good side. He’s tough, but competent.”
We moved on the rest of the day till the sun threatened darkness by horizon clouds and we took up camp just on the edge of Lake Hartwell—though by that time it was hardly a lake and looked shallow enough to be a nothing more than a decorative reflective pool.
The convoy unpacked canvas tents, took to burning stews over butane eyes and lighting lanterns and meager fires and John pulled me aside in the fray of passersby and told me that if I were to ever hesitate with an explosive like that again, he’d kick me into the hole and save everyone the trouble. I merely nodded at him and he took on towards the front of the convoy where Sibylle would be and my troupe of scouts was disbanded and I aided Jackson in folding out the rear of our wagon and we put on supper while Billy, still small and talkative, rummaged through the larder boxes I removed from the caleche and the boy, mischievous, found the jar of sugar we kept and began excavating the granular powder with his fingers and lathering his tongue with it and grinning; I stepped after him and snagged the jar from him, returning the cap over the container.
“Hey!” said Billy.
“We’ve only got so much.”
“So? We can get more.”
A warm smile overtook me then, “You plan on paying for it?”
“Sure. I’ll pay you back.”
“Of course, you would. How about until you’ve got enough money, you don’t eat all the sugar, huh?” I asked him.
A thought dawned over him, “It was your first patrol! Did you shoot anything? Did you powpow them?”
“Come help,” I moved over to Jackson where the man was cutting the bad parts from potatoes and I began at them with my own knife and Billy sat on the ground at our feet, playing with the bits that fell from our knives.
“Did you kill monsters?”
“Shh,” said Jackson, “Don’t bother Harlan.”
“I can talk about it,” I said.
Jackson frowned, “Alright.”
“What were they like?” asked Billy.
“There were dragons and shadow monsters and more,” I laughed.
“Were there, really?”
“Sure.” I laughed and dropped a potato into our pot broth.
Jackson pointed his knife not in anger, “Don’t joke about dragons.”
“Do dragons exist?” asked Billy.
“You just don’t joke about them, okay?” said Jackson.
“Have you ever seen them? Tandy and Tubs says they’re made up.”
“Well,” said Jackson, sending his own potato into the broth, “They’re right then.”
We ate a mess of watery stew—potatoes and onions and cloves of half-good garlic was what was left for hearty prep and in the night, after we’d finished our meal and washed our utensils and taken to the tent, Billy found the play gun that Jackson had made for him from scrounged scrap metal and pointed it at me and told me that he’d shoot me and I laughed and wrestled the gun from his little hands, putting him into a headlock and tossing the metal piece to the dirt floor of the tent.
“Quit playing—s’time for bed,” Jackson told us and although I was too old for it, Jackson read a story to Billy and I listened and I think Jackson knew I was listening because he’d periodically hesitate a page turn and look over to see me in my bedroll still awake; the story was old and it was about a man named Don that liked to read books and the man wanted to be a knight, but he had it all wrong.
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This is officially part 1 of the Exchange Program Shenanigans final arc.
Yeah, we have maybe two or three more chapters until this whole thing is over. I really don't know what I'm going to do after that. Trust me, though, the finale is gonna go crazy. I've been in the kitchen, now you just gotta let me cook.
CW: crazy banger action sequence, drug use, not quite a die hard, evil jelim😈
Memory Transcription Subject: Jackson Kern, UN-Venlil Interspecies Liaison
Date (standardized human time): September 21, 2136
Now, I wouldn't go so far as to say I was a vengeful man. On the contrary, I could be really forgiving if someone actually did deserve it. Hell, I even forgave a few people who didn't deserve it. Or maybe they did. I wasn't exactly an expert on the philosophical quandaries regarding morality and the meaning thereof. Neither was I an expert on 'The Philosophical Quandaries Regarding Morality and the Meaning Thereof', which was a textbook I had to read in English class.
Anyway, back to the point.
I was not a vengeful man. I would never throw a fist out of anger, I would never fire a shot in rage, hell, the worst beatings I gave when I got mad were to my punching bag back home. Don't get me wrong, I could still cause a lot of damage, but I just didn't see the reason to. My left hook was pretty nasty, yeah, but it wouldn't do shit against a tax form or a burnt waffle or a failed PR on bench.
What it did work on, however, were shitheads. Especially shitheads of the armed variety, and especially especially shitheads of the small and flimsy variety. Like Karelim, for that matter.
Well, he would probably shoot me if I decked him. And Vrapic would definitely shoot me. And I don't think I'd ever love Jelim if she wouldn't at least draw her gun. So that's a hard pass.
Okay, maybe it wouldn't work on that one particular shithead. That was fine, because there was absolutely no particular lack of shitheads around that it would work on. Like terrorists, for example. I was goddamn surrounded by terrorists.
Behind me, or below me if we wanted to get technical, the Extermination Guild had gathered up every shithead it could find to storm the Federation Tower like they were doing a raid on Bin Laden. In front of me, or above me if we still wanted to be technical, the Predator Guard had also gathered up every shithead it could find to all get fucking massacred by me and my shithead buddies.
So, really, I was surrounded by shitheads. My nasty left hook was going to get a lot of work in today.
Oh, shit, barricade up ahead.
I turned a corner into what looked like an office-type place, and people started shooting at me. Not very accurately, thank god, but they were still shooting at me and that made them shitheads. And, while my left hook did work really well against shitheads, there was one thing in my hands that somehow worked even better.
A shotgun.
I barreled through the hail of gunfire, coming from a few Venlil grunts hiding behind some sort of makeshift barricade, and opened up with my automatic shotgun. It was loaded with armor-piercing slugs, powerful enough to punch through most materials, and it ripped straight through any cover these Venlil had.
All in all, I think I cleared that room in five seconds. Nobody was even left by the time I got to bash through the barricade with sheer Jack Kern muscle power, which was a real shame. It would've been nice to have got that on video.
One of them did shoot me, by the way. They weren't all losers. But, thankfully, I was wearing Class III armor plate and so his shitty .22 felt like being punched in the chest instead of dying of a bullet wound. It still hurt, but I've had worse. Being shot was definitely worse.
So, technically, they've had worse too. I looked around, kicking a few of the bodies. Yep, they're dead. Sucks to suck. Maybe, next time, they could try not being terrorists? Then I looked up, staring into the metallic eye of a security camera. Damn. I got that shit on video.
They were probably watching me through it. Good. That was good. Now, I wasn't a vengeful man, but I had seen what they did to Jelim. I had seen what they did to a lot of other people, and I was pissed about that too, but they didn't matter. Not like her.
I was not a vengeful man, nor was I one of those 'touch her and die' edgelords who were all probably 125 pounds soaking wet, but these people had put someone I loved in the goddamn hospital.
Heval was going to die today. The second I got my hands on him, he was going to die, and I needed him to know it. I looked dead in the eyes of the shithead behind the security screen. I roared. Pure killer rage, fueled by my anger at the lives they had ruined. "Bring me Heval!"
Nothing. I didn't even know if that camera picked up audio. I raised my shotgun and blew it into scrap metal.
Then I started running again. Heval might not have even been in the building, but his minions were. And the more of them I cleared out, the less were left to fight the exterminators who were coming up behind me.
Not that I liked the exterminators, of course, but I figured it was just common courtesy to kill terrorists for them.
Killing evil people will never not be good. It's a corollary of the 'Always Punch Nazis' principle.
I cleared another corner, no guards this time, and I found an elevator. Yeah, no. No way I'm taking that. It was probably a death trap. Besides, taking the stairs will get me some good cardio for the day.
I had already cleared through most of the barricades on this level, anyway. I took a detour to the nearest stairwell and started climbing. Okay, Jack, let's do this. I looked at the wall. Floor seventeen out of 205. Damn. I'm getting in a lot of cardio today, aren't I?
Well, better get to it. These stairs won't climb themselves.
I was on floor sixty-one when I noticed something very peculiar rolling down the stairs in front of me.
Oh, shit.
That's a grenade.
I picked it up and threw it at the wall, like a dumbass. I jumped backwards and down ten steps of stairs, like a dumbass. I landed on my ass, which hurt like hell, like even more of a dumbass.
But I was alive, so I clearly wasn't that much of a dumbass. The grenade exploded, which was loud as fuck, but it didn't explode anywhere near me. That was the important part.
I got up, shook off the dust from the explosion, and pointed my shotgun upward. "Missed me!"
About five floors up, a Venlil head peeked out over the railing. Dumbass. You took the bait. I shot him. Or her, really. I could never tell with these people.
Somebody started screaming. That was a typical reaction to being shot, and an even more typical reaction to having your friend get shot. I started climbing. I had shitheads to kill.
"Oh, I'm coming for your ass! Just you wait!" Somebody else peeked over the railing, this time with a gun, and I shot him too. Damn. You'd think they learned their lesson after the first guy, but no. These people should not be allowed to breed.
Two more terrorists popped out, also with guns, and I decided that these people were subscribers to the 'If all you have is a hammer...' school of problem solving. I, thankfully, did not have a hammer. I had a shotgun.
They opened fire, hitting me in the chest and head and all the other areas where I had put on body armor, which was good because I had on body armor there. I also opened fire, and they also had body armor, but I had a shotgun. Shotguns and body armor did not mix.
I held down the trigger, spray-and-praying into the armed gunmen three or so floors above me. It looked like I got them, which was fine by me, so I resumed my Sisyphean task of climbing up the Federation Tower stairs.
I was about one floor below them when they started shooting me again. Assholes. Or, more specifically, just asshole singular. The other guy was dead. This one asshole was smart, and I had to give him credit for it, but smarts didn't do him any good against my body armor.
He put two rounds into my chest plate, which tanked the beating like a champ, but it still hurt like a bitch and I still got knocked down from it. I shot back, of course, but it still hurt like a bitch to get shot. It was even worse for the other guy, on account of him having crappy body armor.
Well, that's the end of that.
I started hustling up the stairs again, dodging grenades and fighting terrorists along the way. Yes, I could have swept the entire building and softened up the resistance that way, but it was a really big building and I really didn't have the time for all that.
I got to around the two hundredth floor when I finally figured 'yeah, fuck it'. This was where the security control complex was, after all, and I thought I could do some real good if I cut off the head of the snake.
Three... two... one... boo-yah!
I kicked in the door, firing off a burst from my shotgun as I stepped to the side and collapsed. I was looking at a corridor, and that corridor was filled to the brim with armed terrorists. A full ten dudes with automatic weapons started shooting at me, making the doorway a very not good place to stand in. That was why I had stepped to the side.
Even still, I wasn't perfect, and they shot me way too many times. Even if my body armor did make me a walking tank, that shit still hurt!
I got domed once, rattling around my brain and leaving a dent in my helmet. That was not good. I got hit in the chest three times, and I think I broke a rib from that last bullet. That was also not good, but I could just tough that shit out for now.
Broken bones never stopped me before, well, except for all those times when they did.
One bullet hit me in the leg, nothing vital there, but that was also not good because it hurt like a bitch. And, to add injury to more injury, somebody else had shot me straight in the family jewels. That really hurt like a bitch.
Yep. Jelim is not gonna like that one.
I didn't like it either. Believe it or not, I was down for the count and I probably wasn’t getting back up for a while now. Oh, fuck it. I reached in my utility belt. May as well. I pulled out a hypodermic injector, wiggled it underneath the Kevlar fabric protecting my neck, and pressed hard on the injection button. Oh, yeah, that's the shit.
Stimulant drugs coursed through my veins. The pain in my rib faded to a dull ache. The dull aches everywhere else disappeared. My aim got sharper, my eyes got better, and my reaction time got faster, all at the cost of a very increased risk of cancer. It was why I never really used the things. Still, cancer or not, this is still the shit! God damn, it's effective!
I poked my shotgun around the corner and started firing blind until the shooting at the other end stopped. Then I reloaded, and I fired a few more blind shots just in case. I really didn't want to get shot where the sun don't shine again.
Finally, I peeked around the corner. There were still a few guys left hiding near the back of the corridor, behind crates or walls or other things of that nature, but everybody else had officially been taken off the census list. They probably had families, and those families would probably miss them, but that was hardly my problem.
You see, when you become a psychopath terrorist murderer who works for a corrupt judge and his crazy assassin, dying on the job is kind of the risk you have to take. Not my problem.
I waited for the Venlil at the back to peek out of cover, and then I started shooting. It wasn't really that hard, more like an execution than a gunfight, but they 100% deserved it so who was I to complain? They were all in body armor too. Where in the hell are they getting this stuff? Venlil don't make this shit.
That was a problem, but it could be solved later. Right now, I had to deal with the now problems. Like, for example, the terrorists. I checked all the dead bodies, which were, in fact, dead bodies, and then I got on my merry way to the security center.
Now, this building was big. And I mean big. Like, really big. It was so big that, if I was an immature sixth grader, I would probably have compared it to one of the places I got shot in earlier. But I wasn't, so I didn't.
Because this place was so damn big, I quickly realized that I had no idea where I was. The terrorists had taken down all the signs. It took me way too much time spent combing the facility to realize that I had no idea where I was even going.
Oh. Shit. I'm lost. Now, where the hell is my map?
I was standing in a large room that might've been an executive dining hall or something of that nature, except now it was filled with the dead bodies of at least five well-armed terrorists. Wait, no, six. I forgot about the sniper. Really, they got exactly what was coming to them. Who brings a sniper to an indoors gunfight?
I was surrounded on three sides by walls with doors, the far one being an elevator, and above me there was a skylight that wrapped around the fourth side to create a massive wall-roof window. This was definitely where all the Venlil fat cats ate.
I heard a ding, and I saw movement at the top of the elevator doors. Somebody was going up. Exterminators? Backup would be nice.
They were going up from the 145th floor. Definitely not exterminators. Terrorists, then. I can handle more terrorists. I loaded up my shotgun and got into cover behind one of the wrecked barricades. Their guns were weaker than mine, so I figured it would hold.
150... 160... 170... I leveled my gun at the elevator door, the window directly behind me, and I cast sideways glances at the two regular doors. 180...190... Both of the doors got kicked down all at once in what I assumed was a variation on a three-pronged ambush. It was smart, I'd give them that, but I saw it coming so it clearly wasn't a very good ambush.
Plus, the elevator still had a few seconds to travel. Great plan, sloppy execution. I took aim and started firing.
There were around a dozen terrorists, maybe eighteen, swarming into the room like their guns could actually scratch my armor plate. I opened up with my shotgun, drowning out the light pops of their automatic fire with the deep, heavy, powerful thuds of shotgun slugs. The recoil kicked like a mule, but I could handle it. I always handled it.
There were sixteen terrorists, by my count. By the time the elevator doors opened, there were only thirteen. Then six huge fucking Gojids stepped out, clad in heavy riot gear and toting badass machine guns, and I knew I was in for the shit.
A big gun doesn't make a big man, Jack. You know that.
Well, yeah, but it does shoot a big man really well. Hell, they're about to prove my point!
Twelve terrorists now, besides the Gojids. I fired twice into the wall of muscle and ceramics in front of me, dropping two, but the other four showed me four of their very good friends who all made very persuasive arguments as to why I should hide behind cover. So, naturally, I did. It's hard not to do that when you're getting shot at with machine guns.
I kept firing, sweeping my automatic in a wide arc as I stumbled toward a more defensible position behind a thick table. I leapt over it, catching a bullet in the ass cheek in the process, but I had armor there too so I was fine.
Well, fine in the shooty sense. God damn that stings!
After that, I got into a good shooting stance and started firing. There were only around fifteen terrorists left in total now, four with the heavy guns, so I focused on those. Unfortunately, they had really good cover and they also had really good body armor, so I couldn't actually drop any of them.
So, naturally, I started shooting the mooks. I started with the closest ones to me, because they had a better firing angle and they were easiest to hit, and I worked my way back from there. My shotgun barrel was actually heating up from how much shooting I was doing, but it worked. By the time the gun clicked empty, I had only ten terrorists left to kill.
God, man, sometimes you wonder why they keep trying. I mean, I've already killed, like, half of their friends, so why don't they just give up at some point? Do they really think Shitty Venlil Goon #127 is going to fare any better than Shitty Venlil Goon #126?
Apparently, they did. I ducked behind the table, threw away my empty magazine, and reached for another drum to reload with. Except I had a problem. I was out of drum magazines. Shit!
I still had my pistol, a loaded .45, but that only had six shots to it and there were ten dudes I had to shoot. Well, damn. I guess I'd better make them count.
I took out another hypodermic injector. My last combat stim. Oh, fuck it. Cancer when you're fifty is better than bullet holes right now. I injected that shit like a junkie behind a 7-11 dumpster, I drew my .45 revolver out, and I got to fucking work.
One guy was out of cover. POP! They would need a closed casket for this one. Another wasn't hidden enough to be safe, and I shot him too. Two down. Four more shots, eight more guys.
All of the other guys were now in cover, and not shooting at me, so I seized the opportunity. My .45 could probably pierce the big dudes' body armor, so I'd have to save my last four rounds for them. But there were four other dudes left, and I couldn't waste ammo on those, so I needed a different plan.
I jumped over the table I had been using as cover, dove for the nearest dead guy, and grabbed his gun. I scrambled to my feet, launching myself at where I thought someone was hiding with the strength only a man on combat drugs could have, and tackled the shithead to the ground as he got up.
I rolled, grabbing his gun and ripping it away from his body. I wrenched him up by his throat, using his body as a human shield as I executed his nearest friend. After that, I snapped his neck with both hands and threw his body at the next guy. God damn these combat drugs are strong! This can not be healthy to use.
The body fell short, but it didn't matter since I had a gun. I shot that motherfucker, and I put a burst into the armored Gojids while I was at it, too. The last regular goon tried to shoot me, but I was faster. A lot faster. I put two straight in his head.
Only the big ones left. Showtime! I tossed my stolen automatic aside, drawing my .45 out of its hip holster for the second and hopefully last time.
The Gojid juggernaut people had finally shaken off the effects of my rifle burst by now, which was bad, but it was really just bad for them if you think about it. I raised my .45, barely even aiming, and put a round through the first one's head.
I was halfway from the window to the elevator by now, and the three remaining Gojids were actually pretty close to me. I shot the furthest one, hurdled my old piece of cover to change to a new piece of cover, and lined up a shot on another. I was a good shot, or at least not a bad one, but I still missed that one. Damn!
It wasn't my fault, not technically at least, because I had gotten domed in the head just as I was shooting. The stims let me shrug off most of it, I was a tough motherfucker after all, but it still fucked with my aim a bit.
Oh, fuck it. I've still got one bullet left.
I turned, fired, and dropped the guy who had shot me earlier. Now, there was just one left.
I moved fast, very fast, so fast that anyone not on combat drugs would've struggled to keep up. The last gunner grazed my armor a bit, but I slid under his firing arc and grabbed a rifle off the ground. Six shots into center mass sent him sprawling backwards onto the ground. I drew out my combat knife, lunged at him, and tackled him as he was getting up.
I pinned his gun down with sheer body weight and stabbed at his jugular vein. He grabbed my knife arm with both hands, stopping it just inches from his throat, so I elbowed him in the face. One... two... three... I kept going, not even counting after enough strikes, all to loosen his hold on my knife.
Finally, something cracked. He punched me straight in my armored face, and I twisted my knife to jab it straight through his other wrist. He roared in pain, and I do mean roared, but it was too late. I stabbed out his throat and left his body on the hardwood floor.
Okay, priorities. Step one is to find a good gun. That wasn't too hard. I was surrounded by them, after all. I looked around, spying a really badass machine gun I could borrow, when the sky collapsed on my fucking head.
Well, okay, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration. The sky was still there. But the skylight was not, and chunks of broken glass rained down onto my head.
How the fuck did the glass break? Isn't it supposed to be reinforced?
It was supposed to be reinforced. They had probably used explosives on it, or something of that nature, because that glass could tank bullets.
I dropped to a crouch and looked up, catching movement. A blur. Dark blue and black. It dove, fast, like a falcon back on Earth, and hit me square in the chest.
I went down. Swung my knife and missed. Talons closed on my wrist, cut my finger tendons, and the knife dropped from my limp hand. I tried grabbing at their legs with my other hand, as they'd gotten on top of me by now, but one of the legs kicked my arm away and pinned it down under their body weight.
Talons closed on my throat. Not deep enough to kill, but they still drew blood. A small flick of the leg, and I would see the white light within thirty seconds. "Don't struggle." Oh. Huh. That is a woman. I struggled. There was only one woman who I'd let pin me down, and this clearly wasn't her.
She kicked me hard in the windpipe. Oh. Yeah. Talons. Jugular-cutting talons. Completely forgot. "What the hell do you want?" I gasped, no longer struggling. Hell, it was a miracle I was still able to speak.
"You're an impressive hunter," she said. Weird compliment, but I'll take it. Still beating your ass, though. "I'd like to have a face I can admire." Her claw lifted from my throat and moved up to my chin, lifting up my helmet. Big mistake.
I elbowed her in the leg, knocking it away from my throat, and rolled to my left while pulling my left arm under me and to the right. That was the one she had grabbed, by the way. She let go just in time, jumping back, and I was on my feet in half a second. I took off my helmet. "There's your face, shitbird."
"Thank you," she trilled. "It'll look just divine when I sever it from your body." Well, excuse me, Jeffrey Dahmer. Yeah, this woman had some serious issues. Normally, I wouldn't judge someone for their mental problems, but this someone was also trying to kill me so I'd say she was very much judgeable.
She leapt high, flapping her wings for a little boost and aiming a kick at my head. I raised an arm to block it, but she grabbed my arm and jabbed me in the stomach with the other leg. It didn't hurt, not a lot, but it sure as hell pissed me off.
I grabbed her leg with my good arm, wrenched it free from my bad one, and threw her to the ground. She got up quick and swung on me, but I dodged it pretty well. She started advancing on me, throwing jabs and kicks at places I really wouldn't want to get stabbed in, so I really had no choice but to back up and block.
Oh, shit. Gun at her feet.
She looked down, jabbed, and reached for a gun that was on the floor. I had to act fast. I caught the jab, twisted sideways, and pulled it across my body to pin the arm. Then I put my foot behind her legs and chopped her windpipe to trip her backwards and stun her for a bit. It worked, but as soon as she fell, she had reached behind her for one of the terrorists' guns.
Oh, shit! Gun in her hand!
I dropped to her level, pinning her right wing down with my knee, but she just swapped the gun to her left and brought it up. I blocked with my bad arm, the one whose hand didn't work, and I saw a flash of metal on the ground. That's my combat knife. I reached for it, going across her body, and as soon as I had grabbed the knife, she had kicked me in the head.
One, two, three nasty blows in quick succession left me reeling. It felt like being shot. I brought the knife down hard on one of her legs, then her chest, but I was really not feeling too good after all the beatings I had been through today.
While I was busy with the knife and distracted from my head rattling, the gun had slipped under my forearm and stuck into my chest. I pushed it away, rolling my arm to trap the barrel under my armpit, but I wasn't fast enough to avoid getting shot.
"You piece of shit!" I stabbed her in the wing with my knife. Then again. And again. All the way to the hilt, until she stopped struggling and I could wrench the gun away from her claws. Then I cut up her other wing, too, just in case she got any bright ideas. She'd probably never fly again.
She doesn't deserve the skies.
I put my knife to her throat, pinning her down as I did that. "Who are you?"
"Well, isn't this fun?" she trilled. "Oh, I just know you're enjoying this. Helpless prey, entirely at your mercy..." She was probably enjoying this more than I was, given the way she talked.
"Where's Sevros?" I barked. "Where's Heval?"
"Oh, I wouldn't know," came that shitty sing-song voice. "I'm just Tiela. Nobody important, really." Yeah, I'm sending this woman straight to a mental institution. A good one, too, not one of those brutal Fed facilities.
"Yeah, fuck you too." I got up, hauled her to her feet, and clicked a pair of handcuffs onto her shredded, bloody wings. I grabbed a gun, shoved her forward with it, and started trudging toward the elevator. And I do mean trudging. I had been through way too much shit today.
Oh, shit, someone's going up. Exterminators? I probably wasn't that lucky. I leveled my gun at the door, using Tiela as a human shield. Well, Krakotl shield technically, but whatever. Same difference.
The door opened. Men in silver suits stepped out, flamethrowers raised at my head. "Five seconds! Drop it!" Man, you know the world is fucked when I'm actually glad to see an exterminator. Holy shit, I'm sore.
I dropped my gun and stepped backwards, hands spread wide, as the exterminators entered and cleared the room. "It did all this?" asked one.
"It's dangerous. Deadly. We've got to keep it on a tight leash." The one in front, who I assumed was in charge, took a stun baton from his utility belt.
"Excuse me?" I snapped, maybe a bit too rashly given the circumstances. "I'm not some kind of psycho murderer who you have to-"
He jabbed me with the stun baton. Electricity coursed through my body. Just a few hours ago, I'd have been able to tank that shock and a dozen more like it, but I was out of juice. Way out of juice, as I only now realized.
I dropped to the ground, twitching and fighting unconsciousness. Obviously, I failed. There was just no fight left in me to give.
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Hello fellow TTRPG fans, players, and homebrewers. This is my first post; I am a long time DM and table top game player, being a DM for majority of my D&D experiences I've always been interested in making homebrew creations. Today I am shaking off the uncertainty and finally taking a shot at sharing my creations and I hope that some of you find it interesting, and provide some constructive criticism, and I hope to continue sharing more content. In the spirit of this being based on a role playing game, I thought it's best to introduce my creations through role-play, so allow me to introduce you to the enigmatic duo Sivrick and Divrick Barleybrook, known mainly as Siv and Div, halfling brothers that are whimsical adventurers and humble merchants that peddle magic curiosities.
Greetings, esteemed adventurers! I am Sivrick Barleybrook, and it brings me great joy to extend a warm welcome. While some cast my brother Div and I as eccentric misfits, we are devoted academics, relentlessly pursuing the dissemination of magical knowledge to all who seek it. Our tale begins as humble merchants, from the confines of a pop-up tent, accompanied by a trusty mule-drawn wagon. Despite our meek beginnings, we harbored an unshakeable belief in the enchantments on our wares. Among our original prized possessions were the "invisible Rock," which vanished from sight, or the "Wet Rock" perpetually imbued with moisture. Among our travels we encountered all types of people, and today I intend to spin the tale of Orimys Hexidor, a cunning Investigator who uses the power a patron to seek out Truth.
Come one and all, listen to your favorite Orator,
As I sing a tale for the bravest investigator,
Sir Orimys Hexidor, bright as day,
A vigilant sentinel, in every way.
His intellect, a beacon, shining bright,
Guiding others through the darkest night.
His wit, a charm, ever-spry,
Drawing friends with each reply. (He takes after me!)
Through cobbled streets, where shadows creep,
He prowled, relentless, not a moment to sleep.
A beast, a shadow, cast its bane,
Threatening the town's serene domain.
Turning every stone, beneath moon's wane,
His spirit wavering, amidst chaos' reign.
Gripped with despair, all seemed lost,
A whisper came, at great cost.
"Orimys," the Sphinx's voice did chime,
"In my realm, your intellect will climb.
In your hands, truth shall find its light,
Guided by wisdom, through the night."
With a single word, Orimys acceded,
His eyes aglow, with light conceded.
Truth's beacon, he now held dear,
Driven by justice, without a tear.
No longer blinded, by shadows of doubt,
Orimys marched forth, with a resolute shout.
His patron's blessing, his guide in the chase,
For justice prevails, in the end's embrace.

Truth-Seeker

Your patron is an enigmatic and revered sentinel of order, justice, and truth. They possess an inscrutable gaze and unfaltering judgement, often serving as guardians of ancient secrets or seekers of wisdom. Beings of this sort include Sphinx, Maruts, Modrons, and other entities known to revere law, order, and truth. Their warlocks are selected with the utmost discernment, seeking only those who exhibit exceptional intelligence, nobility, strength of will and humility. Warlocks who enter a pact with these beings have a calling to decipher cryptic riddles and the authority to dispense divine judgement upon those who hold malice and deceit in their hearts.
Expanded Spell List
The Truth-Seeker lets you choose from an expanded list of spells when you learn a warlock spell. The following spells are added to the warlock spell list for you.
Truth-Seeker Expanded Spells
Spell Level - Spells 1st - command, detect magic 2nd - locate object, zone of truth 3rd - dispel magic, tongues 4th - banishment, freedom of movement 5th - greater restoration, legend lore
Bonus Cantrips
Also at 1st level, you learn the guidance and true strike cantrips. They count as warlock cantrips for you, but they don’t count against your number of cantrips known.
Will of the Inscrutable
At 1st level, your patron teaches you how to utilize your force of personality to help uncover deceit and seek out truth.
You can use your Charisma modifier instead of Wisdom when making Wisdom (Insight) checks to determine a creature’s intent. Additionally, Wisdom (Insight) checks made to ascertain your intentions or sincerity have disadvantage.
If you are targeted by any divination magic or perceived through magical scrying sensors you can choose to hide yourself instead. You can use this feature a number of times equal to your Charisma modifier (minimum of once), and you regain all expended uses when you finish a long rest.
Mind of the Seeker
Starting at 6th level, your patron guides you when deciphering clues, solving puzzles, and overcoming obstacles.
Whenever you make a skill check or saving throw, you can use your Charisma modifier in place of the modifier required to make that skill check or saving throw. You can use this feature a number of times equal to your proficiency bonus, and you regain all expended uses when you finish a short or long rest.
Voice of the Arbiter
Starting at 10th level, your patron grants you the ability to serve as a vessel of their judgement.
As an action, you enter a trance that imbues you with the authority to dispense judgement. For 1 minute, you can use a bonus action to utter words booming with otherworldly power causing a creature of your choice that is within 60 feet of you to make a Wisdom saving throw against your Warlock spell save DC. Each time you target the same creature, the words are louder and the effect is different as detailed below:

• First Judgement: A creature that fails the saving throw takes thunder damage equal to your 1/2 your Warlock level and is knocked prone by you. On a successful save, the creature takes half as much damage and isn’t knocked prone.
• Second Judgement: A creature that fails the saving throw takes thunder damage equal to your Warlock level and is frightened by you for 1 minute. On a successful save, the creature takes half as much damage and isn’t frightened. A creature can repeat the saving throw at the end of each of its turns, ending the effect on itself on a success.
• Third Judgement: A creature that fails the saving throw takes thunder damage equal to twice your Warlock level and is frightened and paralyzed by you for 1 minute. On a successful save, the creature takes half as much damage and isn’t frightened or paralyzed. A creature can repeat the saving throw at the end of each of its turns, ending the effects on itself on a success.

Once you use this feature, you can’t use it again until you finish a short or long rest.
Eye of the Oracle
Starting at 14th level, your patron has given the ability to see and comprehend what others cannot.
As an action, you harness the power of your patron to uncover truth and reveal mysteries. You can harness this power for up to 10 minutes or until your concentration is broken (as if you were concentrating on a spell).
While invoking the eye of the oracle you gain the following benefits:

• You gain truesight up to 60 ft.
• You cannot be surprised.
• You have advantage on attack rolls, ability checks, and saving throws.

Once you use this feature, you can’t use it again until you finish a short or long rest.

This is one i've been thinking of writing for a while now, but i've never been sure how to write it in a way that doesn't make me look like i'm helping kids do illegal stuff, so disclaimer, this guide is intended for children of nosy helicopter parents who want to hide things like a journal or a piece of clothing they wanted or personal devices away from parents and siblings, even though i have no doubt that this guide will be used for stashing drugs, alcohol, etc to that i say i'm not responsible for what this guide is used for.
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I'll also say this isn't an all encompassing guide, it all depends on your situation, your room, what's in your room, if they search it, if so how often and where, this is only some pointers on the sort of things you can use, but hopefully it's enough to get you thinking.
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First of all, it all depends on the size of the object you want to hide, is it a USB stick? phone? laptop? clothing? it should go without saying that some objects are just inconcealable, if you want to hide anything bigger then a small computer or games console, you may need to get creative, there is however a silver lining to these items that i'll explain later.
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When looking for a hiding spot i suggest looking for the following qualities:

• Easily accessible
• Doesn't draw attention, e.g if you put a lockbox on your desk, it's clearly a lockbox
• Something that isn't touched often, like an ornament

Finally, assess the suitability of the place for your item, for example don't hide a USB stick in a potted plant, or it will get ruined when the plant is watered.
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Some good examples for a small item like a USB stick are
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• The boot of a 1:18 scale model car (especially if it's in a dust cover or case)
• Plugged into the back of or hidden inside an old computer
• Plugged into a laptop stored in a locked case
• In clothing pockets
• Inside of empty vases, lidded tankards, steins etc (of course don't use anything that's glass)
• Inside anything bigger

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You can already see how highly dependant this is, i would suggest avoiding common hiding spots, that is spots your parents may already search or ones you can find easily by googling 'how to hide something' if you want to hide something in clothes make sure it's harder to get to.
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When you scale it up, things get harder, for example even a small journal can't be hidden in a tankard or a 1:18 car, this is where not only you become important but the insides of bigger objects, remember earlier how i said that bigger objects are hard to hide? well if they are hollow or mostly hollow (and easy to access) it means you can hide things inside, so long as if the mule object is unassuming.
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Mule objects can be things like vases as mentioned earlier, mule objects should have the same qualities as any other hiding space.
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I've already mentioned the use of mule objects, like the car, the laptop in a bag, inside a computer or tankard, in pockets etc but they get more important the bigger you go.
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A good mule object for bigger items is a computer, or just computer case, it should go without saying that mule objects have an extra requirement, they should not be clear or see through, why do you think the only electronics allowed in prisons are clear? this also excludes clear computer cases.
As an example i have a computer where the front pops off to put a hard drive in, you could definitely get smaller notebook in there.
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One caution though i have for mule objects is one that's been told through history, never forget you have stuff hidden in the mule object, in the 1930s people filled their pianos up with gold coins when it was made illegal to hoard gold, those pianos were years later thrown out or sold with the treasure still inside, this also means that obvious mule objects aren't suitable if your parents are liable to 'i threw that old computer you don't use anymore away'
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When choosing a mule object one that's not touched often is ideal, i often hear how good battery compartments of things like TV remotes are for hiding things like cash, truth is, they aren't in some situations, because people are used to going into battery compartments, a sibling could borrow your TV remote or TV, find that it doesn't work and go to replace the batteries, on the other hand there's no reason a sibling in your room or your parents would desire to open a computer (again situation based, if your siblings are computer nuts and steal your RAM and things, a computer isn't a good mule object, this is all just examples)
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I'd personally avoid taping things to the underside of desks and bed, anything even remotely out in the open is at risk and just needs someone to look at it the right angle.
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You can also of course put things inside of each other, like a lockbox inside a computer.
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Avoid mule objects that may stir up attention, if you have a trunk or treasure chest it might seem a good idea but only if no one else is interested in it, your parents might be more likely to see it as a form of safe.
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The next thing is hiding a phone or other electronics, this poses it's own special risks you have to consider, the device itself is capable of making noise, texts, phone calls, emergency alerts etc even the buzzing can cause a lot of sound, i highly suggest turning it off before hiding it away, and if you must keep it on, make well sure that emergency alerts are turned off and that it's on something soft that can't reverberate the sound, do a test by calling it and see if it makes a ton of sound.
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But since phones are often smaller then journals there's a lot of hiding places, the potential for mule objects is bigger, such as boxes for phones that are the same size, especially if it's in another box or in the back of a drawer, another good bet are the hard carrying cases you get with things like headphones, along with suit cases these can make a great mule object if you know how to use them properly, again a bag is something you obviously put stuff in, so make sure it is not obvious, clothes pockets are also another good bet.
Finally make sure the hiding spot doesn't get too hot or the device could overheat and potentially explode, hiding anything that has a lithium battery has risks as the batteries have been known to violently explode.
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On to laptops, most laptops are bigger then a notebook and as such are quite hard to hide, your best bet is a laptop case secluded in another mule object like a box full of other stuff or under your bed.
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Speaking of under your bed, a lot of people are against it, but again it depends on how cautious you are and what your parents/siblings are like, i have nothing against it, especially if underneath your bed is full of junk already and you use the right mule object that blends in (for example, if there is boxes, use another box as a mule object) you can also 'wall' things in with boxes and other items (for example a suitcase is an obvious mule object but you can hide it away from casual observation by careful placement of items around it), making it only possible to get to the item by going down the gap between the bed and wall, if your parents do search under your bed often i strongly advise against this, also consider the possibility of a sibling dropping something under there and trying to retrieve it.
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The hardest tier is things like games consoles and computers, they come in multiple sizes, but the larger ones especially can be extreamly hard to hide, your best bets for mule objects are boxes, ottomens, trunks, suit cases etc and careful placement, this is what i meant by some items being unconcealable, your best bet is to camo it by putting inside a fairly common or innoculous mule object that isn't likely to be touched.
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Finally, before you do any of this it's up to you to assess the risk, it all depends on your room and your parents as said earlier, if your parents always go through your stuff or are prone to room clear outs without warning and think they are customs officers, you may not want to hide things at all.
You can also do things to make it harder like rotating the hiding spots, put the item in a different hiding spot each time, by nesting mule objects, and by having lock and key somewhere in the chain.
As such it also depends on the item, do you need to access it often or is it only something you get out like once a month?
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So many factors determine this and that's why i can't write a comprehensive guide, it's only to get you thinking, all the knowledge in the world is of use to fools they say.
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However i hope this guide did help you, feel free to ask any questions.
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This is me speaking from my own experience so please take this with a grain of salt.
Tucker Carlson recently interviewed the reformed Moscow Mule. He was introduced as Christianity's Christian Nationalist. Christian Nationalism has been at the top of my mind especially after I trolled Stephen Wolfe's facebook posts with his pseudo-prophetic declaration that Christian Nationalism is on the rise.
I'm Asian, an immigrant (moved here in 91), Presbyterian, and married to a white woman. All the things that Stephen Wolfe hates (sans Presbyterian, he probably wouldn't want me in Presbyterianism anyways). After reading DeYoung's and Shenvi's review of the book I have a lot more concerns...
Christian Nationalism promotes a kind of Christianity that is exclusively white and protestant. Wolfe's definition of nation and people are, shall I say, interesting. He draws distinct boundaries on what a "person" is and he doesn't like ethnicities mixing but only mutually cooperating. If that were the case then how can I, a person of color, could have become reformed if what Wolfe says is the case. Reformed theology is a European (white) phenomenon thus, as an Asian immigrant, I shouldn't be entitled to said ideology because as Wolfe would note that it is not my heritage.
I can say a lot about Christian Nationalism but I'll reduce it to this: I think that the real evil of our age, apart from the liberal theology, post-Christian society of ours, also includes Christian Nationalism. I can't tell if it's Second Temple Judaism but a backwoods interpretation of it? But it seeks to dismantle the kingdom of God by divide ethnically despite it being based on eisegesis. The church is called to expand Israel and to bring peoples together forming a common bond in Christ not Christ plus your ethnic group. It has, in a lot of ways, put a lot of trepidation in my own heart because I never thought I would ever be excluded in God's kingdom simply because of my skin color and where I was born. This is a real evil, y'all.

So far messing up in Kaycee's mod, it's very easy to know but I would like to tell it easily how to beat these bosses much easily.
Angler -
First phase: just use a hard-hitting card early, you want to get to his second phase fast, if it is required use the item that gives all other item airborne damage for a turn. If you extend this phase, he will put down hard hitting cards quick and start stealing your cards and this phase will drag out.
Second phase: Just sacrifice everything that is about to hit bait fish, if you did not use the item that gives every card airborne damage for a turn this phase is the best option to use it. It's very easy to win this phase. Just don't hit bait fish.
Trapper and Trader: try to get pelts in first phase, at least 1 or 2 coz his second phase can be annoying af if you don't draw well or have answers to his cards, farming pelts first phase can be very good coz you can take good cards or clear a lane to deal damage and block other lanes to win or just get good cards or remove hard hitters from his board etc.
Prospector: Go for mule if you can, prospector also puts down wolf and coyote early so if you can't mule go for ending phase 1 quick, mule can be very rewarding though. Phase 2 can be a bit slow but you get 1 draw and gold nugget defend the base so it is not that hard, just have a wolf or a hard hitter which can end phase 2 too.
For the last boss: Just make your deck smaller and more consistent and should use totem well, I take ring worm or poison sigil card just coz I could get two upgrades at fire later on without worry all the time, it can be very good, a 3-1 mantis god can solo games turn 1 for you.
Inscryption always gives you to play something turn 1 (best thing is to know your 1 blood cost and choose 1 blood cost cards wisely). Making deck shorter or synergizing with your totem can be very rewarding. I had a game where I got unlimited sacrifice sigil on bugs then made all my 1 blood cost bugs so that turn 1, I get a very strong hand most of the time.
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Anyone here that's completed one of the above or are actively working towards completing one of these milestones?
For those of you that are unaware, The Grand Slam Club - OVIS sets out various hunting milestones for all hunters to strive for. The main one is the North American Super Slam which requires a hunter to harvest and verify all 29 Big Game species in North America.
They have a handful of other hunting milestones, two of the more common ones are the Grand Slam which is taking one of each of the North American Sheep Species (Rocky Mountain Bighorn, Dall Sheep, Stone Sheep and Desert Bighorn).
The other popular one is the Super 10 which I am embarking on this year as an early retirement gift to myself. While the Super Slam requires the hunter to harvest all big game species, the Super 10 only requires 1 game animal from each of the 10 Big Game categories. This is still a prestigious and difficult journey that will take many hunters 10+ years to achieve. I'm aiming to personally accomplish this before I turn 50, giving myself 12 years.
They include the following, I have bolded the species I am going to hunt:

1. Bear (Black, Grizzly, Alaskan Brown & Polar Bear)
2. Cats (Mountain Lion or Darted Jaguar)
3. Deer (Whitetail, Mule deer, Coues Deer, Sitka Blacktail & Columbian Blacktail)
4. Elk (Rocky Mountain, Roosevelt and Tule)
5. Caribou (Mountain, Quebec Labrador, Woodland, Barren Ground and Central Barren Ground)
6. Moose (Canadian, Alaskan and Shiras)
7. Bovine (Bison or Muskox)
8. Goat (Mountain Goat)
9. Antelope (Pronghorn)
10. Sheep (Rocky Mountain Bighorn, Dall, Stone, California Bighorn, Desert Bighorn)

I've read several strategies from others who have completed this, most recommend doing the sheep/goat first as they are the most physically demanding (and financially drawing).
I will be able to get White Tail, Black Bear and Moose here locally but the rest will require hunting out west, many with guided outfitters. Those of you living in the western Provinces and States have a huge advantage here.
How many have you already hunted? Any plans to complete the rest in your lifetime?