Hey everyone,
I've been struggling with a very destructive pattern of paying for sex for some time now. I don't do it often, and bc of that I've fooled myself into believing that these act-outs are just a series of one-off events brought on by specific stressors in my life, but it has undoubtedly become a pattern and I know that I need some accountability.
For context, from a young age I've always engaged in somewhat deviant (to me) sexual behavior. I was raised very strictly catholic and from a young age was told in school that it was a sin to masturbate. I matured earlier than many boys and started masturbating in 4th grade. The first time scared the hell out of me as I had no idea what was happening. All I knew is it felt good and that I couldn't talk to it about anyone.
In 6th and 7th grade I was spying on my nextdoor neighbors. Two very attractive sisters whose room was right across the way from mine. I would watch them as they showered and changed.
Fast forward to 8th grade - I was in a serious relationship through 9th grade. This was the first time I had sex of any kind with another person. I also was cheating on her with many other girls.
Next was sophomore year of high school. The first time I experienced true love. And the first time I felt I had such a deep connection with someone else that was respectful and honest. And still I ended up cheating on her toward the end of our two years together. We remain friends to this day which I'm very thankful for, and hey it was high school - water under the bridge, young people make mistakes right? maybe, but...
Fast forward to my college years, I was in a very serious relationship for the entirety of college that culminated in marriage right out of school and a subsequent divorce a few years later. She was the one. Beautiful, smart, sexy. She had everything I wanted (or thought I wanted in my juvenile brain). But as we entered our 3rd year of dating, we began to have many serious sexual issues that we would later find out, stemmed from both of our underlying trauma surrounding sex. We continuously played out a very destructive sexual fantasy that was never explicitly spoken about until the very end of our relationship. In addition to this, I also had many emotional and physical affairs along the way.
That failed marriage prompted a complete overhaul of my life. I was devastated and I knew there were many things I needed to sort out if I was ever going to have a healthy relationship to sex and with another person. Thus, I found a therapist. An amazing therapist. I didn't realize how good he was until much later. The work we did together changed my life. I found a stable career. And I found the girl of my dreams. The relationship was calm, respectful, loving, and without the vicious ups and downs I had previously known. The sex was good and meaningful. We are still together - married with three children. And to this day I have not had any sort of emotional connection to anyone else but her.
And yet, I'm here. Early in my relationship with my now-wife, I visited a massage parlor and cheated. I talked about this with my therapist. We dug in and explored why I felt the need to do this and discovered that this acting out had very little to do with my relationship and everything to do with some unresolved issues inside of me. Thus, the advice was to not disclose the transgression to my partner as it would only cause her pain. That took me a minute to understand but I believe it was the right decision. I still do. And with time, I moved past it.
That was my only transgression for a long time. After many years of intensive therapy I was a new man, feeling more confident and secure in myself than I'd ever been. And so on my therapists advice we began to taper off on the sessions until finally we felt the bulk of our work was done and that I we would check in only on a necessary basis.
And then 3 years into my marriage, I acted out again. I visited another sex worker. I was devastated. But I felt confident that I could handle this on my own. I didn't call my therapist. I journaled, I downloaded a sober app, I conducted therapy sessions with myself, and I held myself accountable. And with time I began to feel better until the guilt faded away and after numerous successful moments where I stopped myself from acting out. This gave me a security that I might finally have kicked my issue. And so I went on with life, I didn't think of it often - only when those impulses would arise or I would catch myself drinking a bit too much and experiencing intrusive thoughts.
And then after almost 2 years of sobriety, I did again last week. And I'm crushed. It shakes the foundation I've fought so hard to build. It makes me question everything. It makes me feel like a broken person doomed to failure. And my deep fear now is that I've pathologized this behavior. I've normalized it. And that thought sends me into a panic. Is this what my life will be? Will I always have to carry around this shadow self? This is not the man I want to be. This is not the partner or father I want to be.
And what makes it that much more difficult is that my family and friends adore me. I've been referred to as "golden boy" more than a few times. I have an enviable life. And I'm the type of person who friends and family confide in and look up to. I've been told I emanate a quiet strength and people feel safe around me.
And yet, here I am with this terrible secret. I don't feel like the man people think I am or that I portray myself to be. I've called my therapist and we will speak tomorrow, but any words of encouragement or additional resources would be much appreciated. I cannot allow this to happen again. It is eating away at my heart.

I’m F24 and I’ve remembered most of my intertwined ptsd memories since I was 4. Apparently, I’ve been molested multiple times since I was 9 and suppressed it. My family is Asian and we come off as those typical stoic educational families. Through realizing those past memories, I’ve been studying people all of my years of remembering. Particularly psychology and noticed we have autistic symptoms we never addressed and would get confused for the stereotype.
It’s been a while since I’ve seen my family. It’s been 2 years. I left out of the blue because of me acting out from me being molested. I never told anyone at all till now.
Anyways, I’ve been happy in my career in massage therapy toggling back and forth between a balance of working at a spa and chiropractic office. Me getting more feedback from other fellow massage therapists and also sharing that knowledge at my independent contractor job at the chiropractic office.
I felt my prefrontal cortex open up applying everything I knew to my career. Then on, I took complete responsibility about everything. Extreme ownership and accountability. I kept going by these three words in this exact order: Notice. Feel. Do. Also I’ve been practicing Ayurveda focusing more on the general things like emotional, mental and physical care.
Applying that to the roots of who I was. Down to every single person I’ve hurt and what I’ve done to others. And also figuring out why I did so and tackling that. I’ve done some digging and was becoming more aware of what I was suffering from.
But anyways with my career I was completely happy till I found out I was being scammed at my spa workplace and confronted my boss. Then I quit. After so, a chord struck in me.
My newly diagnosed ptsd, ocd, autism, schizophrenia from a conflict of interest therapist friend all hit at once when I took extreme ownership.
Mind you, because I left the house, I was living with my boyfriend with roommates. I was being obsessive with EMP waves and parts of the sun striking earth from a friend I recently reconnected with. It didn’t help how I was seeing these patterns or psychological thrillers on Netflix like “Don’t Look Up” or “2012” appear in my feed and how others were literally going crazy noticing these things how “April Fools” wasn’t funny anymore purely from close friends of mine through instagram. I was convinced there was someone trying to tell us something through these movies.
Because of this, I immediately left my boyfriend’s and wanted to reunite with my family because I was scared of going to hell and not seeing them again.
So I did and it lead to me confronting the person that molested me. I forget I did so on their birthday and had myself convinced I was in literal hell. So while that was going on, I had myself convinced that I was a genius and had to save the world through pretending to be a spy. The night before I was having trouble sleeping at night because I was afraid I wasn’t gonna wake up and I was in purgatory. So if I slept, not repenting or doing anything right to fix how I left my home in the first place in the moment, I’d go to hell.
It took a lot of convincing for myself to finally get sleep. And that was through believing in god. Thinking if I prayed extra hard that night, I’d be alive the next day. I couldn’t even do that so I slept at the foot of my dad’s bed.
The next day, I’ve gathered all of my comfort items. Leaving the house wearing oversized blue slides, a brown crew neck sweater, shark hat and smeared toothpaste on my face. Trying to look like just a crackhead when I was actually becoming one lol. Though I never taken any drugs…
I left my house trying to regather to my boyfriend the information I’ve learned and other trusted people. On my way to his place, I’ve met a homeless man and asked if he was aware of the sun turning brighter and technology listening in. He immediately got suspicious and his attitude flipped to where he was attentive. I ended up playing dumb and continued my way to my boyfriend’s house.
At one point I stopped at the corner of a sidewalk and peed myself. Also I kept stopping occasionally rallying up cars to almost try to hit me and pointing directly to the sun, motioning to myself how it was getting hot and cold. For some reason I also brought into my head how aliens were also the cause of this.
While passing this elderly lady on the sidewalk, I noticed how she had goggled glasses and kept trying to beat her up. After that, I’ve taken her bread, ate some, choked and spit it out laying myself down on the floor. A little after, I’ve noticed paramedics trying to take my vitals and the way they were talking to me in such a report like the homeless man switching triggered me.
I fought all of them off and was handcuffed with the windows of the car being all the way up. I kept banging my head on the window to let me out or lower the windows but I was getting ignored. Through the backseat I kept talking to myself uncontrollably and in a pattern I couldn’t even understand like a wave of vowels and consonants in a roller coaster fashion. AaaaaHhhhaaa
Finally, I was taken out of the car and into the paramedics. They taken me to the mental hospital and I freaked out, screaming to myself because I was believing that this all wasn’t real. That actually I was in my bed and my family and closest ones were trying to wake me out of the hell I was going through.
To be continued…

when you read a letter or a discourse and he says to do or not to someething, its imporant to connect it with what he is trying to say or what are your motives from reading it, because if you simply accepted it, you might judge somthing tha isn't is or the opposite, you should irst see the reasons and casuality of what is said, he is saying that you shouldnt seek pleasure for example, why pleasure,not for its own sake ut ecausse what it does and how it harm one's mind so what he exacly saying is not to seek anything that has the same efect and not nly pleasure, from understanding the impulses and the causality what is said not only you will we be dynamic about practicing it, not only you will understand it more deeply, but you will know more thing that causes the thing said if i were to say simply yes, i would have prevented pleasure even when it does no harm, or maybe i misunderstood pleasure and now mis applying it, and will be too rigid, or when you read that you should limit your food or eating or dont be exceccive for it, that doesnt mean you shouldnt eat more than you useually do in context if you are bulking or you are skinny and trying to buiild some weight, you shoul know that he means eaing more for the sake of pleasure and he thinks is bad because this way you weaken you brain and your body, rufus said it best , that food and anything should e for the sake of nourishment, there is a text for him ,18.on food, he talks in depth in it giving you moe context and flexibility ,when you read any text, they are not you masters to asset to whatever said, they are mere guide, as seneca said:

How about it, then? Will I not walk in the footsteps of my pre-
decessors? I will indeed use the ancient road—but if I find another
route that is more direct and has fewer ups and downs, I will stake
out that one. Those who advanced these doctrines before us are not
our masters but our guides. The truth lies open to all; it has not yet
been taken over. Much is left also for those yet to come.

that way you would focus more in the matter no the man saying it or the philosophy introducing it, it was merely observed by them, not only this, but if an opposing philosophy or voice has knowledge in this matter, with the right judgement and mentality you can benefit from it, if you were to only follow what is said by stoicism that can prevent you from seeing a better explaination from another, just like seneca:

This is what I do as well, seizing on some item from among
several things I have read. Today it is this, which I found in Epicu-
rus—for it is my custom to cross even into the other camp,* not as
a deserter but as a spy

but here you should becareful, there is avery thin line between seeking knowledge and confirmation, one arises wisdom one arises ignorant, like when you read epicurus and see him explainning how there might be good in the body, don't all of the sudden say BAD!!! WRONG!!, just see what is he trying to point, why is he saying that, so in respect of what he is saying, would that actually achive what he wants which is happiness, that way you will stenghthin your principles and wisdom about why you didnt follow epicurus and also took frm him a good knowledge about something that is in both soicism and epicurism say for example not to fear death.
another thing is when someone talks and want you to explaing something, you wont tell him because epictetus said so, you would have your own understanding and no longer need epictetus or seneca, you can use them as something to calrify or additional, but not as a the main rule idea or theme, ironicly i am gonna quote epictetus on this one:

When someone is filled with pride because he is able to understand and interpret the works of Chrysippus, say to yourself, ‘If Chrysippus hadn’t written in such an obscure style, this person wouldn’t have anything to pride himself on.’ But what is it that I want? To understand nature and to follow it. So I look around for someone who can interpret it, and having heard that Chrysippus can, I go to him. But I don’t understand his writings, so I look for someone who can interpret them. Up to this point, there is nothing to be proud of. But when I find the interpreter, what remains for me to do is to apply his precepts; that is the only thing that gives any ground for pride. But if what I value is the mere act of interpretation, what else have I achieved than to have become a literary scholar instead of a philosopher? The only difference is that I’m interpreting Chrysippus rather than Homer. So when someone says to me, ‘Read me some Chrysippus,’ I blush rather than feeling any pride, when I’m unable to show that my actions match up to his words and are consistent with them

you should also remember three things that alot of books related to stoicism are no longer existing, chryssipus had more than 700 book none surived and all the others the second that the survivng books arent directly about stoicism, seneca was talking to his friend , marcus to himself, they didn't dedicate it to understand stoicism, you just saw it being practiced, epictetus is the nearsest to teaching about stoicism but the thing is he assumed you have prior knowledge about the topics or the terminology, like in progeress he tells you to eads chryssipus's on progress for better understanding, or to get deep in what are impression, judgement, and virtue , which he talks alot about, the third is the language barrier, it was translated and diffrent time so alot of word have kinda diffrent meaning or impression then there used to be, and in general its hard to explain philosophy or ideas only by words without self reflection, for example imaging i sent you 4 dots and the distance between them is equal, the first idea going to form in your mind is that the shape might be a square, but mabe i meant a circle which could e connected also by the same 4 sots or any other shape, thats how i think trying to explain nature or what is with language, maybe epictetus meant square rather than circle, what help us understand and to know what he actually means is that we look at the discourse as a hole or what is his attentions, or put your self in his position as much as you can, maybe that why tao used few words in his tao te ching
my massage here is dont be content when they say to do or not to do or that bad or good, see why is that bad or good, reason your way up and critique it so you can make your own judgment and refine it, with the mentality that accept the judgement of other blindly you wont know whether someone deciving you or not

Lieutenant Aurora walked back to the loyalist command post from her post at the north gate, thoughts filled in her head near exclusively about what that angel of Bahamut had said. That the king is a fake. That a vampire wears the king’s face. That they were but minions of a lich seeking only to destroy all they hold dear. On her walk back she heard the soldiers talking, questioning their mission and purpose as much as she internally, though would each snap to attention once they saw her, each one fearing to loiter in front of her. The worries of these men needed to be solved.
She didn’t know what to think about the message, if it were true then everything she had fought for was a lie. She had to find Clebore, ever since she was his squire he knew the answers. He knew what to do, what to say, she had done her best over the years to emulate that. To he strong and assertive, to take what is needed in the moment by force if needed. But the fact that he sent a messenger to retrieve her meant that he needed her help as much as she did. This thought too entered her mind, having now joined all the others.
At long last she saw the his command tent, and came up to it, She took a breath and entered his abode. She had been hoping that he had anything to ease her concerns, yet in a way invisible she feared that he didn’t. she kept her demeanor formal and sturdy. Not a hint of weakness would be shown.
Celbore Roxa sits perched over a document on his desk. His quill moved carefully, as if he weighed every word with great care. He looked up as she entered, and a look of relief flashed across his face, if only for a moment.
"Aurora, come in. I need to discuss some things with you."
She turned and looked around to see if anyone else was inside. She also noticed how he had used her first name, rather than titles or epithets.. upon seeing that they were indeed alone with in the tent she deemed it appropriate to speak to him on the same basis as it was he who had began the precedent.
“So do I Celbore… something has happened, the gate is secure I swear to it but…”
"We have far more pressing matters than the gate, I'm afraid." He looks stressed. "Pour us some drink, please." He motioned over to a table with cups and an assortment of drink. "This angel's coming is sure disrupting our efforts here in Morrion, and probably the whole kingdom."
She walked over to the table, poured some drinks for the both of them and returns. For him a strong whiskey, she felt in that moment that he needed it. For her a lighter beer as she would later need to return to the city. She felt similarly stressed in the moment yet didn’t show nearly as much. “Here you are sir, and you are right. From those I have seen morale has been deeply shaken in the north Morrion. And unless we can prevent desertion, I am sure word will get out.”
He let out a sigh, and motioned for her to sit. He absentmindedly inspected the contents of his drink. "I have tried to stop desertion for now, but I don't know how effective that will prove." He downed his drink all at once.
"What do you make of the angel's message?" He looked expectantly at her.
She cautiously sits down, though it brought her absolutely no comfort. She sits, hands squeezed at her knees just to be doing something with them. Her drink remained on the table.
“I don’t know… sir…I have heard that the king had been acting oddly… decisive of late, spoke with passion against the rebels as never before. But I cannot believe it… this army, my knighthood… it’s all I have. It cannot be a lie.”
Celbore looked at her, analyzing her for a good minute. He then nodded, as if satisfied with the answer.
"When I took you in as my squire, I saw much of myself when I was your age in you. And now I still do. My thought's dwell on the same thing. I have done many things I regret, all in the name of Firebrand. In the name of the king."
He paused. Aurora could see the age wear on him more than usual. He was a veteran of many campaigns, both in and outside Firebrand. He had killed many soldiers, and seen many of his comrades die. But not like this. Not brothers and sisters fighting against each other.
She doesn’t quite know what to say. As she contemplated he grip on her knee plates tightened, a light scraping sound was heard from her claws streaking across the metal. She looked at him, seeing that he was just as confused and lost as she was. Her face conveyed confusion, sadness and rage all in one complicated and conflicted expression.
“Celbore… I want to believe that it is just a rebel trick… a means to break us… I don’t want to think… that it could be real… I have to keep up a dutiful and assertive posture but… I just don’t know Sir.”
She simmered in angered silence for a moment, seething in her chair. Until she again speaks, in a respectful tone rather out of step with her aggressive and frustrated posture.
“Sir… the only thing I know.. for sure is that I will remain loyal to you. Your orders I will follow.”
Celbore looked at her with concern in his eyes.
"I appreciate your loyalty, Aurora. By being your superior, I vow to protect you and everyone else under my command, and return your loyalty with mine."
He straightened up, and appeared calm and assertive, more like his usual self. His words soothing her somewhat. She heard the elder knight continue.
"I have a contact in the Capital. Her name is Ilresh Gurzita, and she is the spymaster of the council. I'm sure she would know of something like this, true or not. I hope to get in contact with her, to straighten out the situation."
A thought halts him, but he quickly throw it away mentally.
She looks to him, she has known him long enough to spy when he casts a thought away. She didn’t bring it up at the start though would remember this.
“The spymaster? Can such a character truly be trusted sir? I don’t know if this is the best idea. Perhaps an archivist of the royal libraries.”
He massaged his temple.
"I know it's not ideal, but we have to work with what we have. An archivist may have the lore, but I doubt they know enough of what's going on right now. No, the spymaster is our best bet. Though, I don't like owing her a favor."
He pointed to the letter on his desk.
"I've already drafted this and hope to get it sent before sun down."
She at long last took her left claw off of its knee plate and took up her glass, sipping it. “I see. If it is the best option you think we have then I will object no longer.”
"Good. I will get the letter finished." He took up the quill and began writing once again.
"Is there something else, lieutenant?" He said, not looking up from the letter.
She finished her drink then stood up, took hers and Celbore’s drink back up to the counter. Refilling his, then returned it to him.
“Only a request, Celbore. Just… don’t stay up too late writing and rewriting your letter. I’ll return to my post at the north gate.” She chuckled. “See you around old man.”
She went to leave. Straightening her back and spoke in a purely formal manner once more. She saluted him and began to walk out, pausing as he said his last words back to her.
"I won't be too long. Very well. Dismissed, lieutenant."
He saluted her and went back to writing in solitude.

Just wondering if the Dog loving community knows that this business is harming our beloved pets? A dog has seen the end of its life when it got free and ran across the road where it succumb to its injuries after being hit by a vehicle.
Did you know that out of their original goats they had on the premises, one was savagely attacked, and then passed due to injuries from the attack
Do you know how many calls were made to local vets because dogs had been fighting and have been severely injured? I'd say a minimum of 30.
Did you know that when you leave your dog that there is NOBODY on the premises at night? Your dog is left all alone. At night. When the owner lives a minimum 10km away.
Staff turnover??? It's so so incredibly high. Why? Because the owner spies on you, treats you badly, manipulates you, lies to your face and cannot bear for anyone else to have any attention.
The owner claims to be an expert in: dog training, dog coaching, dog massage, dog grooming, dog nutrition... the list goes on. Yet, she cannot provide a single certificate to show she has training in any of these things.
I, personally, would not leave a pet rock there. And I would advise you to do the same!

I am 24 now and she (let's call her Closey) left me yesterday. Reason?
I hugged a girl who kind of has feelings for me (speculated) and there's an awkward history with her, but from within me, I truly love Closey.
A little background - Me and Closey have known each other for 10 years from our school days. We spent our initial 6 years in a long distance relationship. 1 year back, we again got into LDR after having moved out to separate countries for our master's. At this point, I was convinced that I had my relationship sorted and now we're supposed to fight our way out to becoming rich.
We both have given our everything into this relationship even though we are totally opposite in every aspects. I considered her my first priority and no problem would have surpassed the person for me, so I forgave mistakes easily. I am very open minded tbh, so much that I've let her know multiple times that even if I find her in bed with another man, I'd still believe her on face value as long as she's mine. She once started developing feelings for another boy who was trying very hard to win her over me, but I never saw this as a problem and never stopped her from doing anything because I believed in her. One day the boy proposed, and she politely rejected him and then on the boy showed his real face, one that she hated a lot. She begged for forgiveness from me, but I didn't find this to even be that big of an issue.
But for her, it's the opposite - close minded and very possessive - she can't see me getting close to another girl, especially the ones who might have feelings for me.
And that's what happened - back in September 2023, in my college party, I helped a drunk classmate reach home. During the party, we talked sober but then she got drunk quickly and I felt it was my responsibility to take care of her and drop her home safely. I felt nothing wrong because I knew I was in a committed relationship so there's no scope of anything further than this. In that time between her being drunk and reaching home, these things happened - she tried her first smoke which I threw away, helped her reach washroom by holding her tight, let her rest her head on my chest, wrapped my hands around her shoulder to stop her from going astray, massaged her head in the cab because she was light headed, let her kiss my hand unknowingly out of my surprise. And all this happened in the presence of my other friends as witness, just to clear the air. The next day, this girl seems to be not remembering most of it so I reminded her of what all happened as an attempt to make friendship. I narrate all this to Closey, and she is devastated that I let a girl get so close to her property (my body) and that I reminded her everything when she had forgotten it all. She suffers chest pains, breathlessness, crys hard, feels cheated on, etc. We were at the verge of breakup but I fought to keep the relationship intact and promised to never do anything like this.
Fast forward 8 months, I and that girl have become close friends and we had a fight. 3 days back, we sorted our 1 week long fight and she burst out in tears once the issues got sorted. At that point, I hugged her to console her, which was also as a reaction to me feeling relieved that our problems have sorted. Soon after that I remember that this act of mine is going to hurt Closey. I avoid her video calls for the day but finally pick up after 9 or so calls, thinking that I've gained the courage to tell everything to her.
But the first thing I see on the call was her crying and asking me what bad thing have I done. I was shocked to hear it from her, which was a coincidence but according to her, it's her sixth sense, her intuition to know when something is wrong. She says that if I openly tell her everything, she'll let it pass but I choked. I kept thinking of how she suffered the last time and how this time it is going to affect her even more, so I keep thinking of how can I save this situation. She says she knows exactly what has happened and just needs to hear it from me. I don't know what she has thought in her mind and didn't want to say something way extreme than she imagined. I beat around the bush and almost was about to say it out loud that I hugged that girl but I just couldn't. She then tells it out loud herself, that I HUGGED THAT GIRL. I couldn't believe the fuck up I did by not saying it myself. I couldn't believe how she knows all this, and I know it's something real because it has had happened a few times before with us (and no, she isn't spying on me anyhow). She cuts the videocall and breaks up with me.
I've spent 2 days crying and trying to get her back but 10 years of this relationship simply seems to have lost all it's value when compared to the mistakes that I did.
Do you feel like I deserved it? I'm strong enough to take on anything genuine that this community wants to say to me so please let me know

Previous/Next
My cellphone rang, snapping me out of my daze. The caller was unknown, and I hesitantly placed it against my ear after answering.
“Ah, Mister Bannon,” said the gruff voice on the other end of the line. “It’s good to see you are still with us. I was certain those roaches would prove to be your end.”
I was breathing heavily. “Yes. I’m still here. Of course.” The sound of the metronome clicks on the other side of the door were growing louder. “I don’t think I have much time.”
It sounded as though the stranger on the other end of the line was shuffling some papers around on their desk. “Yes. You wouldn’t if it were not for this phone call.” More shuffling. “There’s a hatch behind the refrigerator.”
“Excuse me?” I panted.
“If my sources are accurate, there should be a hatch with a tunnel just large enough for you to fit through. That is your ticket out of your current predicament.”
“How do you know that?”
“Trust is a hard thing to come by in this day and age, is it not?”
“That’s right.” My voice came timidly in response. I moved to the fridge near the sink, briefly glimpsing to the dead cockroach there. After setting the phone down on the counter and shimmying the fridge away from the wall, there was indeed a hatch awaiting me there. I put the phone to my ear again. “It’s here.”
The line was dead, and the constant tone after someone decides the conversation is over met me.
I dropped the phone in my pocket and looked back to the metal hatch. The clicks were growing closer. There was no other option. I reached out and latched onto the handle, prying it open while leveraging my dress shoe against the wall. I peered inside and saw that it looked like the walls were made of sheet metal. Was this some sort of ventilation shaft perhaps? There wasn’t a moment to think. I dove in and clawed and slapped at the walls to propel my body forward. The claustrophobia was immeasurable, and I had no idea where I was going; all I knew for sure was that the sounds of the clicks behind me were fading away.
I was possibly thirty feet in before the sound of Quincey’s screaming voice surrounded me. He was echoing all down the metal tube. “You think you can squirm away Art?”
The panic shot through my body like I’m sure the adrenaline leaves the shoulders of a dying animal. He was calling into the hatchway.
“I wonder if you can outrun these?” He shouted. The sound of a million hissing creatures followed his words up the passageway.
In response, I kicked and began to pull myself along even quicker, paying no attention to what was ahead and paid mind to the place near my feet, sure that at any moment the roaches would begin devouring me from the bottom up.
I met something in the passageway and when I felt around at the thing the top of my head met, I found a handle. It was another hatch. I pushed with everything in me and it creaked open to allow me to slide out onto a hard floor. Scrambling to my feet, I shut the hatchway on that end just in time for a particularly large cockroach’s pinhead to catch in the edge of the hatch. It shot off gloriously, leaving behind a thick clump of yellow green insides.
Caught in the hysteria, I slapped the closed hatch with both hands, letting out an exasperated, “Yes.”
The sound of the insects on the other side disappeared and I could only assume this was because their new masters called them back.
I examined the room I was in. It came as no surprise that what met me was blank gray walls; in far corner of the empty room was a door and I went to it. Before reaching out to open the door, I pressed my ear to it to see if I could hear a thing. The sound of ocean waves beating the coast and pelican calls were all that I could hear. I twisted the knob and pushed it out. What awaited me could not have been conceived. There was a beach. I stepped from the room, out onto gathered algae-covered stones. I turned to look at the structure I’d come from. It was a plain concrete block on the coast, no larger than a bedroom. I rounded the thing, looking for evidence of the passageway that had given me my means of escape. It defied all laws of physics as there was no tether between this small structure and Sceptre Incorporated.
“Hey there!” called out a figure in the distant, further along the beach.
I spun, paranoid of the figure’s intent. She approached slowly, obviously eyeing me over as she stepped onto the slick rocks.
She wore a great big khaki sun hat above a pair of comically oversized sunglasses and a two-piece spotted bikini. “You look awful!” She said upon getting a closer look at me.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Look at your chest!” She was aghast at the wound I’d sliced the cockroach from. It was true; I was bleeding straight through the work shirt I’d wrapped around my body in an attempt to strangulate the wound. “What’s happened to you?”
“Do you know the man on the phone?” I asked.
“Man on the phone?” she peered at me over her sunglasses. “Whatever in the world are you talking about?”
“Never mind.” I started over the slick rocks, watching my steps so as to not spill over. Just up the way, I spied a boardwalk and I started in that direction. I began searching on my phone for a taxi service in the area. I was on the coast. The squalor factory was at least an hour’s drive inland.
“Wait!” The woman reached out to grab my forearm.
I tried whipping myself from her grasp and sent us both scrambling over the rocks. I landed squarely on my knees and she fell face first over the rocks, her nose erupting in blood.
“What’s your problem, Arthur?” she squealed while pinching her nose. Her sunglasses lay near her feet, shattered.
Jumping to my feet, I massaged my knees. “What did you just say?”
“What’s your problem?” She asked again.
I took a step away from her. “Is that all you said?”
“Of course.”
“Leave me alone.” I left the woman laying there in the rocks, stunned.
She continued to call after me, but I ignored her, jogging towards the boardwalk. The humidity mixed with the scent of the ocean was coaxing out nausea. I plodded up the stairs to the boardwalk and ignored the bystanders’ surprised expressions as I limped past. A small child ran by, smothering his face in a pillow of cotton candy and his mother gave me a raised eyebrow as she passed to chase after her charge.
I dialed for a taxi and scheduled them to meet me out by the entrance of the boardwalk. As I stepped by a hotdog stand, the man tending the counter squirted mustard along the bun. Resting within the bun was a living, breathing hamster. I twisted around to give the hotdog a second glance. It was normal.
“Did you want one, buddy?” he asked.
I walked on without answering. Was it some sort of psychosis growing like mesh around my mind or was the world’s fabric melting away?
I sat in the backseat of the taxi and unwrapped my makeshift bandage to examine the wound on my chest. The driver adjusted his rearview mirror to catch a better look at me. I winced as I pulled the work shirt from the places the blood had dried, forcing it to cling.
The driver whistled. “Wouldn’t think the cockroaches would be this bad this time of year.”
My skin grew exceptionally cold. “What?”
“Wouldn’t think the rain would be this bad this time of year.” He twisted the knob near the steering wheel to turn on the windshield wipers.
It was raining. The day’s events had sapped all energy from my muscles. I craned my head back and closed my eyes to see the metronome sitting in a black void. It clicked back and forth and rocked me to sleep.
The squalor factory’s steps were empty as I exited the taxi. Briefly, I wondered whether Mary and Margery would shoot from around a corner and berate me for scaring them with the hissing cockroach. They didn’t.
My apartment was untouched.
As I properly disinfected my chest with alcohol and wrapped it with a gauze pad, my phone rang. I screwed the top of the alcohol and laid down on my matress, staring up at the ceiling of the squalor factory. I knew who was calling. It was unknown.
I answered. “Thank you.”
The gruff voice on the other end of the line chuckled to itself. “No worries, my boy.” There was a short pause. “However, you should know that this is far from over. You understand that don’t you?”
“How do you mean?” I glanced down to the things I’d gathered in a cardboard box at the foot of my mattress on the floor.
“I see you’ve been planning to skip town.” The shuffling sound of papers could be heard over the line once again. “That would not be favorable.”
“How do you know that?”
“I have eyes, don’t I?”
“Do you?” I tested.
The voice let out another chuckle. “Please Mister Bannon, don’t make me laugh. I’m not in the mood for it and you need all the help you can get. I would be better suited at helping you if you’d stop with the clowning.”
“Of course.” I watched the gentle flicker of the oil lantern by my mattress.
“So, we’re agreed that you will go into work tomorrow?”
“Excuse me?”
“That is the plan. My plans seldom fail.” A pause on the line. “Trust, Mister Bannon. Trust is the key to everything."
Previous/Next

I had a couple reviews I just did for chubbytravel but most rooms here are more FAT so posting here. Anyway, it’s on a bajillion lists as a “must-visit” so here is my review of Twin Farms in VT.
Booking: This is pre me working with u/sarahwlee so don't send any hate her way for the mismatch. We direct booked the room category “Guest” at $2700 per night for 3 nights in winter. Prices included all but spa.
Why: My partner has a VT thing. And it was winter and we wanted to do the cozy snow outside, fireplace inside kinda thing. Nature doesn’t actually cooperate and instead we got gross drizzly rain which is less magical haha.
Arrival: This isn’t hard. Fly somewhere nearby and do car service. We flew into Manchester and then it was about 90 minutes to property. You probably won't leave once you get there so no reason to have a car. But if you do they will wash it for you while you're there (bonus!).
Room: The room we got is their absolute base room (e.g. smallest and most simple) but we were super last minute so it was all they had available. And it was still really nice. Cozy, comfy, with a huge bathroom. It’s on the second floor of the main house but we never noticed noise or anything. It didn’t have that much of a view which was maybe the only downside. I wouldn’t re-book this room but if it’s all you can get (or afford) it’s really nice esp if you like the historical / original vibe. I am a more modern style person and would probably do the treehouses if I went back.
Activities: This is very seasonally and weather dependent. In other words, my fav activity ended up being puzzles haha. Which sounds stupid til you do a stave puzzle (google it) and then realize they have a puzzle library and develop a puzzle habit that lasts years. But also we did sledding, skating, hiking stuff outside too. No one else was doing activities and looked at us like we were nutso cause it was raining but the activities crew let us run wild and seemed to have fun with it. We also spent a lot of time at the furo which is a Japanese style warm soaking pool. And finally spent hours doing every single hike cause they do a scavenger hunt to find these cute stamps and if you collect them all you get a Pokemon (just kidding but you do get a present and it’s really nice).
Spa: I did a massage treatment and hard nope. Worst ever. Would not go back to the spa unless I had a lot of intel that suggests they figured that out.
Food: Ok first the bad. I thought the food was gonna be incredible. I had high expectations especially because other R&C properties are so yummy. Their main restaurant was meh. It felt uninspired and like generic “rich people like this” food. I was surprised at the lack of more farm-to-table vibes or flavor. We only did one lunch and one dinner there and then I was like nope gotta get a new plan. That plan meant all the picnic lunches and while that food it more simple it’s tasty and the picnic sites are all super fun e.g. at the lake, or lean to or wherever. We also started doing room service for breakfast which was 10/10. And then finally we did one in-room dinner which was better than the restaurant and exceeded expectations because I hadn’t done a multi-course tasting menu as room service before and it was just fun. And finally we made our way to the pub and their food was much more casual but also more tasty. Again if you’re hungry they’l bring you anything, anytime, including middle of the night fresh baked cookies. Do that cause they pair super well with 2am puzzle frenzy.
Drinks: It’s dangerous. You could drink 24-7 here and no one would bat an eye. The house beer is basically heady topper and iykyk. But also the wine options are very good and all the cocktails are yummy. This is where I got into clarified drinks. The canapés and champagne before dinner is kinda fun too. And if you worry you might not be able to find a drink for three minutes don’t worry because your room is stocked daily with whatever you want on hand.
Service: This is very high-touch or formal and if that’s your thing you’ll love it. I felt out of place. But I had everything I ever needed and they basically spy on you to make things happen — like I mentioned I wanted to finish this puzzle that was in the main house but in my pjs upstairs and when we went back they had moved it to our room. Or when I said ugh my lips are chapped and someone handed me a new chapstick in 22 seconds. It’s like that. They say that if it isn’t illegal or unethical the answer is always yes. So you get very comfortable, very fast, just asking for stuff too. I mean I never snapped my fingers or anything but it felt like that wouldn’t have phased them.
Guests: We are in our early 40s and ummm def the youngest here by decades and decades. Which is fine, not knocking it… but compared to other places it wasn’t a place where there was a lot of socialization and we felt like people kept looking at us like uh who let the kids in. Haha. So maybe save it for a retirement trip!
Summary: I wouldn’t go back for the next 20 years at least. And then I bet it would rock. But in the meantime I’ll keep exploring and now ask my TA for recs instead of trusting internet best of lists :)
Hopefully this helps! Happy travels.

The fourth circle of hell, Greed. A place Maximillian was all too familiar with. Its streets are lined with gemstones, plated in gold. Neon signs everywhere, their vibrant colours are almost blinding. Muggers, thugs and thieves hide wherever possible, waiting for an unsuspecting target to leave without a single possession left. He walked there without a grain of fear, he'd traversed this place almost weekly for the past 746 years, he knows every hiding spot, every risky alley, and every way to deal with those bandits when they approach him. He keeps a swift pace as he walks, not intending to slow down in the least. Livia is just behind him.
Down this road is an inn I always stay at. I'm good friends with the proprietress. She should be able to give us a nice meal and a room for a quick rest, before we go into The Snake’s Eyes Casino. They continue avoiding certain twists and turns for a while, until they stand before a large inn. “The Alchemist’s Gamble”. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to Margaret renaming this place. It used to just be called “The Twisted Horn”, but it also wasn’t part tavern back then.
"A tavern, really? Shouldn't we hurry? Hirk’s life depends on it… and yours too." Livia seems confused at the sudden stop.
Oh I know we should hurry, and we are hurrying. I just feel a lot luckier after having one of Margaret’s meals, and it’s never wise to gamble when tired.
"It’s never wise to gamble in the first place, but sure, let’s go…"
Sometimes it’s a pretty good time. A lot to be gained too, With the right folk, of course.
The two enter the Inn, to the left is the added tavern, a few devils and demons are seated, enjoying their time. To the right is the check-in desk. An incredibly tall, muscular, scarred Demoness is seated behind it, she is resting her legs on top of it, her chair tilted back a bit. The moment she sees Maximillian, she vaults over the desk, excited to see him.
“Little Max! Back so soon? Not that I’m complaining, of course. It’s good to see your cute little face around here! It’s a really refreshing view compared to all these rough and tough types.” The large demoness is pinching his cheeks and roughing up his hair.
It’s good to see you too, Granny Margaret! We’re here on pretty serious business today, so we can’t stick around for too long, but we wanted to quickly grab a meal before we head to The Snake’s Eyes. The two genuinely seem like a grandmother and grandson the way they’re interacting. It’s a strange yet wholesome sight.
“The Snake’s Eyes? Oh dear, you might not want to go there now. The old Duke was dethroned. He lost one too many gambles to a Devil who refuses to play fair. The Duke adhered to the rules, yet she rigged every gamble she made, had her minions tinker with the roulette tables, rig the slots, replace the dice with weighted ones, and had a crooked dealer shuffle the cards in her favour… She’s a naturalborn cheater, without even a sliver of honour, only false pride, and an ego the size of a city.” Margaret seems incredibly worried. It does sound bad, a Duchess that’ll make sure the house always wins.
"There is nothing wrong with cheating, only fools fight fair. Still, this change of leadership could be a problem."
Maximillian considers their words for a moment. Sorry Margaret, we don’t have a choice in the matter. Several lives are at stake here. This is bound to be the most important gamble of my life. We’ll just have to prevent her from cheating, and we’re definitely going to need some of your delightful cooking then, to boost our energy! With that, we’ll be fine for sure! Margaret sees the genuine smile on his face, and feels reassured.
“You never have been one to back down from a challenge, even if all the odds are stacked against you. That kind of attitude would get most people killed, but you seem to be surviving just fine with it, Maxxie. Alright, I’ll cook something up that’ll get the both of you ready for anything. Head upstairs to your usual room, I’ll bring it there once it’s done!.” Margaret walks over to the back, to the kitchen, a few demons slip away from the door as she approaches. You can hear her yelling at some of her staff, something about not tolerating slander, and you can hear a pot being thrown at someone. Seems someone’s not too fond of Maximillian, and she’s having none of it. You have to wonder just what the history between these two is.
There’s one room upstairs, permanently reserved in my name. Follow me.
"Our plan is in shambles already. Do you know anything about this new Duchess? In any case, I've seen some promising devils downstairs, I can bind them to my will and storm the casino if necessary."
Storming the Casino would be a fool’s errand. Believe me, violence doesn’t go over well in Greed. Neither does cheating, really. These devils live for one thing, and that is to gamble. Not to win, but for the game itself. Cheating is against that very concept. That hag’s an intruder, and a sly one at that. We’ll simply have to prevent her from gambling, she can’t expose herself, or she’ll face the wrath of all of Greed.
Livia is silent, deep in thought, weighting the various possibilities
"In all my years as a diabolist I’ve never witnessed a single interaction with a devil that wouldn’t be greatly improved by violence; but you are the most experienced on the matters concerning this circle. I think you should concentrate on the gamble itself while I make sure the Duchess doesn’t cheat too much, or I can out-cheat her if you prefer."
I would prefer you preventing her cheating, over us cheating ourselves. We don’t want to be thrown out of the casino, and my luck only works fully on fair matches.
"The boring way it is then…"
Well, you wouldn’t want to take too many risks with Hirk on the line, right? He says this, completely ignoring that Gambling is risk-based.
"No. I wouldn’t. That’s why I proposed violence in the first place. By the way, you seem on pretty good terms with the owner; that’s unusual, devils aren't the most affectionate type of creatures. Do you have some sort of contract? That might be relevant for the success of our mission."
Contract? No, no. Nothing of the sort. It’s as much of a contract as I have with Hirk. Hells, the two of us have more of a contract than I have with Margaret, with that piece of my soul in your hands. Margaret used to be the proprietress of a much smaller inn, above, in the lands of the living. Shady spot, but great for information. One time, a buncha Paladins tried to wipe her and her inn off the map. I happened to be seated there, having some tea, and well, two hours later there were 17 dead Paladins, a heavily scarred proprietress, and a very wounded Alchemist standing where there used to be an inn.
"Ah, I understand now. Very well, as long as she has that kind of debt with you, I doubt she will sell us to the Duchess, or spy on us for her. Besides, I didn’t think you to be the kind of person willing to slaughter paladins. This is a great improvement over the image I had of you. Anyway, I need not inquire any further on her motives."
I wouldn’t so much call it a debt as… Friends bound in blood. But, if that’s how you wish to see it for your own comfort, please do so. Regarding the Paladins, I care not for someone’s occupation. I made a vow to shield demihumans, monsters and demons alike, if they were to make efforts to reform themselves. It’s why I founded ARMADA. It’s why my shoppe is run by demihumans. Margaret tried to live a quiet life, and they decided that was a crime. Paladins or not, they were scum.
"Devils, reformed or not tend to see relationships as contracts, but I do not wish to change your mind. Besides, your vow is very interesting, what caused such a strong commitment towards demihumans?"
Let me start with another question. How often do you see Demihumans in the cities of man? Not often, and when you do, it’s slaves. Things were different where I grew up. My Fiancée, Rachnia, she’s an arachne. Lower body of a spider, four arms, eight eyes, venom, you know the deal. I grew up living next to her.
Across the street was a family of cyclops. A few Llamia’s in the same street too. Just as many humans among them. That eventually changed. More and more magic users showed up, magicless and demihumans fell to the wayside. Eventually, wars broke out in the city, we had to dodge stray spells just trying to survive. When Rachnia was taken from me… for a time… I made the decision to try to bring back the old times. To take out slavers wherever I could, and bring back the days where Demihumans were commonplace. They don’t deserve to be treated like this, and so, I try to change that.
"You have a very difficult dream to achieve. Still a very noble one. Be careful though, if you want lasting change to happen you will have to be patient and cautious. If demihumans simply rely on your generosity it won’t solve the issue in the long term. Anyway I believe we have a Duchess to dethrone!"
Yes, it won’t be easy, but the most beautiful things are often the most difficult to achieve… But before we head out to fool this Duchess… A small knocking can be heard on the door. Margaret enters with two plates filled with decadent food. A beautiful roast, with enough sides to serve several people. Figured she’d be done by now! Thanks Margaret!
Margaret gives him a pat on the back. “You better eat up well, you don’t want to go hungry at the roulette table!” She laughs at her own words, and leaves the two to enjoy their food.
Well then, to the greatest gamble of my life, and the return of Hirk!
"To victory, and to our friend Hirk."
Livia begins to fill her plate with lots of different dishes and produces a tome from her pocket, she then proceeds to read leisurely while enjoying the feast, ignoring the most basic rules of human etiquette.
"And yes, you are right, the most important things are also the most difficult to achieve. Good luck on your endeavours. Well it might be needless to actually wish you luck."
Only a fool would say that being wished good luck by a friend is anything but a good omen. Thank you. I will need it. He slices off some pieces of the roast, before enjoying the feast to his heart’s desire. I’ll never get tired of Margaret’s cooking. She should honestly just open a restaurant already.
Livia grins mischievously when she hears the word ‘friend’, but then it turns into a more gentle smile.
"I must be really charming, not even a day ago I threatened your life and stole a piece of your soul, yet you call me friend. I’m genuinely flattered. And yes, Margaret’s cooking is truly delicious. I should come here again."
Call it a gambler’s intuition, but I can tell you’re not bad folk. You’re stressed out, just like me. You thought I stole Hirk’s belongings, and for good reason. You looked if I was truthful, saw that I was, and decided that we should go right for bringing Hirk back, even with my ridiculous plan. Yes, I would say you’re a good friend, and quite charming at that. He raises his glass to that notion and takes a few sips.
Livia looks pensive for a moment then looks away from her book for the first time, she raises her own glass and drinks wholeheartedly.
"My friend, I do believe you are a bit too easy to trust your would-be assassin, but I’m glad that things went this way. Hopefully we will bring Hirk back too. But as I said, there are other plans we could try if this one fails. But I’d rather not think about that eventuality. Feast and get ready, we should not linger here too much no matter how delicious the food may be."
You’re absolutely right. Let’s get some more of this food eaten up, and then head out! Night’s about to fall, the best time to face a proprietor of a Casino.
About half an hour later, the two are ready to head out. Thank you Margaret! The food was amazing as usual. You’ll hear tales of my victory soon, I promise you! The two head outside, Margaret standing at the door, waving them goodbye. “You better come back next week then! I’ll throw you a party! Safe travels, and beware of that hag’s tricks!”
The two arrive at the city centre of Greed shortly after. In the very middle of the city stands a grandiose, opulent, gaudy Casino. A true Icon of Excess. “The Snake’s Eyes”. Don’t forget the plan. Even though the Duke is no longer in charge, nothing has changed.
The two head inside, and are faced with the Duchess herself, seemingly anticipating their arrival. “What have we here? The longest streakholder of this establishment, and his companion? I heard you were coming. I presume you’re here to gamble against me, the greatest gambler of the Hells. You wish to try your luck against mine, am I right?” The Duchess’ ego is just as badly inflated as Margaret said. She’s so confident that no one can win. After all, how could they? They’re rigged to lose. She intends to end Maximillian’s ongoing streak right here, right now.
Yes, you would be right, Madam. I had heard you were a great competitor, and I wish to test my luck against yours. I’m confident that I’ll surprise you quite a bit. I’d even wager that this will be the most interesting night of gambling of your life. His face betrays nothing. A perfect poker face, just a smile. It’s almost genuine. You only know it isn’t because you saw the real deal earlier.
“The most interesting night of gambling of my life. What an interesting wager. Guess we’ll see, once you’re wiped out.” The Duchess laughs, before leading the two to the main hall. “Why don’t we start simple? A few rounds of Roulette? Let’s see if that luck of yours is as impressive as people say.”
The roulette table they arrive at is clearly tinkered with. Instead of its thin pedestal from before being the only thing below the table, the entire table is now covered on the front and sides. Margaret warned about the Duchess using her minions for her cheating, they’re probably under the table rigging it.
Maximillian leans over to Livia, whispering. “I’m guessing, two imps, right below the table. They’ll stop it at her number.”
Livia smiles and looks around, focussing on the incriminated table; the colour of her eyes appears more vibrant and a faint magic aura can be felt.
"Just as you said, two sneaky bastards under the table, But they didn’t mask their presence well enough. Amateurs. I’ll take care of them."
As soon as Livia steps closer to the table, she trips and falls in a clearly over-theatrical way.
"Oh silly me, I hate moquette."
She puts a hand closer to the table as she tries to get up again, then magic flares around her for an instant and is released with a single whisper.
"Bind."
The imps freeze immediately and become unresponsive as their consciousness is slowly subverted. Livia smiles and turns to Maximillian.
"The interlopers have been dealt with. We can use them if you wish."
He has a sly grin on his face. No need. I just have to place my bet.
Five hundred Platinum on Twenty-Three. “Five hundred Platinum on 30” The Roulette wheel spins and spins around, and sure enough, it lands on Twenty-Three. That’s a win for me. 18000 Platinum.
“T-that’s not… Tsk, beginner’s luck, of course! First gamble of the night always goes right. Let’s head to the Poker table. You clearly don’t need a warm-up.” They head to the poker table where the crooked dealer sits. “This is our most talented dealer, only for our most famous of guests of course!
Maximillian leans in to whisper to Livia again. “This should be a simple one, got any ways to give him a sore throat? A quick total honesty brew in his drink, and a single swig of it should fix our entire cheating problem here.” he hands her a small vial filled with a smoky white brew.
“Sore throat? There is no need for that when brute force can do the trick, with a bit of chronomancy of course.”
Livia closes her eyes and concentrates for an instant. When she opens her eyes again, the potion is completely gone, not even a drop remains. The dealer is slightly confused and massages his own jaw as if he had just experienced a sudden pain.
“Done, it’s always a bit difficult to move other people when time stops but I have been as delicate as possible. I think. Now let’s see if the potion really works…”
The dealer puts away the creased deck of cards and replaces it with a brand new deck. “I’m very sorry, that previous deck was dirty. We can’t be using anything besides our finest decks for our finest guests of course!” The game goes on as usual, and of course, Maximillian seems to always end up with a Royal Flush. He’s been matching the Duchess’ bets. He’d place relics and entire deeds to properties on the line to match her items and value.
“C-Card games are old and boring! Let’s go for some dice!” The Duchess is getting visibly upset, she’s losing a lot of her assets, and quickly too. This isn’t how she planned things out.
The dice on the table are obviously weighted. The side with the one on it is made out of slightly denser material. Maximillian leans towards Livia, whispering. “Replace the dice with normal ones. Use an illusion to make sure no one sees it. I’ll keep the Duchess occupied." Hey Duchess, have you ever seen this trick? He throws a shiny gambling chip from one hand to another, again and again, fast enough for it to spin and be almost like a mirror. In its reflection, you see a small candle burning, until the chip disappears in his left hand, and he holds the candle in his open right hand. “Cheap party tricks. I can do that too!” She tries to do the same thing, but fails repeatedly. Maximillian helps teach her the trick, while nodding to Livia to work her magic.
Livia nonchalantly rips a sliver of her own shadow and infuses it with arcane energy, then she shapes it into the form of dice, perfectly identical to the ones on the table. With fake clumsiness she pushes the weighted dice off the table, catching them with her free hand and replacing them with the quasi-real ones.
They roll the dice, until finally, the Duchess has no assets left. Only her Authority of the Duke of Greed, and the deed to The Snake’s Eyes are left, one combined asset. Maximillian turns to her, a small grin on his face.
How about we make this our final gamble. One final roll of the dice. I place all my assets on the table, including my very own life. In exchange, you wager The Snake’s Eyes, and your Duchess Authority with it. “You’d be a fool to play all-or-nothing now. I’ll do it, I’ll match your fool’s gambit. We’ll carve a new set of dice, right here, right now, to commemorate the occasion.”
The Duchess pulls a demon over from another chair, and tears their arm off. The rips out the bones and makes a set of four perfect dice. Not weighted, not affected by anything, just, dice.
“You go first, Fool.” Maximillian rolls the dice, a 1, a 3, a 2, and another 3. Only 9 total. “Haha! Only nine. Guess Fortuna’s luck finally ran out, huh? How adorable.”
Maximillian’s eyes are calm. Determined. Your turn, Duchess. Roll. The Duchess laughs before rolling her dice. Four times two, Spider eyes, for a total of eight. The Duchess’ eyes are shaking, her entire body quaking. I guess your luck ran dry just the same, Duchess. Thank you for your time, and your assets. I hope it was indeed, the most interesting night of Gambling you’ve ever experienced.
The transferral of ownership happens nearly instantly. Maximillian’s face replaces that of the Duchess in the staff roster, as owner of the Casino, the name up front changing to “The Spider’s Eyes.” Where’d you leave the old Duke, cheater? He approaches the Duchess, now nothing but a low level Devil. “I made him a janitor! He’s currently on break!” The old Duchess is cowering, her bravado shattered. Maximillian has a staff member bring over the old Duke.
“Huh, Maximillian? What are you doing here? Don’t let that witch see you, she’ll run you for all your money!” The old Duke looks at the old Duchess, now without any authority or assets. “You sly dog. You beat her.”
Yes, yes I did, and with that came the Authority of the Duke. I want to propose a deal. Five favours, three of which I’ll use now, with no downsides. I’ll return the Duke’s Authority to you, and make you manager of the Casino, though I’ll be keeping the actual deed to it. I can’t spend the rest of my days in the hells, so I need you to take over yet again.
The old Duke seems to consider for a moment. “Alright, deal. So long as I get to gamble like I used to, I’m taking that opportunity.” The Duke returns to his former self, Dandy as before, well dressed, now the manager of The Spider’s Eyes. “What are those favours of yours, old gambling buddy?”
First, undo my curse. No more undeath by taking the bodies of innocents.
Second, modify this gem of rebirth so that I can bind anyone to it at will. When we die, we shall take form again using mimic’s gel nearby it, or if absolutely necessary, the body of an animal akin to them. Just like my old curse, but without the downsides. This will be my new immortality, and that of my companions and Fiancée.
For my third favour. He places Hirk’s trauma sphere on the table. I want you to bring the man whose soul is trapped inside here, back to life.
“Deal, Deal and Deal. Done, Done and… Done.” Maximillian feels lighter, yet vulnerable. The gem of rebirth glows a violently bright white, before linking itself to Maximillian and his companions right away.
Yet instead of Hirk, all that appeared was a piece of Scottish Shortbread. The two panic.
Where’s Hirk? You said you’d revive him! Where is he?
“I did! I know I did! Let me just… figure out what happened. Please, go to the bar. I’ll get back to you in just a minute.”
The Duke is panicking, trying to find out what went wrong. The two do as asked, knowing that pushing more wouldn’t result in anything right now.
As the two sit down to grab a drink, defeated, they hear a familiar voice, having a great time, praising the whiskey.
/uw thank you to u/IntentionallyBlank-0 for lending her writing of Livia to this post, it wouldn't be the same quality without her help! Thank you to u/Harpokiller for letting me do his revival in this grandiose way. This was a fucking blast to write.

Sir Jack Beastman, accompanied by his companions Soup and Lightning, couldn’t help but smirk with a mix of excitement and nervousness. He managed to control his expression just before the impressive royal guards each pushed open their part of the double doors.
It did not escape Jack's notice that the guards opened the inward-swinging double doors with grace, practiced motion, and speed, transforming them into a single grand and imposing mechanism. This observation intrigued Jack, who was always too curious and never satisfied. He could see the attention and seriousness the guards put into their duties. It was evident to Jack that these royal guards had likely dealt with and thwarted real threats. No guard could maintain such focus and attention without taking pride in their work and finding fulfillment in it. Men like these craved action to feel fulfilled, of that Jack had no doubt. As he waited for the royal spokesman to announce his arrival, Jack observed each guard's micro-twitches, which suggested they were mentally simulating potential encounters with him and his canine companions at least four times over.
Unbeknownst to Jack, the guards who impressed him so much were also the first target for cutbacks whenever the kingdom faced financial woes. Despite recommendations from economy and administrative counselors to reduce expenses by eliminating the separate royal guard.
As Jack crossed the threshold, he looked around, consciously restraining his urge to scan the room too quickly for decorum's sake.
The room was lined with guards, positioned against the walls, their numbers denser near the throne. Amidst them, two large clusters of courtiers, whom Jack affectionately dubbed "gossip talkers," congregated around the center. Jack anticipated a grand rug to adorn the space between them, but instead, the floor was bare stone. Casting his gaze upward, Jack noted the lack of decoration throughout the throne room, contributing to its austere and cold atmosphere.
The king, seated upon his throne, appeared to be nursing a headache, his temples gently massaged by a servant positioned discreetly behind his seat. With eyes closed, he sought solace from the persistent ache. Meanwhile, his wife, Queen Mary, alternated her gaze between Jack and his companions, her concern evident as she monitored her husband's discomfort.
She leaned over to him, snapping the king from his pain relief trance like state, he straightened himself and the servant quietly disappeared into the shadows behind the throne.
Jack by this point has reached the spot where he is supposed to bow and address the king Soup and Lighting never detaching from his knee, quietly waiting for the king's acknowledgement to proceed with the formalities.
As their gazes met, the king gave a subtle nod, signaling Jack to begin. Keeping his back straight and maintaining eye contact with the king, Jack executed a respectful bow. Simultaneously, Soup and Lighting, ever attuned to their master's cues, lowered their torsos and heads in their own version of a bow, acknowledging the king in their canine way.
Jack congratulated himself for winning the stare contest he decided that he and the king were having, when the king looked away to appreciate his friend’s gesture. He then cursed himself for enjoying the pressure too much and to focus, as the room is filled with people who could make him disappear.
Jack momentarily congratulated himself for what he perceived as winning the unspoken stare contest with the king, only to quickly reprimand himself for indulging in such frivolity. As the king shifted his gaze to acknowledge Jack's companions, Soup and Lighting, Jack cursed inwardly, chiding himself for relishing the pressure of the moment. He reminded himself sternly to remain focused, acutely aware of the presence of numerous high influence men and women who could make him vanish without a trace.
Once all the formalities were concluded, Soup and Lighting settled down at Jack's side as the king addressed him directly. "Jack, my esteemed knight, do you recall that I served as your sword bearer during your knighting ceremony?" The king gestured toward Jack's bastard sword, prompting a flood of memories.
"I do, Your Highness," Jack replied, a mixture of respect and unease evident in his tone. "You graciously yielded your own sword, albeit with some reluctance, to fulfill my request for a bastard sword instead of the traditional longsword." Internally, Jack cringed at his choice of words. "What did I just say?" he scolded himself, mortified at the perceived familiarity in addressing the king's disposition.
To Jack’s relief, the king laughed. “I have heard you have taken good care of her as well," he remarked, referring to Jack's sword. "Before my father granted that territory to you, the kingdom suffered countless raids from the mutees, the grand forest in your territory providing them plenty of hiding and ambush spots for our armies. Your wise use of the forest for your timber industry and ability to defend it proves your merit to this kingdom”
The king continued to praise Jack. “Now, only ten years later, the mutee’s are our allies thanks to negotiations you started with their chief. Yet even more impressive than that, you have become one of the richest knights in my kingdom.”
Jack felt a lump form in his throat as he realized the king was praising him. In his experience, starting with the good things only meant the bad things were the important part saved for later.
"I had sent spies into your household, Jack," the king stated blankly. "I was afraid the secret of your success was, as is often the case for many, rooted in dark tidings." The king's smile softened the severity of his words. "But it’s not, is it? The secret of your success is you."
The king's revelation left Jack momentarily stunned, his mind racing to comprehend the implications of the king's surveillance. However, before he could gather his thoughts, the king continued.
"I need you here, in my council. You are wasted on a border territory."

Out of the lift, down the corridor and through an open bulkhead door and they arrive on the mezzanine deck of Little Serbow. The rumble of the crowd, the smell of cooking meat, glasses clinking at the unit bar of the Apuk troops aboard the ship. It was really like a town square on Serbow... right down to some stonework added to some of the walls... and Sharon's favorite thing. It was something she had laughed about nearly endlessly when she'd seen it, but had to be careful about who she mentioned finding it funny too... the Apuk took it very seriously.
It was the little alcove that featured a beautifully carved and shaped statue of Jerry and Aqi, set up more like the presentation of religious figures than an acknowledgment of the royal patrons of the 'town'.
Sharon stops and bows in the Japanese style, again, teasing her husband before doing a double take, the statues were... different? Someone had added some gilded decorations to the statues, starting with tiny representations of their wedding bands, and human style golden laurel wreaths. Someone had planted brilliant blue flowers in the alcove too!
"Well... I see the girls have been busy. What's all this?"
Jerry chuckles. "Ah yes. Aqi and I were decorated by the Empress along with a decent chunk of the Apuk troops who participated in the action on the Pillars of Ascension. Someone decided to represent the victory on our statues, along with a new battle honor ribbon on the involved unit's standards. The flowers are of a type that's hard to pronounce in cinder tongue but would translate to... Victory Lily? Something like that in galactic trade. I'm sure you can take a wild guess as to what the flowers are symbolic of."
"Hmph. I'll have to consult my special book of clues to solve that particular mystery. Still, nice to know their royal highnesses are still popular with their people. Reminds me I need to tell my mom I'm a princess by association in my next video message to be sent back to Earth."
Jerry's arm snakes around Sharon's waist, giving her a loving squeeze.
"You've always been a queen to me, is princess really that much of a step up?"
Sharon playfully pushes Jerry away, then immediately seizes his arm again.
"You stop trying to make me blush in public. I have to maintain the dignity of my office... and so do you for that matter Admiral Bridger. Honestly though, my Mom's gonna really flip. Still haven't heard back from the last video but adding my new husband being a prince on top of everything I told my family in the last video is going to get quite the reaction. More from my sisters than anyone else but I wish I could see mom's face when she hears... well. All of our news. My promotion. We technically filed the paperwork to goddamn buy a planet. I-"
A familiar coat of fur catches Sharon's eye and she spies Purisha Velour walking out of an eatery with a man she doesn't recognize wearing officer's bars on his collar.
"Oh... That's interesting. Jerry, look."
"...Hmmm. That is interesting. I thought Purisha was interested in Sir David, but that sure looks like a date to me."
Sharon nods slowly, watching as Purisha chats with the young man as they walk along. "There's some interesting distance there though. He tried to take her arm, and she dodged it. Possibly unconsciously. She's having fun... but seems unsure."
"Hmmm. Well, Purisha's a big girl, and she's a commando now. She can handle herself with a little boy drama I'm sure. If she can't, I trust her to tag in someone from her chain of command or the family to help. Neysihen if no one else. Speaking of interesting couples though... look over there."
Sharon's eyes follow the jerk of her husband's head as they continue to walk and finds a familiar young Cannidor woman next to an Apuk woman she'd recently had a meeting with.
"...Lursa and Lursa'Tor? Interesting. I can't imagine Lursa's having a meeting with Lursa'Tor professionally, she's hardly the type to seek out a counselor, and if she did she'd go to Jaruna or Zraloc first... then Wichen."
That got a good response from Jerry.
"Wait. Wichen?"
"Mhmm. The chief armorer of a war band holds a major position of responsibility in the band. They're the boss of the support staff and are in charge of the aspirants for everything but their combat training, and a core part of being a Cannidor warrior's being able to maintain and repair your own armor."
"Good point. I suppose I'd be fourth on the list for help as patriarch?"
"Yeah. Though you're in a weird spot as the war chief too, but, Lursa knows you pretty well by now. So I'd wager they're just having a meal and making friends. I'm sure someone pointed out their similar names to one of them."
A quick flight of stairs has them popping out near the Colbert clan's restaurant. Out front Calamity 'Cali' Colbert is still rocking her frilly maid outfit with its skimpy mini skirt and heels, a stark contrast from the well known meathead's usual mode of dress. Joining her however is Michael Colbert, trading his uniform in for a butler's outfit and handing out coupons.
The normally taciturn Marine doing his absolute best to smile and put on a public relations forward face. Cali turns on hearing their footsteps with a big tusky grin before startling and going to salute, then stopping herself as she remembers that not only is she out of uniform, the Promenade and Little Serbow were no salute areas.
"Hey Sir! Ma'am!"
"Sergeant Colbert, Corporal Colbert." Jerry responds cordially with a nod.
"Thanks for the tip to get Michael out here sir! It actually upped the foot traffic! Not that we've ever really had a problem with that I suppose. Everyone on the ships knows we're here now."
Michael rolls his eyes. "Also got me a few proposals from breathy Apuk maidens, among others."
Cali elbows her husband in the ribs lightly. "You married two of them, babe, you don't get to go all woe is me about that. Anyway, Nyri's at the podium tonight! Head on in!"
Sure enough Nyri'Jan is sitting at the podium, now gravid enough that she's not quite happy to stand through an evening shift at her family's eatery. When she sees Sharon and Jerry though she pops to her feet.
"Hey! Admiral! Captain! You came. Quick, follow me!"
Sharon exchanges a look with Jerry, a smile coming to her face. Nyri'Jan's relentless positivity really was infectious.
Nyri takes them to the back of the dining room, where an alcove has been built up, filled with some fairly plus furniture and surrounded by tastefully concealed privacy screens and adorned with a sign; 'The Captain's Table'.
"We reserved a table for you! Well. Both of you. Sorta. We started setting it up when Jerry was captain, but I suppose it's your table now as the captain Sharon."
Sharon chuckles and mimes thinking about it for a second.
"I suppose I'll allow the Admiral to use my table. Just on occasion."
"It is a big table, I'm sure we can share."
Nyri grins. "So you both like it then?"
Sharon reaches out and gives Nyri a hug, surprising the pretty blonde.
"I can safely say it's one of the nicest presents I've ever received as the captain of a ship."
"Great! So... you guys are staying for dinner right?"
Sharon nods. "Yep, can't think of a better way to break my new private table in than for date night!"
"Okay! I'll be right back with some menus, fruit juice for the captain and a glass of pyrebreath for the admiral!"
Sharon grins as she shifts in to take a seat at the captain's table, smiling across its expanse of lovingly polished wood to Jerry.
"You know, it's good to be the captain."
"Now you know why I was so reluctant to be 'demoted' to Admiral."
Sharon feels a pang of concern as she takes in a slight wistful look on her husband's face.
"Are you sure you're okay with this? You know. Not being the Tear's skipper?"
Jerry stops for a second, then takes a sip of the freshly delivered glass of pyrebreath as Nyri'Jan trots off again, having delivered drinks and menus in the literal blink of an eye.
"...Yeah actually. I have a good team. I have a reliable partner, in both the marital and the martial sense in you, and my other commanders. It's not going to stop me getting stuck in occasionally, I'll just be mostly going back to what I do best, which is focusing on the ground war when it comes to personal intervention."
"Plus your war room's straight out of a movie."
"That does help. Watching the holograms on the big table as the girls feed me information and I get to start handing out orders does help soften the blow of no longer getting to command from the bridge."
Sharon gives her husband the closest thing she can get to a sultry smile.
"Well you'll always be the captain of my heart."
"Someone's angling for a very in depth massage tonight I see."
"Just telling the truth my love. Speaking of your war room staff, I hear Nadiri has added herself to the team. What's the story there?"
Jerry thinks for a second. "Officially she's a tactical and cultural consultant. Unofficially she's one of the best intelligence officers Diana's ever met and she's decided to start wearing the family uniform for whatever reason. She is technically in our employ, but as a contractor for the intelligence service. She's been making herself useful though. Nezbet's informed me she wants to join the team too, so that's a pretty solid war planning staff. Nezbet's a gifted strategist with a knack for complex operational planning, and Nadiri is the galactic CIA factbook personified... in ways that just reading the galactic equivalent of wikipedia can't match."
"Hmmm... Think Nadiri is gonna try to 'slip into the shadow of your pants' maybe?"
"Oooh, that was bad." Another sip of wine as Jerry considers the question. "It's always a possibility, I find it hard to get a read on Nadiri, something I think is rather common with Shallaxians."
Sharon chuckles and takes a swig of apple juice, savoring the sweet flavor.
"Speaking of your love life, weird as that is to say to my husband of all people... how are things with Inara?"
"Well we had our third official date."
"Anything racy happen?"
"We held hands as I walked her home after."
Sharon puts on a mock scandalized face. "Holding hands? On the third date? Jesus, I didn't know Inara was such a slut!" She tries to hold the offended look for a second until a giggle slips past her stony faced demeanor. "Honestly that's so wholesome part of me wants to puke."
"It is, but I'm not here to talk about other women, I'm here to talk about the finest starship captain I know."
"Fine in the sense of skill? Or looks?"
"Definitely both."
"I suppose Incerra Palashen's off the market, so you'll just have to make due with your Zombie."
Sharon giggles again wickedly at the odd look that crosses Jerry's face. Some things were a bridge too far for her hubby, and quadrupeds seemed to... confuse him slightly. She suspected Incerra could have made it if she'd had a stronger will and drive like Bari, but if you didn't have the guts to go for the big prize that was your problem.
"Mhmm. Just for that I'm going to remind you tonight that I never just 'make do' with you Zombie. Make sure you know exactly how special you are to me, and how singular you are in this big wide galaxy."
The words were romantic, but Jerry's face was dead serious and Sharon was suddenly getting that warm feeling again... she was going to be in for quite the show tonight it seemed. She just needed to... tease him a bit more. She arches a brow at him, exaggerating as she gives him that little smile she knows he can't resist.
"Oh really... Well. Prove it."
"As you wish."
Sharon's smile just won't go away as their conversation turns to other topics and they actually start looking at their menus.
It was good to be captain... and very good to be Sharon Bridger.
First Last Next

I - II - III - IV
Ollo slipped through the low weeds, weaving around everything in sight.
He learned he could turn quite fast, so losing his pursuit was simple: the blue bee was no match for the constant, sharp swerves he made along every monolith edge.
The whole escape may have actually been fun, if Ollo hadn’t seen what happened to the other racers who get caught.
It was a clubtail, pleading for mercy as a dozen bees clipped his wings and bit off his antennae, that killed Ollo’s spirits. There was also a racer who’d been de-limbed. Bees airlifted his worm-like body, pinching if he resisted. That sight almost made Ollo crash.
He continued to swerve, focusing on maintaining speed. The Ancestor had softened her light-flares, which allowed Ollo to better take in his environs and track the distant brown form of Flax.
His guide was right about last place being advantageous: if they had been up with the main plume of racers, they’d be evading hundreds of bees instead of just one or two.
Ollo turned a corner of another set of pillars Flax had rounded moments ago. The brown damselfly zoomed past a patch of grass, sputtered for a moment, and then turned around, suddenly chased by a blue blur.
Oh no. Ollo slowed down.
He focused his eyes and deduced that Flax was flying backwards, trying to shake something off his front. As he approached, Ollo could make out the bee clinging to Flax’s eye, sinking its jaws deeper and deeper.
Oh no, no, no. Ollo didn’t think he could tackle a foe without harming himself. Should he go for its abdomen? It’s throat? He recalled his days in the pond, chasing beetles. How much simpler it was then. All he had to do was barrel forward and disorient them.
I guess that’s what I do now.
Colliding with the bee’s side made the insect vibrate. Before it could get away, Ollo sank in his mandibles, biting down until he felt the tips of his jaws meet through flesh. With a swift yank, Ollo ripped off two limbs and half a belly, causing the bee to freeze, choke, and let go of Flax’s face.
“Oh praise Meganeura!” The damselfly pulled free, bleeding from his eye. “I thought I was food!”
***
They were each into their second glass of mead. Diggs pointed at red numbers on-screen, which sporadically increased.
“You’ll notice we’ve lost a few drones in these hives, but a culling is necessary. We need only the tough to remain. If the military wants a fleet of drone-soldiers, we need to ensure they’re Navy SEALS. Right, Sergeant?”
Teresa sipped her mead. She had to admit, as ridiculous as this was, the dragonflies at least seemed capable of defending themselves. Considering that many conflict areas now had regular bouts of locust swarms and blackflies. Oh, how the world has changed.
Diggs then whispered something to Cesar and leaned against a monitor. “Now, this being a reconnaissance mission, Sergeant, I’d like to show you just how expertly our little guys can observe a target. You see that scarecrow over there?” He pointed out the windows at what looked like a strange tree in the distance. “Go ahead and watch that for a moment.”
***
Once they left the grid of monoliths*,* the lights in Ollo’s head began to spark. Magenta and pink created a ribbon to fly along, with bright blue hoops to soar through.
Flax and he resumed their tandem flight, cruising over patches of bushes, saplings, and increased foliage.
“I’ve flown three other races Ollie. Sometimes there’s an odd mosquito, maybe a horsefly or two, but never a ... bee horde.” Flax’s voice quivered. *“*Why would The Ancestor have us go through such a thing? That was too cruel. Something feels wrong.”
Ollo couldn’t speak from any previous experience, but he agreed that it felt like a violation. He continued combing his vision grid, until he finally spotted dragonflies ahead.
The neon colors brought them both to where everyone else had reached, forming a perfect loop of remaining racers around a frozen envoy.
“Well, it looks like we’re still in last,” Flax said. “But why another circuit? Seems very strange.”
The Ancestor’s lights forced them into the centrifuge, looping a motionless (dead?) Envoy that stood on one foot. No matter what rank you were earlier, everyone broke even here.
“Is this normal?” Ollo asked.
“Not during a race.”
“Should we … try and break out?”
“We have to obey her lights.”
They stayed tandem in this slow-moving circle, flying behind a tattered-looking narrow-wing. Ollo got a clear view of the other racers, and could see that many were now missing limbs or parts of their wings. He may have been one of the lucky unscathed.
The signet on his back then started to heat up, making brief, delicate clicking sounds. Is it a sign? Does the Ancestor want me to notice something?
***
The photographs were clear and admirably hi-res. Teresa was impressed that so little was obstructed by the dragonflies' own wings.
“Imagine wanting to get a picture of a target,” Diggs began, “but he’s being held in a cell, with window slots too tiny for a human hand to get through. Or*,* maybe he’s being moved, protected by countless guards, each on the lookout for cameras or spies. Well, the solution to both scenarios is sending a tiny, inconspicuous dragonfly.”
The screens were tuned to display various angles of the scarecrow. A hay torso. A beekeeper mask. Wooden stake arms.
“Naturally, you couldn’t send a swarm like we have now into a more intimate operation,” Diggs said, “but you could send clusters, break them off into groups, and have them follow multiple suspects. That sort of thing.”
Teresa nodded along, and decided she wanted to see them enact a request of her own. “Can they take aerials?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Bird’s-eye views. Sometimes our satellites can’t penetrate cloud cover.”
“But of course.”
***
Ollo realized what the Ancestor’s clicking meant. She wants me to seek my companion. I’m supposed to find Imura.
His incredible eyes searched for those familiar black-and-yellow stripes. He was very good at discerning nearby kin, spotting pondsitters, a duskhawker, and various types of reedling. But a tigertail was nowhere to be seen.
Instead of stripes, Ollo soon winced to see crimson and violet strings that beckoned upward. Lady Meganeura’s lights had returned, growing brighter by the moment.
“Are you feeling that?” Flax slowed their momentum.
“Yes,” Ollo said, “we need to rise.”
They engaged their wings and fluttered upwards, following the threads of purple and red. The racers around them did likewise, and as a group, the insects formed an imperfect halo of shifting wings, ascending far higher than the glass dome would ever have allowed.
Soon it became cold. Harsh winds buffeted Ollo and Flax. With each rise in elevation, the air grew emptier, sharper. The damselfly shivered. “Where could she p-p-possibly be taking us? And why?”
There was nothing above, save for a deeply-hazed sun and ragged clouds. When the race reached a height where no one could refuse shivering, the lights finally faded.
For a moment, all the racers stared at each other, observing this hazy troposphere, horrified at how far below the earth that stared back was. If anyone were to stop their hovering counter-strokes, a simple breeze could spell the end.
Then Ollo’s signet began to heat up, making the same delicate clicking as before. I need to find Imura.
He tapped his partner’s tail. “Flax, we’ve got to move. I think The Ancestor’s giving me a sign.”
“A sign?” Flax wheezed. “Keghhh. Heghhh. Ollie, I don’t trust any signs right now. I’m telling you, something about this is really off.”
But Ollo searched anyway, scanning for those stripes. He slowly let go of Flax’s tail. “If you won’t come with me, I’ll go myself.”
“Are you deranged—you want to travel alone?”
A cloud form encroached with menacing slowness, whispering of icy chills. Below it, the lights re-emerged as spikes of cyan and jade. But they weren’t directing downwards, back to safety like everyone hoped; instead, they urged them to the east, along a long, horizontal track across the grey sky.
“Oh Lady Mega...” Flax’s shivering briefly stopped. “She wants us to race at this altitude?”
Despite his complaint, the majority of racers had already taken off, slowly following the lights against the clouds and turbulence.
Ollo let go of Flax. “Are you not going?”
“No, I’m not going!” Flax said, shivering again. “If disobeying lights is going to p-p-pop me, then so shall I pop, but I’m not flying out there to die in a broken race any longer! You’d be an even bigger dullard to try.”
A frigid draft briefly seized Ollo’s muscles. He shook them awake.
“These obstacles are cruel,” Flax continued. “Look at these fools, breaking their wings. And for what, Ollo? Come back down. Save yourself.”
Ollo inspected the race ahead, hoping to agree, but then he spotted them. Those black and yellow stripes. They were diving just ahead between hoops of cyan.
He took off alone. Flax yelled something, trying to turn him back. But he couldn’t, not when Imura was so close.
***
The aerial views were equally impressive. Dragondrones could be commanded to take long, sweeping scans of the geography below, and unlike satellites, they could penetrate cloud cover.
Teresa swiped between the photos, getting a full lay of the land. She paused on the hexagonal roof of their gazebo; next to it stood the cheery form of Diggs, halfway through his second cigarette.
“Like what you see?” Diggs asked, stubbing his ash outside.
Teresa continued swiping. “It’s nice that there’s a large fleet; guarantees decent coverage.”
“It does! And the pilots are so cheap to reproduce! Hundreds of eggs from a single mating, each one containing a design that’s been refined over three hundred million years. Where else can you find a deal like that?” Only by gaming nature, Teresa supposed.
The screens all began to flash with a cloud icon in the upper right.
“Rain incoming,” Cesar mumbled.
Diggs glanced at the screens, and his smile widened even further. He stretched a hand outside the Gazebo, twiddling his fingers. “Looks like we’ll get a firsthand glimpse of weather hazards.”
“Is that a problem?” Teresa asked.
“Oh my, no. But bear in mind, under extreme weather conditions we’re bound to lose a couple,” Diggs said. “That’s why we send so many. The beauty of dragonflies is that they’ll take care of themselves. They’re able to hide and recoup their energy. Real drones would be out of luck in the field.”
Teresa considered this. He’s not wrong.
“Now, you might think it impossible for an airborne creature to avoid such a wet sky, but insects are different. Their tiny brains dilate time. A speeding water droplet to you is just a slow, avoidable drip to them.”
***
Ollo’s whole body trembled with fear. He tracked as many liquid meteors as he could. Other racers nearby began to break off from the Ancestor’s lights, returning to a more comfortable height, but Ollo refused to give up. He wanted to see the track through the clouds to the end—the mission was his own now.
He navigated the downpour, following the jade thread as it zigged and zagged. Further ahead, a faint tigertail pattern descended gradually.
The course goes down. That’s a relief.
Then a droplet smacked Ollo’s blindspot: his eye scar. It felt like a wet reckoning. His vision flashed. Epilepsy. Oh no, no, no, no.
He spiralled down, spinning like a whirligig. Jade and cyan flared through his mind. Ollo saw the earth rise towards him in bursts, like the bottom of the pond. For a moment it felt like he was diving. Swimming. Paddling.
No. Stay sharp. Must stay sharp.
He shook as he plummeted, shedding as much water as possible, and did his best to avoid more rain. Ollo prayed to The Ancestor. Begged. And with a sudden glint, her blinding lights abated. Ollo’s senses returned.
He alternated his wings, fore and aft as Flax had shown him, and by some miracle, the wind contoured his flight, levelling him out—but just barely.
There came a crash, and sharp things thrust their way into his space: pinecones and needles. Instinctually, Ollo thrust his legs out and cushioned against impact. His face smacked a tree.
Moments passed. Lifetimes.
Ollo wheezed and groaned, feeling his voice echo around him. Only it wasn’t an echo. The whole stream of remaining racers were now here, using this pine tree as shelter. They were coughing, shuddering, and fighting for space on the wood.
Ollo wiped his eyes, shocked to see he was still among the competitors. He looked around to orient himself, trying to spot a familiar form. The first he encountered was Gharraph.
“YES!” the green emperor howled. “Finally!”
The power of his voice came with an aftershock. Ollo watched him move along a pine branch, needles snapping beneath his wings. “Deliverance draws near! This is it, my fellow dragons—the race we’ve been waiting for!”
A couple racers rallied in coughs and shouts, supporting this sudden zeal.
“The Ancestor has been testing us, and the moment has come where we reach her final light.”
More shouts. The remaining morale seemed eager. Ollo gazed down among the cries, having heard a familiar pitch. He crawled past others until he reached a scant little broadleaf by the pine’s roots. There he saw them. The black and yellow stripes.
“Glory to The Ancestor! Her greatest race yet!” Imura lay half-obscured by the leaf, echoing Gharraph’s call.
Ollo tentatively approached, appreciating the richness of her colors. Excitement boiled away all his weariness; it felt as if he were molting. Eventually, his mandibles managed to align words. “Imura. Are you … all right?”
Her wings were sopping. One antenna was apparently gone. “Who is that? Ollo?”
There was no use containing himself. “Oh, thank Mega! You’re alive! You’re okay! This is good! This is so good!”
She stared at him, jaws agape. “How are you here? Shouldn’t you be back—”
“I was chosen! An Envoy chose me! I was destined to compete. To find you. To make sure you’re safe.” Ollo spoke faster than he could think. “I learned to fly tandem: Flax showed me. I know how to save us. I know how to fly us back!”
Imura looked at him, wiped rain off her head, then withdrew beneath the leaf. “I don’t understand; what are you talking about?”
Ollo folded his wings and followed her. “This race, it’s not heeding any of the usual rules. It’s twisted and dangerous.”
“Of course,” Imura said. “She’s pushing us. This is the race where she’ll offer it.”
“Offer what?”
“The next reward: beyond Outside.”
The two bugs observed each other beneath the leaf, neither believing the other was there.
“But, you’re hurt,” Ollo pointed at her feeler. “And you’re wet. You don’t actually plan on continuing?”
“What? Ollo. We need to keep going.” Imura wiped her eyes in small circles. “Can’t you feel that? Her lights?”
A pinging re-emerged in Ollo. Tiny white dots, venturing out, urging them still further east. Their pull was faint now, but he knew that would soon change.
“I don’t think that matters,” Ollo said. “What’s important is that we’re alive. That’s why she wanted me to find you.”
“But Gharraph—he’s right.” Imura grazed Ollo’s wings, testing their pliancy. “A new prize awaits. Beyond Outside. What could that even be?”
Ollo thought back to the adulthood he envisioned: the simple life among unadulterated nature. The childhood myth. He came to a realization.
“I know what the prize is.”
“What?”
He tapped the moist bark beneath them, inhaled some of the fresh air. “It’s living here.”
“What?”
“Back in the pond I saw flashes, images of what I thought adulthood would be like. It’s supposed to be a return to living outside. Not just in glimpses, or races. But living here. A paradise unbound.”
Imura froze, she grabbed her one remaining feeler, wringing it as she thought. “By Mega’s light … you’re right.”
The tigertail began to pace, massaging her head. “We race to prove our best***.*** We’re proving we can live out here. That must be what comes next. Settling down in life beyond the dome!”
Her enthusiasm enlivened Ollo; it made his whole harrowing journey worthwhile. This is why they were meant to reunite. A mutual swoon. A harmony. And now, together, they could figure out the rest of their lives.
“You’re completely undamaged.” Imura held Ollo’s tail, wiping what little moisture still clung to it. “It’s a miracle you’ve made it this far. You know what I think?” She wiped a droplet off his antennae. Its receptors sent a warmth so soothing that Ollo’s legs nearly buckled. “I think it’s no coincidence the Envoy selected you, fresh-bodied and determined. You knew of our future first. You foresaw the prize.”
“I mean, maybe, but I don’t think I’m all that special ...”
“Of course you are!” She held him now, brought her eyes against his. Two worlds of ultra-wide vision overlapping. “When I was in the clouds,” Imura whispered, “I glimpsed her waiting. Do you understand? I glimpsed Meganeura.”
“What?”
“She’s close. Here, returned to us in physical form. Awaiting her champions. You must be among them.”
“Me? But what about you, what about—”
“I’ll be fine; I must recoup. It’s obvious that she’s placed me here, right now, so that I could convince you.”
She let go of Ollo, but even afterwards, he could still see her silhouette in his eyes, a beautiful after-image.
“Go.” Imura lifted the leaf, pointing outward. “Go up now; follow Gharraph with the others. Promise me you’ll obey the lights, and that you’ll reach her.”
Ollo looked at Imura through her own afterimage. He wanted to retract his theory, to wail against this decision. They couldn’t separate again, not after all the effort he’d put in. He wished he could remember an adage from the pond-lores, some statement to prove he should stay ...
“And tell her about the memory you had,” Imura said. “You’re one of the signifiers, Ollo; a key to the adulthood we’ve always deserved. By the glory of every rank I’ve ever earned, I thank you. You might just be the herald of a new age!”
***
The surveillance journey of the drones had gone from scarecrow, to an aerial sweep, to the cover of a pine tree. Now, they’d been sent off again to a road crossing. But instead of waiting, or gaining slight altitude, one particular green Dragondrone had the audacity to simply dodge traffic.
The car had been coming at him head-on. It seemed as though the bug was either going to become a bumper sticker or a windshield splat. Then, at the last possible moment, the camera-feed leapt up, and the blue of the Tesla’s roof whizzed by underneath. The little pilot turned, as if observing the car disappear and acknowledging the near-death encounter, and then continued flying as if nothing had happened.
Teresa watched this on repeat, studying the stabilization and frame rate, both of which were quite decent (considering the compression); but what really impressed her was the physical reaction time.
“I see you found him,” said Cesar, peering over Teresa’s shoulder.
“Found who?”
“Our strongest specimen.”
Cesar helped Teresa swap to the feed of a trailing drone that had witnessed the stunt. From a couple meters back, the large, green dragonfly played chicken, hovering at road-kill height. But as soon as the vehicle entered frame, he shot up in a flash, performing a quick spin at the end.
Teresa replayed the footage from this new angle on repeat, analyzing the movement—that is, until a clapping came from the mini fridge.
“Excellent!”
Diggs had been pouring the remains of the mead into the last two glasses, ensuring they were even. “I was hoping he’d show off!” The director squeezed between Cesar and Teresa, cheering as if this were some sporting event. “Amazing isn’t it? He’s an import from Tasmania, you know. Anax papuensis. An Australian Emperor. The species has been proving to be the preferred choice in our program. I’m so glad you got to see him flaunt!”
“Flaunt?” Teresa said, trying to understand how the term could apply.
“Yes, well, the Nootropic enhances their cognizance.” Diggs handed Teresa one of the glasses. “It makes them better flyers, but I’m starting to suspect it also adds a bit of personality. An edge, if you will. It’s what allows us to steer them into environments they would naturally avoid.”
Teresa gave her temples a small rub, trying to brush away her incredulity. A real drone certainly doesn’t come with any ‘Tasmanian reflexes.’ She took her drink and stood, giving her eyes a break by observing the valley.
“You know, Sergeant, I was thinking my proposal would consist of chiefly Australian emperors.” Diggs leaned back in his chair. “Your first Dragondrone squadron needs to be exceptional, don’t you think?”
It had taken him so long to start talking business, Teresa figured he had been saving it for once everything was over. “You’re talking about the package you’d offer me?”
He stood up, almost matching her height. “Yes. Just so you get a sense: I would offer you a starting fleet of say, two hundred pilots—seventy percent being Emperors—along with your own dronehangar. You would need one of our operators on site, of course, and I’d be happy to reserve one of our experienced interns. Cesar has been training a few.”
The assistant busied himself nearby, likely pretending to ignore their discussion. Teresa wasn’t sure what her answer was, anyway. As intriguing as some elements of the proposal were, at the end of the day, the technology still seemed too strange. Too ridiculous. But perhaps that’s how genius always germinates? From a seed of absurdity?
Then her phone rang. Its screen flashed with coordinates, indicating her incoming freedom. She stared at it, first for her own benefit, then as a double-take for Diggs. “You know what? I’m so sorry—I’ve been summoned, apparently. For a ‘Code R4.’
‘A code what?” Diggs asked.
“Arctic stuff. Immediate. Confidential. I’m sorry, but we’ll have to cut this demonstration short.”
The director settled his glass with a tiny frown. He turned to Cesar, who stared back, silently bemused. “Well, that’s too bad,” Diggs said. “I guess I should have prepared a contingency. There’s still another Gazebo I wanted to show you … some nocturnal capabilities you know nothing about …” he ran his fingers along the side of a monitor. The map indicated that they had reached marker ten out of thirty.
“I’m afraid duty calls.” Teresa gave him a wan smile. “We’ll have to reschedule for the rest.”
Diggs put a hand on Cesar and began whispering something quickly. They were rerouting map markers, cancelling dozens of icons.
Escape was definitely the right call, Teresa thought, and took a long sip of mead.
***
A new-found determination blossomed in Ollo, one born of finality and understanding**.** The sooner he met with The Ancestor, the sooner freedom would reach them all. And then he could exist with Imura as he had always wanted: in a paradise unbound*.*
He surged behind Gharraph and a dozen other dragons still willing to compete. He wasn’t all that fast of course, and lacked their days of dome-training, but Ollo had managed to decipher the code that enabled safe passage through the rain and obstacles. Trust Meganeura.
His latent realization had finally been brought to a head by Gharraph. The champion had impressed everyone as he defied a giant rolling beetle, screaming The Ancestor’s name. It was at that moment Ollo understood the power of devotion. An unconditional obedience to the Great Lady allowed racers to push forward and rank high. Follow her lights. Trust Meganeura.
As long as Ollo stuck as close as possible to the blinking white track, it felt as if he were truly invulnerable to any whim of The Outside. The race crossed several small fields, another flatworm of granite, and a copse of trees. At one point, it went over a roiling stream; its torrents of white foam reminded Ollo of the bubbles that diving beetles released when they had nothing else to lose. It had all been going remarkably well until Ollo reached the obstacle that had caught everyone else: a buffet of air too strong to overcome.
The elite dragonflies were being continually spat back. No one was able to beat the countervailing wind, which grew tenfold at the base of a knoll. Even the unstoppable Gharraph was being tossed backwards.
“We must hold the line!” The champion yelled. “Grab a stalk if you have to! We can’t fall back!”
Arriving late, Ollo avoided getting tousled and joined the rest as they dove into the grass, gripping the thickest sheathes available. The plants whipped viciously back and forth, forcing everyone to snap their wings down into tight folds.
How is the air so fierce?
The lights still pulsated and beckoned towards the knoll. She’s testing us now, more than ever, Ollo thought.
Then came the roaring: a dense, low, thunderous cry. Ollo swapped fearful looks with a ringtail. Neither of them knew what was coming.
It was the loudest sound Ollo had ever heard. As it neared, the wind began to wane. Ollo took a few breaths to relax his hold, trying to steal a glance at this loud thing—and that’s when the vortex seized him.
All four of his wings suddenly bent in the wrong direction, and his whole body spun out of control. His vision blurred, the only thing he could clearly see being the purple division of his scar. His body tumbled about, like he was being chewed and swallowed by billows of air. And then he saw something. A silhouette: a being. It was her.
His deity approached, drawing all the air towards her. The pull was inescapable. Ollo gazed up and beheld her empyrean presence.
She was a dragonfly, except colossal. Sleek, black, and large enough to swallow an Envoy whole. Ollo spotted Gharraph and at least two other elite racers all subjected to the same immense pull as he. No one could escape.
“We beseech thy ancient reverence!” the green emperor yelled, his own wings completely askew. “It is I, Gharraph, longest reigning champion there has been!”
Meganeura drew nearer and roared. From behind her, the sun fired a prism of ultraviolet rays.
“On behalf of my kin. I implore you. It is time. It is time we were awarded the next stage of our lives!”
Yes. Ollo wanted to shout. Break this cycle of racing. A life of forever Outside.
Their deity roared, ripping the air itself with the blur of her wings, shredding the droplets of rain that fell and surrounded them.
“We wish to roam new lands,” Gharraph continued, “to see what else there is.”
“That’s right!” Ollo added. “How it once must have been!”
The vortex had altogether ceased, creating a sense of utter tranquility. Instead of being pulled, Ollo’s body was allowed to float in a bubbly effervescence.
“We have passed thine divine trial,” Gharraph boomed, flexing his four, now-steady wings. “Offer us the final promise, O Great Meganeura! Usher in a new age!”
The green emperor flew close and bowed, showing deference to the almighty.
As he likewise approached, Ollo began to notice the strange appearance of Meganeura when seen up close. Her skin was matte, holding no shine. And her wings: they fluttered in a way that made no sense, as if spinning on one axis.
“O Great One from times beyond past. We’ve come now, to pay homage—” Gharraph was stuck by the Ancestor’s wing. His paltry form was cast into a thousand pieces across the luminous sky.
Ollo froze from shock. He watched as Meganeura’s massive black wings continued to chop the air, mincing everyone and everything. A new scar split his vision, dividing his world in two. Then it split him again. And again. And again. And again.
***
“A chopper?!”
Diggs’s mouth had lain open for almost a whole minute. He half-covered it with his hand. Then uncovered it. “That’s pretty neat.”
They had all stepped outside to observe the Black Hawk grow against the horizon, its propeller whirring louder and louder.
“Your facility here is actually not too far from our base in Whitehorse.” Teresa said. “There wasn’t a jet available, so they had to pick me up like this. I hope you won’t mind an improvised landing.”
Both men gawked at the sight. The chopper looked like it was emerging from the sunset, light appearing to melt around it.
“Land it anywhere,” Diggs said, his smile slowly fading. He began to whisper something, an angry something into his assistant, as if he were at fault. Cesar nodded, his blank look still unwavering.
Teresa watched the odonatologist walk dejectedly to the Gazebo and decided to try something.
“Director, what if I had a small counter-proposal?”
Diggs lit up immediately, “A counter-proposal?”
“What if”—Teresa glanced at her chopper, and then at Cesar walking off—“what if I took Cesar with me? For a kind of trial?”
“What do you mean?”
“It would be difficult to commit to a whole new fleet. But I think my Major would be open to a small selection. Cesar could come and demonstrate how your drones would operate around the arctic base.”
Diggs gave a her peculiar look, as if he were near-sighted. “I would have to think about it … Mr. Costales is crucial to our process here. I can’t have him missing for long.”
“Not long,” Teresa said. “Just a few days. All I would need is to demo a fraction of what you’ve shown me. We could potentially skip a whole year of bureaucracy and invest in a fleet sooner.”
Diggs gripped his chin. His eyes were questioning, almost leering, asking her one word: Why?
But Teresa couldn’t pin down exactly why. Perhaps it was that dead, defeated look on Cesar. A look that spoke of jaded hopes, long nights, and unwarranted exploitation. Maybe it was the mead, but Teresa had been struck with sympathy. If she could help someone else avoid the hell she went through during her early years, then maybe this whole charade could have a positive outcome after all.
“Well think about it anyway,” Teresa said. “I wouldn’t have to grab him now—”
“But if you did”—Diggs smiled again, his hands rummaging through his pockets—“it might heighten our chances of a complete investment?” The director produced a tablet and stylus.
“I’d be shuffling a lot of work here, so I’d have to cover Cesar’s absence. But I could offer him. At a premium.”
Teresa glanced at Diggs’ device; the man was not afraid to test military spending. His figure wasn’t far off from the cost of her summoning this evac. Should I just double down? Turn my escape into a rescue?
“That looks fine,” she eventually managed. “The major would be pleased.”
“Stupendous,” Diggs said quietly. He jotted a few more things to his device. “Let me find some documentation; give me a few moments.”
She turned away from the megalomaniac and ventured into the Gazebo. She found Cesar and explained what was being arranged.
“So … I’m going with you?” He only half-stood, his neck still mostly hunched over a screen.
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“Only if you’re able to.”
His eyes had a habit of getting stuck in one expression, and now it appeared to be shock. He fiddled with a screen, then beckoned Teresa over.
“Well, I mean, are you sure you want me now? It looks like your helicopter may have impacted some of our drones. I only have about twenty in operation that I could bring with us.”
“Twenty sounds plenty.”
“Okay ...” Cesar said, still having trouble meeting Teresa’s gaze. “You really think your boss would want this?”
Teresa offered a smile. “When he finds out I returned in a chopper with you, he’s going to be ecstatic.”
Or furious. But that’s fine with me.
***
Imura never did know what happened to end that fateful race, but whatever it was, it had worked. There truly was a reward beyond just racing Outside: it was racing Outside...of time and space.
She and all the survivors of the final trial had been transported across dimensions. They were ushered into divine chambers of pure metal, adorned with calming scents and sounds. They travelled to realms of fluffy, white rain and unparalleled vistas. They explored through the tropics, soared past forests, and flew above a vast, limitless stretch of pond with no lilies in sight.
It was admittedly a very strenuous lifestyle, one with as many dangers and mysteries as a dragon racer could expect. The Ancestor’s lights and Envoys were demanding, but it was nothing Imura’s clan couldn’t handle. Everyone agreed that this was a dragon’s proper existence, not the shameful depravity they had experienced in the dome.
Among Imura’s favorite new realms was the dry-world of sand. Here they had spent the last several days, exploring numerous tracks and following Envoys inside armored beetles. It was beneath the desert heat that she became a mother, a proud matriarch that reflected the spirit of Meganeura. Her children were as strong as she could have hoped for. Her offspring would all be little green emperors, mixed with tigertail stripes.
She laid her first batch in a pool warmed by the open sun, and pondered names. They had to be called something strong, of course, to tough out the new life of moving between worlds, but they also needed poise.
Although he was somewhat dotty, she had always liked the name of that red darner who had been so warmly precocious. He had such a strange vision, that one. Imura swirled her tail in the pond, remembering what he had said about an aimless adulthood outdoors. About life untamed. How unappealing it now sounded. Still, it was him, Gharraph, and the others who had met Meganeuara and brokered their future. Those lucky few could be in some even higher, more ethereal plane than me, she thought. Where could you be, Ollo? Somewhere of pure mirth?
Mirth. Now that's a pretty name.
Ripples formed across the pond as Imura’s tail swayed. The gentle movement dispersed her eggs throughout the pool, sinking them to all corners. She waited patiently to witness which of her children would first reach the surface, whether by accident or curiosity.
It all starts here: life’s earliest race.

I - II - III - IV
Ollo slipped through the low weeds, weaving around everything in sight.
He learned he could turn quite fast, so losing his pursuit was simple: the blue bee was no match for the constant, sharp swerves he made along every monolith edge.
The whole escape may have actually been fun, if Ollo hadn’t seen what happened to the other racers who get caught.
It was a clubtail, pleading for mercy as a dozen bees clipped his wings and bit off his antennae, that killed Ollo’s spirits. There was also a racer who’d been de-limbed. Bees airlifted his worm-like body, pinching if he resisted. That sight almost made Ollo crash.
He continued to swerve, focusing on maintaining speed. The Ancestor had softened her light-flares, which allowed Ollo to better take in his environs and track the distant brown form of Flax.
His guide was right about last place being advantageous: if they had been up with the main plume of racers, they’d be evading hundreds of bees instead of just one or two.
Ollo turned a corner of another set of pillars Flax had rounded moments ago. The brown damselfly zoomed past a patch of grass, sputtered for a moment, and then turned around, suddenly chased by a blue blur.
Oh no. Ollo slowed down.
He focused his eyes and deduced that Flax was flying backwards, trying to shake something off his front. As he approached, Ollo could make out the bee clinging to Flax’s eye, sinking its jaws deeper and deeper.
Oh no, no, no. Ollo didn’t think he could tackle a foe without harming himself. Should he go for its abdomen? It’s throat? He recalled his days in the pond, chasing beetles. How much simpler it was then. All he had to do was barrel forward and disorient them.
I guess that’s what I do now.
Colliding with the bee’s side made the insect vibrate. Before it could get away, Ollo sank in his mandibles, biting down until he felt the tips of his jaws meet through flesh. With a swift yank, Ollo ripped off two limbs and half a belly, causing the bee to freeze, choke, and let go of Flax’s face.
“Oh praise Meganeura!” The damselfly pulled free, bleeding from his eye. “I thought I was food!”
***
They were each into their second glass of mead. Diggs pointed at red numbers on-screen, which sporadically increased.
“You’ll notice we’ve lost a few drones in these hives, but a culling is necessary. We need only the tough to remain. If the military wants a fleet of drone-soldiers, we need to ensure they’re Navy SEALS. Right, Sergeant?”
Teresa sipped her mead. She had to admit, as ridiculous as this was, the dragonflies at least seemed capable of defending themselves. Considering that many conflict areas now had regular bouts of locust swarms and blackflies. Oh, how the world has changed.
Diggs then whispered something to Cesar and leaned against a monitor. “Now, this being a reconnaissance mission, Sergeant, I’d like to show you just how expertly our little guys can observe a target. You see that scarecrow over there?” He pointed out the windows at what looked like a strange tree in the distance. “Go ahead and watch that for a moment.”
***
Once they left the grid of monoliths*,* the lights in Ollo’s head began to spark. Magenta and pink created a ribbon to fly along, with bright blue hoops to soar through.
Flax and he resumed their tandem flight, cruising over patches of bushes, saplings, and increased foliage.
“I’ve flown three other races Ollie. Sometimes there’s an odd mosquito, maybe a horsefly or two, but never a ... bee horde.” Flax’s voice quivered. *“*Why would The Ancestor have us go through such a thing? That was too cruel. Something feels wrong.”
Ollo couldn’t speak from any previous experience, but he agreed that it felt like a violation. He continued combing his vision grid, until he finally spotted dragonflies ahead.
The neon colors brought them both to where everyone else had reached, forming a perfect loop of remaining racers around a frozen envoy.
“Well, it looks like we’re still in last,” Flax said. “But why another circuit? Seems very strange.”
The Ancestor’s lights forced them into the centrifuge, looping a motionless (dead?) Envoy that stood on one foot. No matter what rank you were earlier, everyone broke even here.
“Is this normal?” Ollo asked.
“Not during a race.”
“Should we … try and break out?”
“We have to obey her lights.”
They stayed tandem in this slow-moving circle, flying behind a tattered-looking narrow-wing. Ollo got a clear view of the other racers, and could see that many were now missing limbs or parts of their wings. He may have been one of the lucky unscathed.
The signet on his back then started to heat up, making brief, delicate clicking sounds. Is it a sign? Does the Ancestor want me to notice something?
***
The photographs were clear and admirably hi-res. Teresa was impressed that so little was obstructed by the dragonflies' own wings.
“Imagine wanting to get a picture of a target,” Diggs began, “but he’s being held in a cell, with window slots too tiny for a human hand to get through. Or*,* maybe he’s being moved, protected by countless guards, each on the lookout for cameras or spies. Well, the solution to both scenarios is sending a tiny, inconspicuous dragonfly.”
The screens were tuned to display various angles of the scarecrow. A hay torso. A beekeeper mask. Wooden stake arms.
“Naturally, you couldn’t send a swarm like we have now into a more intimate operation,” Diggs said, “but you could send clusters, break them off into groups, and have them follow multiple suspects. That sort of thing.”
Teresa nodded along, and decided she wanted to see them enact a request of her own. “Can they take aerials?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Bird’s-eye views. Sometimes our satellites can’t penetrate cloud cover.”
“But of course.”
***
Ollo realized what the Ancestor’s clicking meant. She wants me to seek my companion. I’m supposed to find Imura.
His incredible eyes searched for those familiar black-and-yellow stripes. He was very good at discerning nearby kin, spotting pondsitters, a duskhawker, and various types of reedling. But a tigertail was nowhere to be seen.
Instead of stripes, Ollo soon winced to see crimson and violet strings that beckoned upward. Lady Meganeura’s lights had returned, growing brighter by the moment.
“Are you feeling that?” Flax slowed their momentum.
“Yes,” Ollo said, “we need to rise.”
They engaged their wings and fluttered upwards, following the threads of purple and red. The racers around them did likewise, and as a group, the insects formed an imperfect halo of shifting wings, ascending far higher than the glass dome would ever have allowed.
Soon it became cold. Harsh winds buffeted Ollo and Flax. With each rise in elevation, the air grew emptier, sharper. The damselfly shivered. “Where could she p-p-possibly be taking us? And why?”
There was nothing above, save for a deeply-hazed sun and ragged clouds. When the race reached a height where no one could refuse shivering, the lights finally faded.
For a moment, all the racers stared at each other, observing this hazy troposphere, horrified at how far below the earth that stared back was. If anyone were to stop their hovering counter-strokes, a simple breeze could spell the end.
Then Ollo’s signet began to heat up, making the same delicate clicking as before. I need to find Imura.
He tapped his partner’s tail. “Flax, we’ve got to move. I think The Ancestor’s giving me a sign.”
“A sign?” Flax wheezed. “Keghhh. Heghhh. Ollie, I don’t trust any signs right now. I’m telling you, something about this is really off.”
But Ollo searched anyway, scanning for those stripes. He slowly let go of Flax’s tail. “If you won’t come with me, I’ll go myself.”
“Are you deranged—you want to travel alone?”
A cloud form encroached with menacing slowness, whispering of icy chills. Below it, the lights re-emerged as spikes of cyan and jade. But they weren’t directing downwards, back to safety like everyone hoped; instead, they urged them to the east, along a long, horizontal track across the grey sky.
“Oh Lady Mega...” Flax’s shivering briefly stopped. “She wants us to race at this altitude?”
Despite his complaint, the majority of racers had already taken off, slowly following the lights against the clouds and turbulence.
Ollo let go of Flax. “Are you not going?”
“No, I’m not going!” Flax said, shivering again. “If disobeying lights is going to p-p-pop me, then so shall I pop, but I’m not flying out there to die in a broken race any longer! You’d be an even bigger dullard to try.”
A frigid draft briefly seized Ollo’s muscles. He shook them awake.
“These obstacles are cruel,” Flax continued. “Look at these fools, breaking their wings. And for what, Ollo? Come back down. Save yourself.”
Ollo inspected the race ahead, hoping to agree, but then he spotted them. Those black and yellow stripes. They were diving just ahead between hoops of cyan.
He took off alone. Flax yelled something, trying to turn him back. But he couldn’t, not when Imura was so close.
***
The aerial views were equally impressive. Dragondrones could be commanded to take long, sweeping scans of the geography below, and unlike satellites, they could penetrate cloud cover.
Teresa swiped between the photos, getting a full lay of the land. She paused on the hexagonal roof of their gazebo; next to it stood the cheery form of Diggs, halfway through his second cigarette.
“Like what you see?” Diggs asked, stubbing his ash outside.
Teresa continued swiping. “It’s nice that there’s a large fleet; guarantees decent coverage.”
“It does! And the pilots are so cheap to reproduce! Hundreds of eggs from a single mating, each one containing a design that’s been refined over three hundred million years. Where else can you find a deal like that?” Only by gaming nature, Teresa supposed.
The screens all began to flash with a cloud icon in the upper right.
“Rain incoming,” Cesar mumbled.
Diggs glanced at the screens, and his smile widened even further. He stretched a hand outside the Gazebo, twiddling his fingers. “Looks like we’ll get a firsthand glimpse of weather hazards.”
“Is that a problem?” Teresa asked.
“Oh my, no. But bear in mind, under extreme weather conditions we’re bound to lose a couple,” Diggs said. “That’s why we send so many. The beauty of dragonflies is that they’ll take care of themselves. They’re able to hide and recoup their energy. Real drones would be out of luck in the field.”
Teresa considered this. He’s not wrong.
“Now, you might think it impossible for an airborne creature to avoid such a wet sky, but insects are different. Their tiny brains dilate time. A speeding water droplet to you is just a slow, avoidable drip to them.”
***
Ollo’s whole body trembled with fear. He tracked as many liquid meteors as he could. Other racers nearby began to break off from the Ancestor’s lights, returning to a more comfortable height, but Ollo refused to give up. He wanted to see the track through the clouds to the end—the mission was his own now.
He navigated the downpour, following the jade thread as it zigged and zagged. Further ahead, a faint tigertail pattern descended gradually.
The course goes down. That’s a relief.
Then a droplet smacked Ollo’s blindspot: his eye scar. It felt like a wet reckoning. His vision flashed. Epilepsy. Oh no, no, no, no.
He spiralled down, spinning like a whirligig. Jade and cyan flared through his mind. Ollo saw the earth rise towards him in bursts, like the bottom of the pond. For a moment it felt like he was diving. Swimming. Paddling.
No. Stay sharp. Must stay sharp.
He shook as he plummeted, shedding as much water as possible, and did his best to avoid more rain. Ollo prayed to The Ancestor. Begged. And with a sudden glint, her blinding lights abated. Ollo’s senses returned.
He alternated his wings, fore and aft as Flax had shown him, and by some miracle, the wind contoured his flight, levelling him out—but just barely.
There came a crash, and sharp things thrust their way into his space: pinecones and needles. Instinctually, Ollo thrust his legs out and cushioned against impact. His face smacked a tree.
Moments passed. Lifetimes.
Ollo wheezed and groaned, feeling his voice echo around him. Only it wasn’t an echo. The whole stream of remaining racers were now here, using this pine tree as shelter. They were coughing, shuddering, and fighting for space on the wood.
Ollo wiped his eyes, shocked to see he was still among the competitors. He looked around to orient himself, trying to spot a familiar form. The first he encountered was Gharraph.
“YES!” the green emperor howled. “Finally!”
The power of his voice came with an aftershock. Ollo watched him move along a pine branch, needles snapping beneath his wings. “Deliverance draws near! This is it, my fellow dragons—the race we’ve been waiting for!”
A couple racers rallied in coughs and shouts, supporting this sudden zeal.
“The Ancestor has been testing us, and the moment has come where we reach her final light.”
More shouts. The remaining morale seemed eager. Ollo gazed down among the cries, having heard a familiar pitch. He crawled past others until he reached a scant little broadleaf by the pine’s roots. There he saw them. The black and yellow stripes.
“Glory to The Ancestor! Her greatest race yet!” Imura lay half-obscured by the leaf, echoing Gharraph’s call.
Ollo tentatively approached, appreciating the richness of her colors. Excitement boiled away all his weariness; it felt as if he were molting. Eventually, his mandibles managed to align words. “Imura. Are you … all right?”
Her wings were sopping. One antenna was apparently gone. “Who is that? Ollo?”
There was no use containing himself. “Oh, thank Mega! You’re alive! You’re okay! This is good! This is so good!”
She stared at him, jaws agape. “How are you here? Shouldn’t you be back—”
“I was chosen! An Envoy chose me! I was destined to compete. To find you. To make sure you’re safe.” Ollo spoke faster than he could think. “I learned to fly tandem: Flax showed me. I know how to save us. I know how to fly us back!”
Imura looked at him, wiped rain off her head, then withdrew beneath the leaf. “I don’t understand; what are you talking about?”
Ollo folded his wings and followed her. “This race, it’s not heeding any of the usual rules. It’s twisted and dangerous.”
“Of course,” Imura said. “She’s pushing us. This is the race where she’ll offer it.”
“Offer what?”
“The next reward: beyond Outside.”
The two bugs observed each other beneath the leaf, neither believing the other was there.
“But, you’re hurt,” Ollo pointed at her feeler. “And you’re wet. You don’t actually plan on continuing?”
“What? Ollo. We need to keep going.” Imura wiped her eyes in small circles. “Can’t you feel that? Her lights?”
A pinging re-emerged in Ollo. Tiny white dots, venturing out, urging them still further east. Their pull was faint now, but he knew that would soon change.
“I don’t think that matters,” Ollo said. “What’s important is that we’re alive. That’s why she wanted me to find you.”
“But Gharraph—he’s right.” Imura grazed Ollo’s wings, testing their pliancy. “A new prize awaits. Beyond Outside. What could that even be?”
Ollo thought back to the adulthood he envisioned: the simple life among unadulterated nature. The childhood myth. He came to a realization.
“I know what the prize is.”
“What?”
He tapped the moist bark beneath them, inhaled some of the fresh air. “It’s living here.”
“What?”
“Back in the pond I saw flashes, images of what I thought adulthood would be like. It’s supposed to be a return to living outside. Not just in glimpses, or races. But living here. A paradise unbound.”
Imura froze, she grabbed her one remaining feeler, wringing it as she thought. “By Mega’s light … you’re right.”
The tigertail began to pace, massaging her head. “We race to prove our best***.*** We’re proving we can live out here. That must be what comes next. Settling down in life beyond the dome!”
Her enthusiasm enlivened Ollo; it made his whole harrowing journey worthwhile. This is why they were meant to reunite. A mutual swoon. A harmony. And now, together, they could figure out the rest of their lives.
“You’re completely undamaged.” Imura held Ollo’s tail, wiping what little moisture still clung to it. “It’s a miracle you’ve made it this far. You know what I think?” She wiped a droplet off his antennae. Its receptors sent a warmth so soothing that Ollo’s legs nearly buckled. “I think it’s no coincidence the Envoy selected you, fresh-bodied and determined. You knew of our future first. You foresaw the prize.”
“I mean, maybe, but I don’t think I’m all that special ...”
“Of course you are!” She held him now, brought her eyes against his. Two worlds of ultra-wide vision overlapping. “When I was in the clouds,” Imura whispered, “I glimpsed her waiting. Do you understand? I glimpsed Meganeura.”
“What?”
“She’s close. Here, returned to us in physical form. Awaiting her champions. You must be among them.”
“Me? But what about you, what about—”
“I’ll be fine; I must recoup. It’s obvious that she’s placed me here, right now, so that I could convince you.”
She let go of Ollo, but even afterwards, he could still see her silhouette in his eyes, a beautiful after-image.
“Go.” Imura lifted the leaf, pointing outward. “Go up now; follow Gharraph with the others. Promise me you’ll obey the lights, and that you’ll reach her.”
Ollo looked at Imura through her own afterimage. He wanted to retract his theory, to wail against this decision. They couldn’t separate again, not after all the effort he’d put in. He wished he could remember an adage from the pond-lores, some statement to prove he should stay ...
“And tell her about the memory you had,” Imura said. “You’re one of the signifiers, Ollo; a key to the adulthood we’ve always deserved. By the glory of every rank I’ve ever earned, I thank you. You might just be the herald of a new age!”
***
The surveillance journey of the drones had gone from scarecrow, to an aerial sweep, to the cover of a pine tree. Now, they’d been sent off again to a road crossing. But instead of waiting, or gaining slight altitude, one particular green Dragondrone had the audacity to simply dodge traffic.
The car had been coming at him head-on. It seemed as though the bug was either going to become a bumper sticker or a windshield splat. Then, at the last possible moment, the camera-feed leapt up, and the blue of the Tesla’s roof whizzed by underneath. The little pilot turned, as if observing the car disappear and acknowledging the near-death encounter, and then continued flying as if nothing had happened.
Teresa watched this on repeat, studying the stabilization and frame rate, both of which were quite decent (considering the compression); but what really impressed her was the physical reaction time.
“I see you found him,” said Cesar, peering over Teresa’s shoulder.
“Found who?”
“Our strongest specimen.”
Cesar helped Teresa swap to the feed of a trailing drone that had witnessed the stunt. From a couple meters back, the large, green dragonfly played chicken, hovering at road-kill height. But as soon as the vehicle entered frame, he shot up in a flash, performing a quick spin at the end.
Teresa replayed the footage from this new angle on repeat, analyzing the movement—that is, until a clapping came from the mini fridge.
“Excellent!”
Diggs had been pouring the remains of the mead into the last two glasses, ensuring they were even. “I was hoping he’d show off!” The director squeezed between Cesar and Teresa, cheering as if this were some sporting event. “Amazing isn’t it? He’s an import from Tasmania, you know. Anax papuensis. An Australian Emperor. The species has been proving to be the preferred choice in our program. I’m so glad you got to see him flaunt!”
“Flaunt?” Teresa said, trying to understand how the term could apply.
“Yes, well, the Nootropic enhances their cognizance.” Diggs handed Teresa one of the glasses. “It makes them better flyers, but I’m starting to suspect it also adds a bit of personality. An edge, if you will. It’s what allows us to steer them into environments they would naturally avoid.”
Teresa gave her temples a small rub, trying to brush away her incredulity. A real drone certainly doesn’t come with any ‘Tasmanian reflexes.’ She took her drink and stood, giving her eyes a break by observing the valley.
“You know, Sergeant, I was thinking my proposal would consist of chiefly Australian emperors.” Diggs leaned back in his chair. “Your first Dragondrone squadron needs to be exceptional, don’t you think?”
It had taken him so long to start talking business, Teresa figured he had been saving it for once everything was over. “You’re talking about the package you’d offer me?”
He stood up, almost matching her height. “Yes. Just so you get a sense: I would offer you a starting fleet of say, two hundred pilots—seventy percent being Emperors—along with your own dronehangar. You would need one of our operators on site, of course, and I’d be happy to reserve one of our experienced interns. Cesar has been training a few.”
The assistant busied himself nearby, likely pretending to ignore their discussion. Teresa wasn’t sure what her answer was, anyway. As intriguing as some elements of the proposal were, at the end of the day, the technology still seemed too strange. Too ridiculous. But perhaps that’s how genius always germinates? From a seed of absurdity?
Then her phone rang. Its screen flashed with coordinates, indicating her incoming freedom. She stared at it, first for her own benefit, then as a double-take for Diggs. “You know what? I’m so sorry—I’ve been summoned, apparently. For a ‘Code R4.’
‘A code what?” Diggs asked.
“Arctic stuff. Immediate. Confidential. I’m sorry, but we’ll have to cut this demonstration short.”
The director settled his glass with a tiny frown. He turned to Cesar, who stared back, silently bemused. “Well, that’s too bad,” Diggs said. “I guess I should have prepared a contingency. There’s still another Gazebo I wanted to show you … some nocturnal capabilities you know nothing about …” he ran his fingers along the side of a monitor. The map indicated that they had reached marker ten out of thirty.
“I’m afraid duty calls.” Teresa gave him a wan smile. “We’ll have to reschedule for the rest.”
Diggs put a hand on Cesar and began whispering something quickly. They were rerouting map markers, cancelling dozens of icons.
Escape was definitely the right call, Teresa thought, and took a long sip of mead.
***
A new-found determination blossomed in Ollo, one born of finality and understanding**.** The sooner he met with The Ancestor, the sooner freedom would reach them all. And then he could exist with Imura as he had always wanted: in a paradise unbound*.*
He surged behind Gharraph and a dozen other dragons still willing to compete. He wasn’t all that fast of course, and lacked their days of dome-training, but Ollo had managed to decipher the code that enabled safe passage through the rain and obstacles. Trust Meganeura.
His latent realization had finally been brought to a head by Gharraph. The champion had impressed everyone as he defied a giant rolling beetle, screaming The Ancestor’s name. It was at that moment Ollo understood the power of devotion. An unconditional obedience to the Great Lady allowed racers to push forward and rank high. Follow her lights. Trust Meganeura.
As long as Ollo stuck as close as possible to the blinking white track, it felt as if he were truly invulnerable to any whim of The Outside. The race crossed several small fields, another flatworm of granite, and a copse of trees. At one point, it went over a roiling stream; its torrents of white foam reminded Ollo of the bubbles that diving beetles released when they had nothing else to lose. It had all been going remarkably well until Ollo reached the obstacle that had caught everyone else: a buffet of air too strong to overcome.
The elite dragonflies were being continually spat back. No one was able to beat the countervailing wind, which grew tenfold at the base of a knoll. Even the unstoppable Gharraph was being tossed backwards.
“We must hold the line!” The champion yelled. “Grab a stalk if you have to! We can’t fall back!”
Arriving late, Ollo avoided getting tousled and joined the rest as they dove into the grass, gripping the thickest sheathes available. The plants whipped viciously back and forth, forcing everyone to snap their wings down into tight folds.
How is the air so fierce?
The lights still pulsated and beckoned towards the knoll. She’s testing us now, more than ever, Ollo thought.
Then came the roaring: a dense, low, thunderous cry. Ollo swapped fearful looks with a ringtail. Neither of them knew what was coming.
It was the loudest sound Ollo had ever heard. As it neared, the wind began to wane. Ollo took a few breaths to relax his hold, trying to steal a glance at this loud thing—and that’s when the vortex seized him.
All four of his wings suddenly bent in the wrong direction, and his whole body spun out of control. His vision blurred, the only thing he could clearly see being the purple division of his scar. His body tumbled about, like he was being chewed and swallowed by billows of air. And then he saw something. A silhouette: a being. It was her.
His deity approached, drawing all the air towards her. The pull was inescapable. Ollo gazed up and beheld her empyrean presence.
She was a dragonfly, except colossal. Sleek, black, and large enough to swallow an Envoy whole. Ollo spotted Gharraph and at least two other elite racers all subjected to the same immense pull as he. No one could escape.
“We beseech thy ancient reverence!” the green emperor yelled, his own wings completely askew. “It is I, Gharraph, longest reigning champion there has been!”
Meganeura drew nearer and roared. From behind her, the sun fired a prism of ultraviolet rays.
“On behalf of my kin. I implore you. It is time. It is time we were awarded the next stage of our lives!”
Yes. Ollo wanted to shout. Break this cycle of racing. A life of forever Outside.
Their deity roared, ripping the air itself with the blur of her wings, shredding the droplets of rain that fell and surrounded them.
“We wish to roam new lands,” Gharraph continued, “to see what else there is.”
“That’s right!” Ollo added. “How it once must have been!”
The vortex had altogether ceased, creating a sense of utter tranquility. Instead of being pulled, Ollo’s body was allowed to float in a bubbly effervescence.
“We have passed thine divine trial,” Gharraph boomed, flexing his four, now-steady wings. “Offer us the final promise, O Great Meganeura! Usher in a new age!”
The green emperor flew close and bowed, showing deference to the almighty.
As he likewise approached, Ollo began to notice the strange appearance of Meganeura when seen up close. Her skin was matte, holding no shine. And her wings: they fluttered in a way that made no sense, as if spinning on one axis.
“O Great One from times beyond past. We’ve come now, to pay homage—” Gharraph was stuck by the Ancestor’s wing. His paltry form was cast into a thousand pieces across the luminous sky.
Ollo froze from shock. He watched as Meganeura’s massive black wings continued to chop the air, mincing everyone and everything. A new scar split his vision, dividing his world in two. Then it split him again. And again. And again. And again.
***
“A chopper?!”
Diggs’s mouth had lain open for almost a whole minute. He half-covered it with his hand. Then uncovered it. “That’s pretty neat.”
They had all stepped outside to observe the Black Hawk grow against the horizon, its propeller whirring louder and louder.
“Your facility here is actually not too far from our base in Whitehorse.” Teresa said. “There wasn’t a jet available, so they had to pick me up like this. I hope you won’t mind an improvised landing.”
Both men gawked at the sight. The chopper looked like it was emerging from the sunset, light appearing to melt around it.
“Land it anywhere,” Diggs said, his smile slowly fading. He began to whisper something, an angry something into his assistant, as if he were at fault. Cesar nodded, his blank look still unwavering.
Teresa watched the odonatologist walk dejectedly to the Gazebo and decided to try something.
“Director, what if I had a small counter-proposal?”
Diggs lit up immediately, “A counter-proposal?”
“What if”—Teresa glanced at her chopper, and then at Cesar walking off—“what if I took Cesar with me? For a kind of trial?”
“What do you mean?”
“It would be difficult to commit to a whole new fleet. But I think my Major would be open to a small selection. Cesar could come and demonstrate how your drones would operate around the arctic base.”
Diggs gave a her peculiar look, as if he were near-sighted. “I would have to think about it … Mr. Costales is crucial to our process here. I can’t have him missing for long.”
“Not long,” Teresa said. “Just a few days. All I would need is to demo a fraction of what you’ve shown me. We could potentially skip a whole year of bureaucracy and invest in a fleet sooner.”
Diggs gripped his chin. His eyes were questioning, almost leering, asking her one word: Why?
But Teresa couldn’t pin down exactly why. Perhaps it was that dead, defeated look on Cesar. A look that spoke of jaded hopes, long nights, and unwarranted exploitation. Maybe it was the mead, but Teresa had been struck with sympathy. If she could help someone else avoid the hell she went through during her early years, then maybe this whole charade could have a positive outcome after all.
“Well think about it anyway,” Teresa said. “I wouldn’t have to grab him now—”
“But if you did”—Diggs smiled again, his hands rummaging through his pockets—“it might heighten our chances of a complete investment?” The director produced a tablet and stylus.
“I’d be shuffling a lot of work here, so I’d have to cover Cesar’s absence. But I could offer him. At a premium.”
Teresa glanced at Diggs’ device; the man was not afraid to test military spending. His figure wasn’t far off from the cost of her summoning this evac. Should I just double down? Turn my escape into a rescue?
“That looks fine,” she eventually managed. “The major would be pleased.”
“Stupendous,” Diggs said quietly. He jotted a few more things to his device. “Let me find some documentation; give me a few moments.”
She turned away from the megalomaniac and ventured into the Gazebo. She found Cesar and explained what was being arranged.
“So … I’m going with you?” He only half-stood, his neck still mostly hunched over a screen.
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“Only if you’re able to.”
His eyes had a habit of getting stuck in one expression, and now it appeared to be shock. He fiddled with a screen, then beckoned Teresa over.
“Well, I mean, are you sure you want me now? It looks like your helicopter may have impacted some of our drones. I only have about twenty in operation that I could bring with us.”
“Twenty sounds plenty.”
“Okay ...” Cesar said, still having trouble meeting Teresa’s gaze. “You really think your boss would want this?”
Teresa offered a smile. “When he finds out I returned in a chopper with you, he’s going to be ecstatic.”
Or furious. But that’s fine with me.
***
Imura never did know what happened to end that fateful race, but whatever it was, it had worked. There truly was a reward beyond just racing Outside: it was racing Outside...of time and space.
She and all the survivors of the final trial had been transported across dimensions. They were ushered into divine chambers of pure metal, adorned with calming scents and sounds. They travelled to realms of fluffy, white rain and unparalleled vistas. They explored through the tropics, soared past forests, and flew above a vast, limitless stretch of pond with no lilies in sight.
It was admittedly a very strenuous lifestyle, one with as many dangers and mysteries as a dragon racer could expect. The Ancestor’s lights and Envoys were demanding, but it was nothing Imura’s clan couldn’t handle. Everyone agreed that this was a dragon’s proper existence, not the shameful depravity they had experienced in the dome.
Among Imura’s favorite new realms was the dry-world of sand. Here they had spent the last several days, exploring numerous tracks and following Envoys inside armored beetles. It was beneath the desert heat that she became a mother, a proud matriarch that reflected the spirit of Meganeura. Her children were as strong as she could have hoped for. Her offspring would all be little green emperors, mixed with tigertail stripes.
She laid her first batch in a pool warmed by the open sun, and pondered names. They had to be called something strong, of course, to tough out the new life of moving between worlds, but they also needed poise.
Although he was somewhat dotty, she had always liked the name of that red darner who had been so warmly precocious. He had such a strange vision, that one. Imura swirled her tail in the pond, remembering what he had said about an aimless adulthood outdoors. About life untamed. How unappealing it now sounded. Still, it was him, Gharraph, and the others who had met Meganeuara and brokered their future. Those lucky few could be in some even higher, more ethereal plane than me, she thought. Where could you be, Ollo? Somewhere of pure mirth?
Mirth. Now that's a pretty name.
Ripples formed across the pond as Imura’s tail swayed. The gentle movement dispersed her eggs throughout the pool, sinking them to all corners. She waited patiently to witness which of her children would first reach the surface, whether by accident or curiosity.
It all starts here: life’s earliest race.

I - II - III - IV
Ollo slipped through the low weeds, weaving around everything in sight.
He learned he could turn quite fast, so losing his pursuit was simple: the blue bee was no match for the constant, sharp swerves he made along every monolith edge.
The whole escape may have actually been fun, if Ollo hadn’t seen what happened to the other racers who get caught.
It was a clubtail, pleading for mercy as a dozen bees clipped his wings and bit off his antennae, that killed Ollo’s spirits. There was also a racer who’d been de-limbed. Bees airlifted his worm-like body, pinching if he resisted. That sight almost made Ollo crash.
He continued to swerve, focusing on maintaining speed. The Ancestor had softened her light-flares, which allowed Ollo to better take in his environs and track the distant brown form of Flax.
His guide was right about last place being advantageous: if they had been up with the main plume of racers, they’d be evading hundreds of bees instead of just one or two.
Ollo turned a corner of another set of pillars Flax had rounded moments ago. The brown damselfly zoomed past a patch of grass, sputtered for a moment, and then turned around, suddenly chased by a blue blur.
Oh no. Ollo slowed down.
He focused his eyes and deduced that Flax was flying backwards, trying to shake something off his front. As he approached, Ollo could make out the bee clinging to Flax’s eye, sinking its jaws deeper and deeper.
Oh no, no, no. Ollo didn’t think he could tackle a foe without harming himself. Should he go for its abdomen? It’s throat? He recalled his days in the pond, chasing beetles. How much simpler it was then. All he had to do was barrel forward and disorient them.
I guess that’s what I do now.
Colliding with the bee’s side made the insect vibrate. Before it could get away, Ollo sank in his mandibles, biting down until he felt the tips of his jaws meet through flesh. With a swift yank, Ollo ripped off two limbs and half a belly, causing the bee to freeze, choke, and let go of Flax’s face.
“Oh praise Meganeura!” The damselfly pulled free, bleeding from his eye. “I thought I was food!”
***
They were each into their second glass of mead. Diggs pointed at red numbers on-screen, which sporadically increased.
“You’ll notice we’ve lost a few drones in these hives, but a culling is necessary. We need only the tough to remain. If the military wants a fleet of drone-soldiers, we need to ensure they’re Navy SEALS. Right, Sergeant?”
Teresa sipped her mead. She had to admit, as ridiculous as this was, the dragonflies at least seemed capable of defending themselves. Considering that many conflict areas now had regular bouts of locust swarms and blackflies. Oh, how the world has changed.
Diggs then whispered something to Cesar and leaned against a monitor. “Now, this being a reconnaissance mission, Sergeant, I’d like to show you just how expertly our little guys can observe a target. You see that scarecrow over there?” He pointed out the windows at what looked like a strange tree in the distance. “Go ahead and watch that for a moment.”
***
Once they left the grid of monoliths*,* the lights in Ollo’s head began to spark. Magenta and pink created a ribbon to fly along, with bright blue hoops to soar through.
Flax and he resumed their tandem flight, cruising over patches of bushes, saplings, and increased foliage.
“I’ve flown three other races Ollie. Sometimes there’s an odd mosquito, maybe a horsefly or two, but never a ... bee horde.” Flax’s voice quivered. *“*Why would The Ancestor have us go through such a thing? That was too cruel. Something feels wrong.”
Ollo couldn’t speak from any previous experience, but he agreed that it felt like a violation. He continued combing his vision grid, until he finally spotted dragonflies ahead.
The neon colors brought them both to where everyone else had reached, forming a perfect loop of remaining racers around a frozen envoy.
“Well, it looks like we’re still in last,” Flax said. “But why another circuit? Seems very strange.”
The Ancestor’s lights forced them into the centrifuge, looping a motionless (dead?) Envoy that stood on one foot. No matter what rank you were earlier, everyone broke even here.
“Is this normal?” Ollo asked.
“Not during a race.”
“Should we … try and break out?”
“We have to obey her lights.”
They stayed tandem in this slow-moving circle, flying behind a tattered-looking narrow-wing. Ollo got a clear view of the other racers, and could see that many were now missing limbs or parts of their wings. He may have been one of the lucky unscathed.
The signet on his back then started to heat up, making brief, delicate clicking sounds. Is it a sign? Does the Ancestor want me to notice something?
***
The photographs were clear and admirably hi-res. Teresa was impressed that so little was obstructed by the dragonflies' own wings.
“Imagine wanting to get a picture of a target,” Diggs began, “but he’s being held in a cell, with window slots too tiny for a human hand to get through. Or*,* maybe he’s being moved, protected by countless guards, each on the lookout for cameras or spies. Well, the solution to both scenarios is sending a tiny, inconspicuous dragonfly.”
The screens were tuned to display various angles of the scarecrow. A hay torso. A beekeeper mask. Wooden stake arms.
“Naturally, you couldn’t send a swarm like we have now into a more intimate operation,” Diggs said, “but you could send clusters, break them off into groups, and have them follow multiple suspects. That sort of thing.”
Teresa nodded along, and decided she wanted to see them enact a request of her own. “Can they take aerials?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Bird’s-eye views. Sometimes our satellites can’t penetrate cloud cover.”
“But of course.”
***
Ollo realized what the Ancestor’s clicking meant. She wants me to seek my companion. I’m supposed to find Imura.
His incredible eyes searched for those familiar black-and-yellow stripes. He was very good at discerning nearby kin, spotting pondsitters, a duskhawker, and various types of reedling. But a tigertail was nowhere to be seen.
Instead of stripes, Ollo soon winced to see crimson and violet strings that beckoned upward. Lady Meganeura’s lights had returned, growing brighter by the moment.
“Are you feeling that?” Flax slowed their momentum.
“Yes,” Ollo said, “we need to rise.”
They engaged their wings and fluttered upwards, following the threads of purple and red. The racers around them did likewise, and as a group, the insects formed an imperfect halo of shifting wings, ascending far higher than the glass dome would ever have allowed.
Soon it became cold. Harsh winds buffeted Ollo and Flax. With each rise in elevation, the air grew emptier, sharper. The damselfly shivered. “Where could she p-p-possibly be taking us? And why?”
There was nothing above, save for a deeply-hazed sun and ragged clouds. When the race reached a height where no one could refuse shivering, the lights finally faded.
For a moment, all the racers stared at each other, observing this hazy troposphere, horrified at how far below the earth that stared back was. If anyone were to stop their hovering counter-strokes, a simple breeze could spell the end.
Then Ollo’s signet began to heat up, making the same delicate clicking as before. I need to find Imura.
He tapped his partner’s tail. “Flax, we’ve got to move. I think The Ancestor’s giving me a sign.”
“A sign?” Flax wheezed. “Keghhh. Heghhh. Ollie, I don’t trust any signs right now. I’m telling you, something about this is really off.”
But Ollo searched anyway, scanning for those stripes. He slowly let go of Flax’s tail. “If you won’t come with me, I’ll go myself.”
“Are you deranged—you want to travel alone?”
A cloud form encroached with menacing slowness, whispering of icy chills. Below it, the lights re-emerged as spikes of cyan and jade. But they weren’t directing downwards, back to safety like everyone hoped; instead, they urged them to the east, along a long, horizontal track across the grey sky.
“Oh Lady Mega...” Flax’s shivering briefly stopped. “She wants us to race at this altitude?”
Despite his complaint, the majority of racers had already taken off, slowly following the lights against the clouds and turbulence.
Ollo let go of Flax. “Are you not going?”
“No, I’m not going!” Flax said, shivering again. “If disobeying lights is going to p-p-pop me, then so shall I pop, but I’m not flying out there to die in a broken race any longer! You’d be an even bigger dullard to try.”
A frigid draft briefly seized Ollo’s muscles. He shook them awake.
“These obstacles are cruel,” Flax continued. “Look at these fools, breaking their wings. And for what, Ollo? Come back down. Save yourself.”
Ollo inspected the race ahead, hoping to agree, but then he spotted them. Those black and yellow stripes. They were diving just ahead between hoops of cyan.
He took off alone. Flax yelled something, trying to turn him back. But he couldn’t, not when Imura was so close.
***
The aerial views were equally impressive. Dragondrones could be commanded to take long, sweeping scans of the geography below, and unlike satellites, they could penetrate cloud cover.
Teresa swiped between the photos, getting a full lay of the land. She paused on the hexagonal roof of their gazebo; next to it stood the cheery form of Diggs, halfway through his second cigarette.
“Like what you see?” Diggs asked, stubbing his ash outside.
Teresa continued swiping. “It’s nice that there’s a large fleet; guarantees decent coverage.”
“It does! And the pilots are so cheap to reproduce! Hundreds of eggs from a single mating, each one containing a design that’s been refined over three hundred million years. Where else can you find a deal like that?” Only by gaming nature, Teresa supposed.
The screens all began to flash with a cloud icon in the upper right.
“Rain incoming,” Cesar mumbled.
Diggs glanced at the screens, and his smile widened even further. He stretched a hand outside the Gazebo, twiddling his fingers. “Looks like we’ll get a firsthand glimpse of weather hazards.”
“Is that a problem?” Teresa asked.
“Oh my, no. But bear in mind, under extreme weather conditions we’re bound to lose a couple,” Diggs said. “That’s why we send so many. The beauty of dragonflies is that they’ll take care of themselves. They’re able to hide and recoup their energy. Real drones would be out of luck in the field.”
Teresa considered this. He’s not wrong.
“Now, you might think it impossible for an airborne creature to avoid such a wet sky, but insects are different. Their tiny brains dilate time. A speeding water droplet to you is just a slow, avoidable drip to them.”
***
Ollo’s whole body trembled with fear. He tracked as many liquid meteors as he could. Other racers nearby began to break off from the Ancestor’s lights, returning to a more comfortable height, but Ollo refused to give up. He wanted to see the track through the clouds to the end—the mission was his own now.
He navigated the downpour, following the jade thread as it zigged and zagged. Further ahead, a faint tigertail pattern descended gradually.
The course goes down. That’s a relief.
Then a droplet smacked Ollo’s blindspot: his eye scar. It felt like a wet reckoning. His vision flashed. Epilepsy. Oh no, no, no, no.
He spiralled down, spinning like a whirligig. Jade and cyan flared through his mind. Ollo saw the earth rise towards him in bursts, like the bottom of the pond. For a moment it felt like he was diving. Swimming. Paddling.
No. Stay sharp. Must stay sharp.
He shook as he plummeted, shedding as much water as possible, and did his best to avoid more rain. Ollo prayed to The Ancestor. Begged. And with a sudden glint, her blinding lights abated. Ollo’s senses returned.
He alternated his wings, fore and aft as Flax had shown him, and by some miracle, the wind contoured his flight, levelling him out—but just barely.
There came a crash, and sharp things thrust their way into his space: pinecones and needles. Instinctually, Ollo thrust his legs out and cushioned against impact. His face smacked a tree.
Moments passed. Lifetimes.
Ollo wheezed and groaned, feeling his voice echo around him. Only it wasn’t an echo. The whole stream of remaining racers were now here, using this pine tree as shelter. They were coughing, shuddering, and fighting for space on the wood.
Ollo wiped his eyes, shocked to see he was still among the competitors. He looked around to orient himself, trying to spot a familiar form. The first he encountered was Gharraph.
“YES!” the green emperor howled. “Finally!”
The power of his voice came with an aftershock. Ollo watched him move along a pine branch, needles snapping beneath his wings. “Deliverance draws near! This is it, my fellow dragons—the race we’ve been waiting for!”
A couple racers rallied in coughs and shouts, supporting this sudden zeal.
“The Ancestor has been testing us, and the moment has come where we reach her final light.”
More shouts. The remaining morale seemed eager. Ollo gazed down among the cries, having heard a familiar pitch. He crawled past others until he reached a scant little broadleaf by the pine’s roots. There he saw them. The black and yellow stripes.
“Glory to The Ancestor! Her greatest race yet!” Imura lay half-obscured by the leaf, echoing Gharraph’s call.
Ollo tentatively approached, appreciating the richness of her colors. Excitement boiled away all his weariness; it felt as if he were molting. Eventually, his mandibles managed to align words. “Imura. Are you … all right?”
Her wings were sopping. One antenna was apparently gone. “Who is that? Ollo?”
There was no use containing himself. “Oh, thank Mega! You’re alive! You’re okay! This is good! This is so good!”
She stared at him, jaws agape. “How are you here? Shouldn’t you be back—”
“I was chosen! An Envoy chose me! I was destined to compete. To find you. To make sure you’re safe.” Ollo spoke faster than he could think. “I learned to fly tandem: Flax showed me. I know how to save us. I know how to fly us back!”
Imura looked at him, wiped rain off her head, then withdrew beneath the leaf. “I don’t understand; what are you talking about?”
Ollo folded his wings and followed her. “This race, it’s not heeding any of the usual rules. It’s twisted and dangerous.”
“Of course,” Imura said. “She’s pushing us. This is the race where she’ll offer it.”
“Offer what?”
“The next reward: beyond Outside.”
The two bugs observed each other beneath the leaf, neither believing the other was there.
“But, you’re hurt,” Ollo pointed at her feeler. “And you’re wet. You don’t actually plan on continuing?”
“What? Ollo. We need to keep going.” Imura wiped her eyes in small circles. “Can’t you feel that? Her lights?”
A pinging re-emerged in Ollo. Tiny white dots, venturing out, urging them still further east. Their pull was faint now, but he knew that would soon change.
“I don’t think that matters,” Ollo said. “What’s important is that we’re alive. That’s why she wanted me to find you.”
“But Gharraph—he’s right.” Imura grazed Ollo’s wings, testing their pliancy. “A new prize awaits. Beyond Outside. What could that even be?”
Ollo thought back to the adulthood he envisioned: the simple life among unadulterated nature. The childhood myth. He came to a realization.
“I know what the prize is.”
“What?”
He tapped the moist bark beneath them, inhaled some of the fresh air. “It’s living here.”
“What?”
“Back in the pond I saw flashes, images of what I thought adulthood would be like. It’s supposed to be a return to living outside. Not just in glimpses, or races. But living here. A paradise unbound.”
Imura froze, she grabbed her one remaining feeler, wringing it as she thought. “By Mega’s light … you’re right.”
The tigertail began to pace, massaging her head. “We race to prove our best***.*** We’re proving we can live out here. That must be what comes next. Settling down in life beyond the dome!”
Her enthusiasm enlivened Ollo; it made his whole harrowing journey worthwhile. This is why they were meant to reunite. A mutual swoon. A harmony. And now, together, they could figure out the rest of their lives.
“You’re completely undamaged.” Imura held Ollo’s tail, wiping what little moisture still clung to it. “It’s a miracle you’ve made it this far. You know what I think?” She wiped a droplet off his antennae. Its receptors sent a warmth so soothing that Ollo’s legs nearly buckled. “I think it’s no coincidence the Envoy selected you, fresh-bodied and determined. You knew of our future first. You foresaw the prize.”
“I mean, maybe, but I don’t think I’m all that special ...”
“Of course you are!” She held him now, brought her eyes against his. Two worlds of ultra-wide vision overlapping. “When I was in the clouds,” Imura whispered, “I glimpsed her waiting. Do you understand? I glimpsed Meganeura.”
“What?”
“She’s close. Here, returned to us in physical form. Awaiting her champions. You must be among them.”
“Me? But what about you, what about—”
“I’ll be fine; I must recoup. It’s obvious that she’s placed me here, right now, so that I could convince you.”
She let go of Ollo, but even afterwards, he could still see her silhouette in his eyes, a beautiful after-image.
“Go.” Imura lifted the leaf, pointing outward. “Go up now; follow Gharraph with the others. Promise me you’ll obey the lights, and that you’ll reach her.”
Ollo looked at Imura through her own afterimage. He wanted to retract his theory, to wail against this decision. They couldn’t separate again, not after all the effort he’d put in. He wished he could remember an adage from the pond-lores, some statement to prove he should stay ...
“And tell her about the memory you had,” Imura said. “You’re one of the signifiers, Ollo; a key to the adulthood we’ve always deserved. By the glory of every rank I’ve ever earned, I thank you. You might just be the herald of a new age!”
***
The surveillance journey of the drones had gone from scarecrow, to an aerial sweep, to the cover of a pine tree. Now, they’d been sent off again to a road crossing. But instead of waiting, or gaining slight altitude, one particular green Dragondrone had the audacity to simply dodge traffic.
The car had been coming at him head-on. It seemed as though the bug was either going to become a bumper sticker or a windshield splat. Then, at the last possible moment, the camera-feed leapt up, and the blue of the Tesla’s roof whizzed by underneath. The little pilot turned, as if observing the car disappear and acknowledging the near-death encounter, and then continued flying as if nothing had happened.
Teresa watched this on repeat, studying the stabilization and frame rate, both of which were quite decent (considering the compression); but what really impressed her was the physical reaction time.
“I see you found him,” said Cesar, peering over Teresa’s shoulder.
“Found who?”
“Our strongest specimen.”
Cesar helped Teresa swap to the feed of a trailing drone that had witnessed the stunt. From a couple meters back, the large, green dragonfly played chicken, hovering at road-kill height. But as soon as the vehicle entered frame, he shot up in a flash, performing a quick spin at the end.
Teresa replayed the footage from this new angle on repeat, analyzing the movement—that is, until a clapping came from the mini fridge.
“Excellent!”
Diggs had been pouring the remains of the mead into the last two glasses, ensuring they were even. “I was hoping he’d show off!” The director squeezed between Cesar and Teresa, cheering as if this were some sporting event. “Amazing isn’t it? He’s an import from Tasmania, you know. Anax papuensis. An Australian Emperor. The species has been proving to be the preferred choice in our program. I’m so glad you got to see him flaunt!”
“Flaunt?” Teresa said, trying to understand how the term could apply.
“Yes, well, the Nootropic enhances their cognizance.” Diggs handed Teresa one of the glasses. “It makes them better flyers, but I’m starting to suspect it also adds a bit of personality. An edge, if you will. It’s what allows us to steer them into environments they would naturally avoid.”
Teresa gave her temples a small rub, trying to brush away her incredulity. A real drone certainly doesn’t come with any ‘Tasmanian reflexes.’ She took her drink and stood, giving her eyes a break by observing the valley.
“You know, Sergeant, I was thinking my proposal would consist of chiefly Australian emperors.” Diggs leaned back in his chair. “Your first Dragondrone squadron needs to be exceptional, don’t you think?”
It had taken him so long to start talking business, Teresa figured he had been saving it for once everything was over. “You’re talking about the package you’d offer me?”
He stood up, almost matching her height. “Yes. Just so you get a sense: I would offer you a starting fleet of say, two hundred pilots—seventy percent being Emperors—along with your own dronehangar. You would need one of our operators on site, of course, and I’d be happy to reserve one of our experienced interns. Cesar has been training a few.”
The assistant busied himself nearby, likely pretending to ignore their discussion. Teresa wasn’t sure what her answer was, anyway. As intriguing as some elements of the proposal were, at the end of the day, the technology still seemed too strange. Too ridiculous. But perhaps that’s how genius always germinates? From a seed of absurdity?
Then her phone rang. Its screen flashed with coordinates, indicating her incoming freedom. She stared at it, first for her own benefit, then as a double-take for Diggs. “You know what? I’m so sorry—I’ve been summoned, apparently. For a ‘Code R4.’
‘A code what?” Diggs asked.
“Arctic stuff. Immediate. Confidential. I’m sorry, but we’ll have to cut this demonstration short.”
The director settled his glass with a tiny frown. He turned to Cesar, who stared back, silently bemused. “Well, that’s too bad,” Diggs said. “I guess I should have prepared a contingency. There’s still another Gazebo I wanted to show you … some nocturnal capabilities you know nothing about …” he ran his fingers along the side of a monitor. The map indicated that they had reached marker ten out of thirty.
“I’m afraid duty calls.” Teresa gave him a wan smile. “We’ll have to reschedule for the rest.”
Diggs put a hand on Cesar and began whispering something quickly. They were rerouting map markers, cancelling dozens of icons.
Escape was definitely the right call, Teresa thought, and took a long sip of mead.
***
A new-found determination blossomed in Ollo, one born of finality and understanding**.** The sooner he met with The Ancestor, the sooner freedom would reach them all. And then he could exist with Imura as he had always wanted: in a paradise unbound*.*
He surged behind Gharraph and a dozen other dragons still willing to compete. He wasn’t all that fast of course, and lacked their days of dome-training, but Ollo had managed to decipher the code that enabled safe passage through the rain and obstacles. Trust Meganeura.
His latent realization had finally been brought to a head by Gharraph. The champion had impressed everyone as he defied a giant rolling beetle, screaming The Ancestor’s name. It was at that moment Ollo understood the power of devotion. An unconditional obedience to the Great Lady allowed racers to push forward and rank high. Follow her lights. Trust Meganeura.
As long as Ollo stuck as close as possible to the blinking white track, it felt as if he were truly invulnerable to any whim of The Outside. The race crossed several small fields, another flatworm of granite, and a copse of trees. At one point, it went over a roiling stream; its torrents of white foam reminded Ollo of the bubbles that diving beetles released when they had nothing else to lose. It had all been going remarkably well until Ollo reached the obstacle that had caught everyone else: a buffet of air too strong to overcome.
The elite dragonflies were being continually spat back. No one was able to beat the countervailing wind, which grew tenfold at the base of a knoll. Even the unstoppable Gharraph was being tossed backwards.
“We must hold the line!” The champion yelled. “Grab a stalk if you have to! We can’t fall back!”
Arriving late, Ollo avoided getting tousled and joined the rest as they dove into the grass, gripping the thickest sheathes available. The plants whipped viciously back and forth, forcing everyone to snap their wings down into tight folds.
How is the air so fierce?
The lights still pulsated and beckoned towards the knoll. She’s testing us now, more than ever, Ollo thought.
Then came the roaring: a dense, low, thunderous cry. Ollo swapped fearful looks with a ringtail. Neither of them knew what was coming.
It was the loudest sound Ollo had ever heard. As it neared, the wind began to wane. Ollo took a few breaths to relax his hold, trying to steal a glance at this loud thing—and that’s when the vortex seized him.
All four of his wings suddenly bent in the wrong direction, and his whole body spun out of control. His vision blurred, the only thing he could clearly see being the purple division of his scar. His body tumbled about, like he was being chewed and swallowed by billows of air. And then he saw something. A silhouette: a being. It was her.
His deity approached, drawing all the air towards her. The pull was inescapable. Ollo gazed up and beheld her empyrean presence.
She was a dragonfly, except colossal. Sleek, black, and large enough to swallow an Envoy whole. Ollo spotted Gharraph and at least two other elite racers all subjected to the same immense pull as he. No one could escape.
“We beseech thy ancient reverence!” the green emperor yelled, his own wings completely askew. “It is I, Gharraph, longest reigning champion there has been!”
Meganeura drew nearer and roared. From behind her, the sun fired a prism of ultraviolet rays.
“On behalf of my kin. I implore you. It is time. It is time we were awarded the next stage of our lives!”
Yes. Ollo wanted to shout. Break this cycle of racing. A life of forever Outside.
Their deity roared, ripping the air itself with the blur of her wings, shredding the droplets of rain that fell and surrounded them.
“We wish to roam new lands,” Gharraph continued, “to see what else there is.”
“That’s right!” Ollo added. “How it once must have been!”
The vortex had altogether ceased, creating a sense of utter tranquility. Instead of being pulled, Ollo’s body was allowed to float in a bubbly effervescence.
“We have passed thine divine trial,” Gharraph boomed, flexing his four, now-steady wings. “Offer us the final promise, O Great Meganeura! Usher in a new age!”
The green emperor flew close and bowed, showing deference to the almighty.
As he likewise approached, Ollo began to notice the strange appearance of Meganeura when seen up close. Her skin was matte, holding no shine. And her wings: they fluttered in a way that made no sense, as if spinning on one axis.
“O Great One from times beyond past. We’ve come now, to pay homage—” Gharraph was stuck by the Ancestor’s wing. His paltry form was cast into a thousand pieces across the luminous sky.
Ollo froze from shock. He watched as Meganeura’s massive black wings continued to chop the air, mincing everyone and everything. A new scar split his vision, dividing his world in two. Then it split him again. And again. And again. And again.
***
“A chopper?!”
Diggs’s mouth had lain open for almost a whole minute. He half-covered it with his hand. Then uncovered it. “That’s pretty neat.”
They had all stepped outside to observe the Black Hawk grow against the horizon, its propeller whirring louder and louder.
“Your facility here is actually not too far from our base in Whitehorse.” Teresa said. “There wasn’t a jet available, so they had to pick me up like this. I hope you won’t mind an improvised landing.”
Both men gawked at the sight. The chopper looked like it was emerging from the sunset, light appearing to melt around it.
“Land it anywhere,” Diggs said, his smile slowly fading. He began to whisper something, an angry something into his assistant, as if he were at fault. Cesar nodded, his blank look still unwavering.
Teresa watched the odonatologist walk dejectedly to the Gazebo and decided to try something.
“Director, what if I had a small counter-proposal?”
Diggs lit up immediately, “A counter-proposal?”
“What if”—Teresa glanced at her chopper, and then at Cesar walking off—“what if I took Cesar with me? For a kind of trial?”
“What do you mean?”
“It would be difficult to commit to a whole new fleet. But I think my Major would be open to a small selection. Cesar could come and demonstrate how your drones would operate around the arctic base.”
Diggs gave a her peculiar look, as if he were near-sighted. “I would have to think about it … Mr. Costales is crucial to our process here. I can’t have him missing for long.”
“Not long,” Teresa said. “Just a few days. All I would need is to demo a fraction of what you’ve shown me. We could potentially skip a whole year of bureaucracy and invest in a fleet sooner.”
Diggs gripped his chin. His eyes were questioning, almost leering, asking her one word: Why?
But Teresa couldn’t pin down exactly why. Perhaps it was that dead, defeated look on Cesar. A look that spoke of jaded hopes, long nights, and unwarranted exploitation. Maybe it was the mead, but Teresa had been struck with sympathy. If she could help someone else avoid the hell she went through during her early years, then maybe this whole charade could have a positive outcome after all.
“Well think about it anyway,” Teresa said. “I wouldn’t have to grab him now—”
“But if you did”—Diggs smiled again, his hands rummaging through his pockets—“it might heighten our chances of a complete investment?” The director produced a tablet and stylus.
“I’d be shuffling a lot of work here, so I’d have to cover Cesar’s absence. But I could offer him. At a premium.”
Teresa glanced at Diggs’ device; the man was not afraid to test military spending. His figure wasn’t far off from the cost of her summoning this evac. Should I just double down? Turn my escape into a rescue?
“That looks fine,” she eventually managed. “The major would be pleased.”
“Stupendous,” Diggs said quietly. He jotted a few more things to his device. “Let me find some documentation; give me a few moments.”
She turned away from the megalomaniac and ventured into the Gazebo. She found Cesar and explained what was being arranged.
“So … I’m going with you?” He only half-stood, his neck still mostly hunched over a screen.
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“Only if you’re able to.”
His eyes had a habit of getting stuck in one expression, and now it appeared to be shock. He fiddled with a screen, then beckoned Teresa over.
“Well, I mean, are you sure you want me now? It looks like your helicopter may have impacted some of our drones. I only have about twenty in operation that I could bring with us.”
“Twenty sounds plenty.”
“Okay ...” Cesar said, still having trouble meeting Teresa’s gaze. “You really think your boss would want this?”
Teresa offered a smile. “When he finds out I returned in a chopper with you, he’s going to be ecstatic.”
Or furious. But that’s fine with me.
***
Imura never did know what happened to end that fateful race, but whatever it was, it had worked. There truly was a reward beyond just racing Outside: it was racing Outside...of time and space.
She and all the survivors of the final trial had been transported across dimensions. They were ushered into divine chambers of pure metal, adorned with calming scents and sounds. They travelled to realms of fluffy, white rain and unparalleled vistas. They explored through the tropics, soared past forests, and flew above a vast, limitless stretch of pond with no lilies in sight.
It was admittedly a very strenuous lifestyle, one with as many dangers and mysteries as a dragon racer could expect. The Ancestor’s lights and Envoys were demanding, but it was nothing Imura’s clan couldn’t handle. Everyone agreed that this was a dragon’s proper existence, not the shameful depravity they had experienced in the dome.
Among Imura’s favorite new realms was the dry-world of sand. Here they had spent the last several days, exploring numerous tracks and following Envoys inside armored beetles. It was beneath the desert heat that she became a mother, a proud matriarch that reflected the spirit of Meganeura. Her children were as strong as she could have hoped for. Her offspring would all be little green emperors, mixed with tigertail stripes.
She laid her first batch in a pool warmed by the open sun, and pondered names. They had to be called something strong, of course, to tough out the new life of moving between worlds, but they also needed poise.
Although he was somewhat dotty, she had always liked the name of that red darner who had been so warmly precocious. He had such a strange vision, that one. Imura swirled her tail in the pond, remembering what he had said about an aimless adulthood outdoors. About life untamed. How unappealing it now sounded. Still, it was him, Gharraph, and the others who had met Meganeuara and brokered their future. Those lucky few could be in some even higher, more ethereal plane than me, she thought. Where could you be, Ollo? Somewhere of pure mirth?
Mirth. Now that's a pretty name.
Ripples formed across the pond as Imura’s tail swayed. The gentle movement dispersed her eggs throughout the pool, sinking them to all corners. She waited patiently to witness which of her children would first reach the surface, whether by accident or curiosity.
It all starts here: life’s earliest race.

First/Previous/Next
If I were to guess, I’d imagine they took Andrew to Boss Harold before anyone else and the rumors around Golgotha seemed to support this supposition; the Bosses enjoyed their personal retribution away from the eyes of citizens, maybe it was talking or maybe more, and although there were whispers of the boy being strung up on the wall or maybe he’d be violated in the stocks for all to see, I imagined that the council I held with Boss Harold might’ve had something to do with that never materializing. When I was allowed to the boy’s cell, it was dark, and his face was bruised and the bandaging I’d applied to his severed wrist had been removed probably for amusement. The room was small and there were no windows and only a single doorway let out into the hallway which contained other cells and further, near the exit, there was the office of wall men. The guard that’d let me in locked the door behind me and Andrew sat on a metallic cot without cushioning, and he stared at the grimy floor through swollen eyes.
“Hello,” he said. And I was taken aback by the comment because he spoke it as quickly as he might passing a person in the street. He'd been through so much that the word was abrupt, skittish. I nodded and moved to him, reaching for his arm where he’d been nearly fatally wounded. It was infected. Without fighting me, he allowed me to tend to it without even a question; I wiped it and applied salve. Once it was cleaned and rewrapped and only after I’d settled on the cot beside him, he spoke again, “I heard stories about the cells, but I never thought they’d smell.”
I withdrew a handful of antibiotics, and he took them without putting them to his mouth. “You should have them,” I said, “You might lose the whole arm if not.”
“I might lose my life.”
“Maybe not,” I offered a grim smile and water with for the pills. “You’re alive still.”
“How much longer though?” He took the medicine and grimaced hard. The boy looked older than he was. “It smells like blood here. I can smell the people that’ve been here before.”
I patted him on the back and removed myself from the cell and he did not call after me, not even to ask for the return of his hand and I hoped that I could stave off whatever tortures the Bosses might have in store for him.
It’d been two days since I’d returned with Dave and Andrew and quickly after our arrival, I’d tried departing from the man and hoped he’d drop whatever revenge he believed I could assist him with, but it was to no avail for he attended everywhere with me since our return to Golgotha. Although he’d not been allowed to enter the cells alongside me, he was waiting for me outside as I stepped through the wall men’s office and into the noonday sun; I deftly plucked a pre-rolled cigarette from my pocket and tried at lighting it but before I’d even gotten the chance, he was there at the stoop of the office, pestering, “We should go somewhere quiet,” he said.
“What do you take me for exactly?” I asked while maintaining eye contact with the flame off a match.
“You’re capable enough. You could be a hero. I’d do it with you. We could scrounge up a handful of people and change things. We really could.” Dave was casting sidelong glances at those that passed us in the dirt street just off the stoop, but nary one seemed to care about our conversation.
“Leave it.”
“I won’t.”
I sighed.
He put a hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off.
Felina’s was a structure partially built from ancient shipping containers directly in the heart of the hydroponics towers in the center of town; the chicken shit smell from the base of the towers came with nauseating stagnation and could make a passerby sick, but upon entering Felina’s, the smell subsided and was replaced with the smell of body sweat. The older barwoman stood behind the counter and me and Dave took up on the far corner where we sat around an old card table, using crates as chairs; no one else was there—the smell of the hydro towers probably had some hand in that.
Dave took in close to me so that I could feel the moisture off his breath, “I’ve been talking to a few others over at the towers and they feel the same way I feel—but with you—well without you I don’t think I’d want to do it.”
“No, please go on without me,” I slanted my body across the table to push my face away from Dave’s; with me positioned with my back against the wall, I spied Felina beyond the counter, arms across her chest and watching us with an air of suspicion. She came to our table, slowly with her club foot and upon reaching us, she used our table for mild support with her big hands and greeted us without excitement.
Dave asked for water and her gaze shifted to me and I dismissed her, and we were alone till she limped back over with a pitcher and glass and Dave drank it greedily while Felina watched on from beyond the counter—her eyes suspicious but pretty blue too. She kept the haft from a dismembered axe behind the counter and was known to throttle unruly patrons with it.
Although some might have called Felina’s a bar, it was just short of it because of the rarity of spirits—besides, it was the upstairs brothel portion that the establishment owed to its popularity. Anyone might brave the smell from the street for companionship and if the noises from the rusted overhead support beams were anything to measure, the clientele was content indeed. A man descended from the stairs by the bar, gave a brief nod to Felina then to us and disappeared through the front door; a waft of the outside air rushed in, and Dave scrunched his nose.
“It’s a funny thing, I’ve passed by here all the time, but I don’t think I’ve been inside since before—” he paused, “Well, since before anyway.” He took a drink of water and rubbed his palms against his cheeks. “I know someone that works underground and could get us some gunpowder.”
I merely laughed at this. “Gunpowder, huh?”
“Well sure. The Bosses have reserves in the basements. We could blow them sky high.”
“More likely that you’d blow your hands off.”
“What’s it going to take to convince you?”
I thought, “Could you promise no one would die?”
Dave seemed baffled at the question. “Who cares?”
“These things hardly ever happen quietly—or without collateral. How’s this? Could you promise that no innocents get caught in stray fire?”
“Yes.”
“Then you are as ill prepared as I’d imagined.”
“What’s that mean?”
“The meek are intended to inherit, but many will die before all that.”
“What?”
“Nothing. I wish you’d leave it be.”
Another patron stumbled down the stairs, a scrawny tall man with a thin beard came charging into the chamber without clothes and a voice followed him, crying loudly, “Sonofabitch tried choking me!” A pair of arms and legs came stumbling down after—the source of the cries. There was a topless woman, a belt secured around one of her wrists and a pink mark around her throat. The naked man protested and put up his hands as the woman swung the arm with the belt and whipped at him with it, striking across the forearm he’d shielded himself with.
Felina moved carefully from around the counter, raised the haft, then brought it down across the man’s back. He stumbled to his knees, pleading. The barwoman raised the weapon once more and the sound was like wood against wood as it met the man’s head and his body was taken to the ground completely, perhaps dead, perhaps unconscious. The two women lifted the man out the door and Felina spat through the opening. Outside wind came again and Dave scrunched his nose once more before the door shut. The topless woman removed the belt from around her wrist, tossed it to the floor, then secured an arm across her chest before hurrying upstairs.
“So, gunpowder?” I asked Dave.
He nodded and took another drink of water while eyeing Felina as she took herself back to the counter and stowed the makeshift club into whatever place she kept it. “Yeah.”
“Go for it then and leave me out of it.” I fiddled with my thumbs across the table. “I’ll even make you a deal for when you come running to me for help later. If you blow your fingers off, I’ll try and help you find them. How’s about that?”
“I’ll wear you down.”
Another gust of wind came from the far door and I half expected to see the man that’d been removed there in the doorway, standing on his feet and ready for another round of punishment, but there was no one there in the hollow spot; as my gaze drifted from person-face level, I saw a medium sized mutt there in gray fur, pushing the door in with its nose and then sliding the rest of its starved body through—each of its yellowy sad eyes peered in and I could not tell the breed but Dave lifted himself from his seat and Felina went to the dog too.
“No dogs,” stated the woman.
Dave, the indomitable sweetheart that he was knelt to the dog’s face and touched its snout; it licked his hand and Dave said to Felina, “He’s not mine, but have you got some water for him?”
“No dogs inside. I don’t like repeating it.”
“Fair enough,” said Dave, “I don’t know who he—” he froze and then examined the rear of the dog before petting the dog on the head, “She belongs to, but I’ll take her outside. Just. Please some water, won’t you?”
The barwoman first drummed her fingers against her leg then went to the counter and I noticed Dave flinch as she reached under there, but she came back with a bowl and he took it and ushered the dog out; as he exited, he called to me, and I sighed and moved with him.
Remaining in the street was the man that’d been tossed out, face up, half-opened eyes, and flies buzzed about, and I touched him with my foot, but he didn’t move. Blood leaked from his ears. “Dead,” I said.
Dave took the dog from the body around to the side of the building and the feces smell was strong with the hydro towers, but he sat the water down and the dog went at it quickly, without restraint and spilt half before the man went to steady it with his hand; he knelt by the dog and pushed a shoulder against the wall of the brothel.
“There you go,” I told him, “You’ve found someone dumb enough and maybe loyal enough to follow through with your little gunpowder plan. Strap a handful of dynamite to him and watch him go boom in the Boss’s faces.” I genuinely did try it as a joke.
“You can be very mean,” said Dave.
Once the bowl was dry besides dog spit, he returned it to Felina, reentering briefly, and it was just me and the dog and the dog looked up at me and I turned away while its voice whined in the back of its throat and I took a piece of hardtack from my pocket and tossed it on the ground—the dog went after it, assuredly snapping up dirt in the process. Then the creature made a dry and throaty sound from swallowing too quickly, but moments after the thick cracker was gone. It licked my hand gently, and I scratched its chin and Dave returned and upon seeing me with the dog, he gave me a look and then brought himself to the height of the dog in a hunker.
“Hey there,” he said to it, “Someone’s beat you up pretty bad, huh?” It was true; scars stood out in places where the dog had no fur.
In response, the weathered mutt hoisted its forepaws onto his knees and pushed its nose into his.
“Yeah, girl,” he took one of the dog’s ears between his forefinger and thumb and rubbed it gently and the animal looked up, sad eyed, “What’s a good name for you?”
“Dog-meat?” I proposed.
Dave shook his head. “What sort of sick joke is that?” but he was smiling, “No. I’ll come up with something to call her. Isn’t that right?” He asked the dog, massaging the face of the animal with his thumbs; the dog stared dumbly at him. “Maybe a Beth or a Patty might suit you. How do you like them?”
The dog licked his face but couldn’t speak.
“Well,” I said, “It’s a shame it got you, you’ll pick a person name for it and that’s strange. Why not call her Mary if you want a person name?”
“Bah,” said Dave, rising to a full stand; momentarily, even with the other folks passing us in the street, he took a moment to see the dead man we’d passed on our way out of Felina’s and for a moment he remained quiet. “I’ll come to you again Harlan. Maybe when I’ve got more of a plan. I only hope you’ll listen to the stuff I’ve said about it. I really do. I really hope you’ll be on the right side of this thing.”
“Sides are overrated.”
Dave put a hand on my shoulder, “Of course,” he nodded, “Whatever you say.”
He left with his new friend—the dog following him traced from left to right close behind Dave and I watched him take off and around the nearest hydro tower and I was alone on the street and evening wouldn’t be far away, so I took to home while staring at my moving feet and speaking to no one. A few people along the way tried nodding at me or saying a small greeting here or there, but I was absorbed in my own head, and nothing took me from it once I got going. Maybe that was one of the reasons I enjoyed the wastes; there were no pretenses out there and with the constant thought of death there was no other thing to think about than each passing moment. I could not shut my thoughts up. I could ramble more about the motivations of a scavver, but I don’t think I should—leave that for someone that cares.
Upon taking the catwalks where I could look out on a swatch of Golgotha with the sun beating down and the constant hum of people going about their business, I was frozen on the railing and wishing I’d taken my own life and wishing that Dave had not found me out there; maybe if I was faster or smarter or better in whatever way that mattered.
I pushed into the door into my small abode and cool blood pushed through my body on seeing the robed girl there on my mattress, holding a shotgun with its barrel angled directly at me; she donned a flowy mess of dresses and kept her head wrapped in garb so that only her eyes shone through, but her arms stuck from the mess of cloth and I could see they were skinny with long scab marks like a blade had drawn across the flesh.
“Harlan?” asked the girl.
“Is that mine?” I nodded at the pump-shotgun in her hands. The slowness of the world was gone, and I could think again; if things were different, I’d have been a dead man, but it was unloaded, and I knew it.
“It was hanging on the wall—I don’t know how to use the thing anyway. I don’t know what I was doing with it,” she said, “You just scared me, and I didn’t know who you might’ve been.”
“This is my place.”
She laid the shotgun on the bed and unwrapped her face; it was Gemma, “You were with Andrew.”
“I was.”
“You said he was dead.”
I brought in air slowly through my nose. “I did.”
“You lied.”
I nodded, letting the air come out.
“Why?”
“I needed to find you.”
“But you found us both then, I guess.”
“Not on purpose.” A thought occurred to me, “Does you father know where you are right now?”
She shook her head; although rest had done her good, there was still a fair amount of fatigue present on her. “I snuck out.”
“Would’a though you learned your lesson on that front.”
“Is Andrew okay? No one will tell me anything about it.”
“He’s locked up right now, but he is alive. For how long? I don’t know. I figured your pop paid a visit to him already—wouldn’t you know about that?”
She shook her head again. “Woo,” Gemma slumped onto the side of my mattress and gathered the robes around her, “I’m feeling faint.”
I moved to the bed and gathered the shotgun, putting it back on the hooks in the wall. “You shouldn’t break into people’s homes.”
Cupping her brow in a hand so that I could only see her mouth and the bottom of her nose, she said, “I just needed to know he was alive. These past days I’ve been so worried about him. I knew you told me he was dead, but I knew you were a liar too. So, I had bad thoughts about what might’ve happened to him out there. If what happened to me was anything to go off.” Her voice broke for a moment and then she pulled her hand from her face and blinked a few sudden times. “I just.”
“I get it. You love the boy.”
She nodded without looking at me.
“So, beg your dad to let him go.”
“Everyone’s so mad at him. It’s funny that everyone’s so mad at him, but it was my idea, and they all treat me like a darling little flower. Like I couldn’t have been the one with the idea of running away. I had more reason to run than he ever did.”
“You should leave.”
“I don’t want to. Can’t you see that’s what I’ve been saying? Judge all you like. Call me rich all you like, but I can tell you this: I don’t feel like it.” Gemma grabbed the edge of the bed as her head wavered on her shoulders. “Dizzy spells are awful.” She shook her head. “Like no sickness ever.” Her eyes locked on mine. “Help me.”
“I’ve already tried convincing them not to kill him.” Taking a pause, I thought to add, “And I personally saw to his injuries. Please go and leave me be.”
“Oh, but you’ve asked for it,” she said, “You put yourself in the business of it.”
“Look. All’s I wanted was to save you if I could and get the water running again. That’s it. Now go.” I put my arm up to wave her out the door and she stood to make her way there, catching herself on the frame, then out on the catwalk railing before turning and looking at me over her shoulder.
“Bastard.” she said.
“Yes.” The door shut between us, and I took myself to sitting on the bed’s edge and reminiscing over how Dave reminded me so much of Jackson. Jackson was a real tough one; whatever happened he always kept a cool head (so I reckon him and Dave would be different in that way) and the idea of being a hero was so big for him. It’s a curious thought: whether Dave would have such ideas if hadn’t been for the tragic loss of his family.
The shotgun sat on there on the wall, and I took it and looked over it, putting the stock in my left hand then my right and laid it across my legs; the woven strap on it had gone thin so that the place I’d once worn it over my shoulder was mostly threadbare. I moved to the cabinet by the sink where I kept a few essentials and in the very back there was an old box of shells—it was a surprise they still seemed good, but with old ammo you never could tell, and the shells were just as likely to fire true as they might be to never send pellets from the barrel. I took a knife and began whittling into a shell I’d plucked from the box. Pellets spilled between my feet as I sat on the bed and they rolled across the floor and then I found the gunpowder and rose again, sprinkling it onto the cabinet top into a neat pile. Dave said he had a fella’ he knew that worked in the underground—the sort of person that could get him all the gunpowder he needed. Was he familiar with its destructive force; had he ever fired a gun? He promised me no one innocent would die and I knew that was a lie and there’s surely a piece of him that knew it was a lie just as well.
It was just then as I took a forefinger and thumb and pinched up a bit from the gunpowder splat that I remembered a thing that Jackson told me all the time when he thought none of the others were listening. The gunpowder rained from my fingertips as I rubbed them together and I sniffed the place where they’d become sooty, taking in a smell I’d not smelled in a long time. Jackson would say, “Whoever fights monsters should be sure that he don’t become a monster.” It wouldn’t be for a long time—after I’d visited the libraries in Alexandria or Babylon (take your preference)—till I realized it was a quote that Jackson stole from some guy named Neet-chee. It seemed like a good thing to adhere to, and it was certainly something I wasn’t good at keeping with and if I couldn’t then there was little certainty that Dave would keep to it either. Maybe I had become a monster; morally dubious anyway.
Jackson was a hero, and he was dead as was Sibylle as was Billy as was John and all of them. We’d tried heroing and it got all of us dead. Almost all of us.
I hung the shotgun on the wall and left it there and swept the gunpowder into the floor with a flat palm where the pellets were and chucked the box of old shells into the cabinet again.
Ringing of bells came from the hall of the Bosses and it was time for a display. Denizens gathered in the front square by the gates and awaited while they trotted out Andrew; perhaps the words I’d passed to Boss Harold rang hollow after all. The Bosses were there just as always, drinking their wine on the platform, and Maron was out front with his wall men in the semicircle of gathered Golgotha residents. Of the population, only a hundred or two gathered for this poor boy’s execution. The guards had, at some point after my departure, removed the bandage on his empty wrist and he looked more sickly in the face than before and his cheeks were swollen and he wept, seemingly not from the terror of it but from the skin around his eyes having been so damaged; tears came through swelled eyelids and a wall man kept him by the elbow and Maron marched to the boy and lifted the boy’s face with his hand to look into it and maybe he whispered something to him.
I weaved through the crowd, moving to the steps that led to the stage where the Bosses stood with their foods and wines and their plenty and upon approach, I was stopped by a wall men, but upon catching Boss Harold’s eye, he told the guard to let me through and I took the stairs and from the platform, I could see over the crowd—Dave was far in the rear of those gathered, totally disconnected from the others for he hunkered by a set of crates, patting the head of the dog we’d found just earlier in the day. For a moment, I wished I was there with him and not on the stage at all.
“Dear boy!” Boss Harold shouted at me over the excited jeers of the others, “It’s so good to see you again. You are quite the hero, and it’s always good to be in the company of those.”
I nodded at him and within a flash, he’d slammed his cup of wine into my hand, telling me to drink, and only moments passed before his own cup was replaced by a nearby servant. “We spoke about this?” I tried.
His face was red, and I could just make out the miniscule veins vibrant along the corners of his nose; the man was far gone drunk. “That boy’s been a thorn in my side for too long, so I know you understand it when I say that he needs punishment. I took all that you said into account,” his words slurred, and the sweet sick came off him in a breath of hot air when he pulled me in, resting his ear on my shoulder. “Nobody dies today, but ‘spare the rod and spoil the child’,” the Boss paused. “You’re not a father yourself, are you?”
I shook my head.
“Ah! Then you might not be familiar with that proverb required in bringing a child up in this world.” Boss Harold laughed. “I’d never take my sweet Gemma out in the square like this, but God there’s been times I’ve wanted it. ‘Spare the rod’.” He repeated. “But we’ve something a fair bit more interesting than a rod for that boy.” Boss Harold swayed on his feet and took the fist containing his cup of wine, pointing with his index finger at the open place by the wall where Maron and Andrew and the wall men were. “Speaking of!” Boss Harold was giddy, and he took a magnificent gulp from his cup, throwing his head far back. “You’re a learned man, yes?”
“What?”
“You know how to read? Maron said something about your reading. That’s a rare quality! I’d love to talk about books with you sometime. I’ve my own personal collection.”
The wall men stripped Andrew of his clothes then threw them to the ground and a gasp escaped the audience and the boy shouted and Maron moved to a nearby bucket and reached into the mouth of the container, coming back to a full stand; a whip was coiled around his arm. The Bosses didn’t even look on. The punishment was for the benefit of Boss Harold, and not even he looked on. He jabbered on about how he’d like to speak with me over an old philosophy called Objectivism then he went on about how he’d learned long ago the greatest achievement of man was his own happiness and I listened to the drunk man and when the whip broke skin the first time, I’m sure Andrew felt every bit.
Blood exploded in violent dew off his back and the crack of the whip struck the boy till he couldn’t stand and then several times more. Splatter reached onlookers each time Maron lifted the whip over his head, and it was only once the boy stopped moving that the Boss Sheriff swaggered over to inspect him; Andrew had fallen face down and Maron took his boot to the boy’s side so that the boy rolled onto his back and seconds passed without movement and even Boss Harold quit with his talking. The prone body just lay there and for a moment Andrew looked like the body I’d seen earlier out front of Felina’s. Then the boy spasmed and gasped air and Maron shouted about how he was still alive before giving the toe of his boot to Andrew’s ribs.
“What a show,” said the Bosses—what a show indeed.
The crowd dispersed in clumps, taking back to their jobs or leisure and I left the platform only after agreeing that Objectivism sounded good and Boss Harold laughed and stumbled in pivoting to take on in conversation with the other Bosses and I briefly imagined giving him a nudge, so he’d fall off the stage, but refrained from doing so.
When I met the boy lying in the dirt there, there was me and Dave moved in too and Maron had taken to his station where there was a table by sandbags, and he was engrossed in a game of solitaire; it seemed the man was totally unfazed by the justice he’d dealt. There was a time when that body could’ve been a hero and yet there he was, poisoned.
I called out to the Boss Sheriff, “Ain’t you going to put him back to his cell?”
Without even looking over, Maron swept his mustache with his fingers and waved me off, “Harold was real clear on letting the boy out of custody once it was done.” He lifted his cowboy hat and scratched his head while looking at the cards on the table then he laughed. “He’s a free man. I’ve heard that was your meddlin’ that did it.”
I moved to the boy and snatched up the clothes they ripped from him and Dave, not saying a word with his new mutt by his side, helped me to return some dignity to the boy.
We took him to my small apartment and washed him and tended over him while he lay in my bed.
Gemma came soon after Andrew had been draped in a sheet—she was there in disguise as she’d been earlier and upon me opening the doorway, she began to ask me if the boy was with me. I merely stepped aside, and she rushed to Andrew’s side; if he was aware of her presence, there was no way to tell.
“They killed him.” She’d taken to her knees to be nearer his level. “Oh. Oh, he’s dead.” She touched him and he shivered at the touch. Gemma removed the wrappings of cloth around her head and looked at her sweetie closer and she put a hand to her mouth. “They took his hand!”
“No,” said Dave, “He’s going to live.” The man looked to me and I shrugged. “Yeah,” his voice didn’t sound sure, “He’ll live.”
I moved to the catwalk and Dave came with me, the dog following behind him—the timid mutt looked over the edge of the catwalk to the city below then stepped away and returned to my room. When Dave took up beside me, leaning over the railing, and the sun hit his face just so, he looked exactly like Jackson and maybe that was why when he raised eyebrows then cut his eyes at me with a question—the question was everything and I finally nodded.
First/Previous/Next
Archive

CHAPTER 3

Garrett is watching Amanda carefully; he chooses his next words carefully to ensure they are on the same path.
"So that stuff about you and Sam laying it as a trap? Fact or fiction?"
"Um...,"she rolls her eyes around giving it a fake moment of debate before coming back with solitude, "mostly fiction. Sam doesn't like the Tacca Chantrierei, or more commonly known as the 'black bat flower.'"
"That’s what it’s called?"
"Yeah,”Amanda laughs as if this is common knowledge.“If they were still listening, because you know Steiner wasn't off the line when you commanded, it’ll put a little fear and caution into their future actions where Sam is concerned."
"If they think she's already one step ahead of them--"
"Then she is. If Steiner's not the one behind this--which my gut tells me he isn't--he'll be digging to find out who is moving in on his turf, accessing his precious files, so on and so forth. Figured I'd get a little mileage out of him being my constant watchdog annoyance."
"And feed into his already inflated sense of conspiracy where the two of you are involved."
"Don't exclude yourself, young man. He was on your back long before we entered the picture and are half the reason he is."
“Young man?” Garrett questions, but only as far as her speaking it aloud. “I’m at least ten years your elder.”
“To the eye anyway.” Amanda gives him a mischievous, yet accepting, wink.
"True, they say you’re only as old as you feel inside.” Garrett covers by taking a drink, giving himself a moment to evaluate the sudden shift in Amanda’s demeanor.
He notes the lack of tremors, her stature shifting from one under siege from a debilitating injury and constant pain to one of a strong, capable individual in complete control. He meets Amanda's eyes and an unspoken understanding transmits between them. Garrett gives a subtle shake of his head and lets an inaudible utterance of being impressed pass between them. Amanda answers with a slight curl at the corner of her lips and a raise of her brow indicating she understands what he's seeing, and while not verbally confirming it, she's appreciative, comfortable and a moderate level of pride at his awareness.
“On another subject,” Garrett diverts away from where their interaction was heading, “good choice on Carter. I just hope you’re right, and he’s ready."
"Why thank you, kind sir," she says playfully. "Hope is not needed, he IS ready; and if you haven't figured it out by now, I’m always right." She gives an evil grin, but what flashes behind her eyes puts Garrett on edge, his posture quickly changes to one of defensiveness. "By the time you worked through all the bureaucracy and then dismissed all the qualified kiss-asses, everyone and their dog would have known you were courting a partner for Sam. Oh just imagine the rumors that would be milling around the water cooler then?"
He gives a small laugh weighted with seriousness. "It wasn't the rumors I was concerned about."
"Yeah kind of got that when I started poking around. Don't worry; your secrets are safe with me."
"Until you need something."
"Anonymous blackmail is one of our favorite tools," she says, making sure it's clear she includes him in the description. "We keep it sharp and awareness that it cuts deep both ways."
"Yes, we do, and it does," Garrett returns, both of them aware of the heavy meaning and understanding of what they know of each other. He shifts the conversation away from where it's heading. "So, what else have you 'not' been up to?"
"Um, a couple of days ago I consulted on a project as a certified ethical hacker, fun but not much of a challenge. The company could have spent far less to find out how insecure their network was. I got some cool toys out of it though. I'd show you, but they're top secret." She smiles innocently as he chuckles and shakes his head. "Came across your desk did it?"
"Yes. Had every cybercrime agency on high alert before your alter ego waved the white hat."
"Testing your reflexes, as you implied in your request." She shrugs innocently. "Also wanted them to understand the cascading consequences if they had a breach of that magnitude. Now, a little more attention will be paid to the proper security of their networks. Bureau geeks are attentive and on task and my ‘alter ego,' as you put it, is taking a well-deserved vacation in a non-extradition tropical country. Wish I could join her."
"Me too.” Garrett acknowledges her comments and thoroughness of covering her tracks. “Not to mention the continuing requests and payments you'll receive for information on how you did it and how to keep the likes of you out."
"True, but a girl’s got to make a living somehow. It was enough to pay off the building and give it a good facelift.”
“Thought you already owned it?” Garrett asks.
"This one? Yeah, a couple of years ago, you knew that. The one in question was some historical building downtown they wanted to knockdown versus retrofitting it after the last earthquake. Price was right; besides, I have an affinity for old things."
Garrett knows immediately which one she's talking about and smiles with a gentle shake of his head. "And for irritating the CEO of Tanner Inc., the thought crossed my mind it might be you behind that bid."
"But when you looked, my name wasn't anywhere near it nor was Lyons. Yeah, they call them shell companies, Garrett. I own a few of those as well. Some you know about, some you don't."
“Between the two of us, you can admit you did it out of spite.”
“Oh yeah, totally, wouldn’t you? He stole my software and claimed it as his own, built an empire around it, millions--potentially billions-- of dollars in government contracts.”
“Never proven he stole it.”
"Yeah well, that's for me to know and to prove later." She smiles evilly. "It'll bite him in the ass eventually, what goes around comes around and time is on MY side, not his. Though I hear the view from his new digs isn't quite the beach front property he was hoping for. But, if I recall, it was you who told me to get involved in the community. Can't wield a hammer or paint a wall,"--she indicates her injuries--"but I can donate some cash that's lying around to ensure future generations of children can explore all the mysteries of the museum they're putting in there."
Garrett laughs, “Surprised you didn’t just buy him out.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“From what I was briefed on your recent adventures, you could have crippled Tanner’s business.”
"Could have. Tanner's safe as long as I choose to stay on the good guy side of things."
"You of course are." Garrett leads for an appropriate answer.
"For the time being." She offers a devious yet reassuring smile. "The company is paying well for sealing up the potential breach. The other vulnerabilities--for those analyzing--consider it a gift to the various agencies that hold a lot of information about my alternate identities. This job offer of yours, related? You adding the personal touch the others lack?"
"You have already turned down overtures from everyone, I understand why. Who you REALLY are, what you're hiding from, and what you're capable of when that's threatened is a secret best left alone by everyone."
"Finally coming around on that are we?" She asks with a smile knowing the answer. "Hum," she utters, her mind appearing as if elsewhere and something of concern has come up. "If I recall, you're a history buff, aren't you?" She asks shifting the topic with a pointed invite.
"Passing curiosity when I have time, which I don't. Why do you ask?"
"What's occupying my time now," she says nodding towards the computers indicating she's heading that way. "You kept up with encyclopedia-memory Sam, so I would say it's more than a passing curiosity."
"I cheated." Garrett carries her beer and follows her.
He keeps a close eye on her and her movements always ready should she falter, but also aware that who he knows her to be would never allow the weakness to show. Her allowance of him witnessing her trouble with the pain of her injuries minutes earlier was a giant step in their complicated and challenging relationship; one to which he knew, from experience, not to prod at, but to take it as it was intended, an opportunity to gain her respect and trust.
"Had a geek team in your ear, did you?" Amanda asks not blind to his watchful eyes and lets it be known through her relaxed stature that she's appreciative, but unable to verbalize it just yet.
"Yes. It was you picking up on things like that which made me curious about your background." Garrett sets her beer down on the desk within her reach.
"You mean as a grand master of the spycraft? Super assassin? Someone plotting the end of the world? Are you still holding onto those theories?"
She wiggles the mouse, the displays drop off the bouncing lock screen saver, and the images Vicky had sent earlier display in full detail across the monitors. He takes in the pictures; a boyish smile crosses his face.
"I will continue until I prove…" he prepares a correction, making a note with his tone"--for myself--who you were before." His focus narrows on the images. "Is that in Coptic?"
"Only a handful would pick up on that so quickly, but yeah, and a rather interesting dialect. Dr. Vicky Abbott unearthed it near a Nubian monastery recently.”
“Why is that name familiar?”
“Sam studied under her for a time, but you probably make the connection to the name through her older sister Elizabeth. You were on your way to meet her when Sam called you about ending up in Landing View with me.”
“Are you ser—“
“Yes,” Amanda quickly dives in and cuts him off. “She wanted to see if I could translate it." She takes the beer and takes a small sip. "It really bothers you doesn't it?"
"Yes, it does," Garrett says, his eyes conveying a question that he would like to ask but is unsure if he should. She gives him indication to hold off. He lets it go and focuses back on the screen. "You translate dead languages as well?"
"It's just like any other coded encryption, just a matter of deciphering it, and we know I'm good at that."
"So is Sam. You mind?" He asks of sitting in her chair following a subtle cue she was giving off.
"Ah, have at it. Be the king geek for a while, I know you want to." She leans against the desk, wincing in pain. "Sam's the one who hooked us up; you know how she is about bringing people together to solve puzzles.” She hints heavily implying it was purposeful that the two of them are having this conversation over the materials. “Vicky was one of her professors or something. Totally legit. Anyway, she asked if I'd take a stab at it; figured why not?"
Garrett picks up the hinting lead. "Yeah, they studied together when Sam was getting her masters or was it a doctorate? I can never keep them all straight."
"I can't either," Amanda says reaching down and massaging just above her knee. "You got a good one with her. She'll make a good agent, though watch out for the CIA --given the opportunity--"
"I’m aware. She's been on their recruitment list since the day it was discovered she had an eidetic memory. Ours as well. Her dad was like any good protective father: on the porch with the shotgun slung over his shoulder as a warning to prospective suitors, me included." He says with unwavering respect.
"I gather he was an amazing guy. Sam doesn't talk much about him, given the constant surveillance and who’s behind it." She lets a hint carry on her tone that he should follow her lead.
"I can understand where she’s coming from, I’m the same way. Can we just say he was one hell of a man and an even better father?"
Amanda gives a little laugh."Yeah, I can go for that. Though, he probably wouldn't like you whisking his daughter into service for the Bureau." She reaches for a bottle of pills behind her and works the top off.
"There you go again as if you know what law enforcement and service are all about."
"Do a lot of reading, and that's where Sam was heading. You're always around --doesn't take a genius to figure out the qualifications of a good or bad agent." She throws the pills into her mouth and swallows them. She looks down at her leg. "I've had my fair share of encounters with the later." She gives him another non-verbal cue of an open topic of conversation.
"Sam made her own choice. I didn't influence it in any way, and you damn well know it."
"Ouch, defensive much?" she returns with a sarcastic smile, then pops two more pills in her mouth and takes another drink. Garrett looks to the action with concern then starts to get up to free the chair, disbelieving of his inconsideration to her condition. "No, you sit, unless my hovering over you is bothersome. Really, it is better if I stand."
"How's that going by the way?" He cautiously asks about her leg hoping this was the path she was directing him down.
"It's kind of you to ask," she says, reaching over and tapping on the keyboard. Her medical records appear on the screen. "But I'm sure it's all been explained to you by the experts you employ"--she takes another drink-- "and don't get all ‘uptight-fed-in-the-presence-of-a-law breaker’ on me. It's not against the law if they're your records. Acquired them fair and square when they wouldn't share easily quoting HIPPA something or other. I was courteous enough not to peek at anyone else's. Forwarded them off this morning to another expert for his opinion; we'll see what he comes back with."
"Unauthorized access," he states simply.
"By law, I have a right to MY information; you, on the other hand, put up all sorts of security around it, without --by the way-- asking for my permission."
"With good reason."
"So one of my many aliases won't be using words like ‘lawsuit’ and ‘abuse of authority’ towards the Bureau for the mistreatment that led to this?" She asks about the condition of her leg.
“We didn’t--”
"YOU didn’t, but we know some crossed those lines. The bigger issue is Lassiter Pharmaceuticals for the shit anti-viral that is appearing to cause major organ failure. I just happen to be one of the lucky ones who it hasn’t killed off yet. I can't open that can of worms because then they'll poke at me wondering why I'm not dead–should be, but not. Broom, sweep under the ‘pre-existing’ or ‘cancer’ rug, done.”
“That’s one way of looking at it. Another is to protect who you are. You’re good with creating identities, but how many of them would hold up to the scrutiny and publicity of such an inquest? Besides, how many of them are legal residences of the States? By my count, not one of them. Rights you’re asking for only come with citizenship.”
“Semantics.”
He rolls his eyes. “And you wonder why I believe what I do about you?”
“Oh, not at all."
"You do it on purpose."
"Yes, because I like watching you work, and you like the challenge. It's the game we play; it's our ‘THING.' I've been to every head shrink, doctor, and quack you've suggested hoping one of them will find something the others haven't; that miracle key that will unlock the mystery of who I was before. I've grown tired of it, and after all this time, I have come to a conclusion --as has everyone else-- it's better to move on with my life instead of wasting all that energy on what has past. Why haven't you?"
"Because it's unsolved, and you dangle the answers in front of me like a carrot."
"Just think of all the hours of sleep you'll get if you just accept it? Don't you think I've been scouring the internet and private networks for that little tidbit of information that will put it all together? Wait, you know I have." She takes a drink. "But for me, it's just a hobby to pass the time and stave off the boredom until Sam gets back."
“I respectfully disagree, and suspect it is to discover who out there may be picking up on who you were before; who might be on the hunt for whatever subtle clues you might drop consciously or otherwise.”
"Ah, yes, he does get it, but only you." She winks. "Though I hope you have a bigger drive this time. Been rather busy, and with the new toys I put together, the encryption should keep your techs occupied for a while, might teach them a thing or two as well. Question?”
“What?”
"Is it legal for you to use government resources for your pet projects?" He does not answer. "You know, you could just ask." she says hinting that he should.
He smiles, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small thumb drive. "May I?"
"Yeah," she says indicating a port to plug it into amongst the many systems lined up beneath the desk. "Least I can do to help you save face. Steiner must think you are a super-spy-extraordinaire. Just let you walk in here, without question, and plug stuff into my computers. Of course, there's that whole spite thing."
"You'd rather give it to me willingly than let him work for it."
“Yes, and no. The government won’t pay me for the encryption software and mobile network protections I developed without all those proprietary non-disclosure agreements and such. Gee, they’re still trying to reverse engineer the patch for the blackout virus. It serves my purposes that they have parts of it to protect my own ass, and it serves your interests if they believe you have a close enough relationship with me that I don’t notice you’re sneaking it out of here.”
“Well said.” Garrett smiles as he moves the dangling leaves of a plant sitting on top of the tower and plugs in the drive. When he looks up to Amanda, a small tendril inches from underneath one of the leaves and wraps around the thumb drive in a tight grip, then fades from luscious green to a translucent state rendering it invisible.
"I've been given the lead to create a new team. I want you to be part of it, but--"
"Can't be a fed without a clean background, and for it to be clean one would need to know where I came from, where I was educated, where my loyalties lie, or some existence that can be tracked." She takes a moment, gives it some thought. "You're not offering a position with the Bureau, are you?"
"No."
She takes the last drink and tosses the bottle into the garbage can, then looks to Garrett. "Do you feel it's safe to be discussing this here?"
"I think that question is best answered by you." he says leaning back in the chair and looking up at her.
"A carefully constructed ploy to learn how, if present, I defeat your attempts at surveillance?" She hints with playfulness yet with underlying tones of seriousness.
"Possible, but I wouldn't have given up the drive if that were the case. Could be seen as me leaking information," Garrett says with gravity, his eyes lock with hers --an unspoken communication taking place.
"And I wouldn't have offered on the same premise," she says holding his gaze and reading what he is indicating. "Why now? After all this time?"
"Sam. Her intuition will put her on the same path her parents were on."
"Tough place for you to be in," Amanda says understanding. Then as if conceding on some long-standing unmentioned barrier. "Grab me another one please?" She indicates the beer.
With a nod, Garrett gets up and makes his efforts purposeful and noticeable in not seeing what Amanda is doing. She leans over to the keyboard, pulls up a small box and types in Garrett's name followed by a string of characters and hits enter. The box flashes a warning about the thumb drive, posing the question to secure or not. Amanda selects the quarantine with delay option. She then works with speed instructing the system to take the delay further out but keep it on their current path of conversation. She returns to her position leaning against the desk as if she'd not moved. He finds his way back, pops the top off the beer and hands it to her.
"So about this job offer, you willing to be open about what it entails, all of it? And I'll do my best not to be so elusive and vague in my answers?"
"What I know, yes." He says accepting her terms. He spins the chair offering it to her.
"Works better if you sit," she says of his kindness. "Lighter processing load if they don't have to accommodate for rendering your movements along with a deviating storyline. The drive, starting point?"
"Yes.”
​

CHAPTER 3

Garrett is watching Amanda carefully; he chooses his next words carefully to ensure they are on the same path.
"So that stuff about you and Sam laying it as a trap? Fact or fiction?"
"Um...,"she rolls her eyes around giving it a fake moment of debate before coming back with solitude, "mostly fiction. Sam doesn't like the Tacca Chantrierei, or more commonly known as the 'black bat flower.'"
"That’s what it’s called?"
"Yeah,”Amanda laughs as if this is common knowledge.“If they were still listening, because you know Steiner wasn't off the line when you commanded, it’ll put a little fear and caution into their future actions where Sam is concerned."
"If they think she's already one step ahead of them--"
"Then she is. If Steiner's not the one behind this--which my gut tells me he isn't--he'll be digging to find out who is moving in on his turf, accessing his precious files, so on and so forth. Figured I'd get a little mileage out of him being my constant watchdog annoyance."
"And feed into his already inflated sense of conspiracy where the two of you are involved."
"Don't exclude yourself, young man. He was on your back long before we entered the picture and are half the reason he is."
“Young man?” Garrett questions, but only as far as her speaking it aloud. “I’m at least ten years your elder.”
“To the eye anyway.” Amanda gives him a mischievous, yet accepting, wink.
"True, they say you’re only as old as you feel inside.” Garrett covers by taking a drink, giving himself a moment to evaluate the sudden shift in Amanda’s demeanor.
He notes the lack of tremors, her stature shifting from one under siege from a debilitating injury and constant pain to one of a strong, capable individual in complete control. He meets Amanda's eyes and an unspoken understanding transmits between them. Garrett gives a subtle shake of his head and lets an inaudible utterance of being impressed pass between them. Amanda answers with a slight curl at the corner of her lips and a raise of her brow indicating she understands what he's seeing, and while not verbally confirming it, she's appreciative, comfortable and a moderate level of pride at his awareness.
“On another subject,” Garrett diverts away from where their interaction was heading, “good choice on Carter. I just hope you’re right, and he’s ready."
"Why thank you, kind sir," she says playfully. "Hope is not needed, he IS ready; and if you haven't figured it out by now, I’m always right." She gives an evil grin, but what flashes behind her eyes puts Garrett on edge, his posture quickly changes to one of defensiveness. "By the time you worked through all the bureaucracy and then dismissed all the qualified kiss-asses, everyone and their dog would have known you were courting a partner for Sam. Oh just imagine the rumors that would be milling around the water cooler then?"
He gives a small laugh weighted with seriousness. "It wasn't the rumors I was concerned about."
"Yeah kind of got that when I started poking around. Don't worry; your secrets are safe with me."
"Until you need something."
"Anonymous blackmail is one of our favorite tools," she says, making sure it's clear she includes him in the description. "We keep it sharp and awareness that it cuts deep both ways."
"Yes, we do, and it does," Garrett returns, both of them aware of the heavy meaning and understanding of what they know of each other. He shifts the conversation away from where it's heading. "So, what else have you 'not' been up to?"
"Um, a couple of days ago I consulted on a project as a certified ethical hacker, fun but not much of a challenge. The company could have spent far less to find out how insecure their network was. I got some cool toys out of it though. I'd show you, but they're top secret." She smiles innocently as he chuckles and shakes his head. "Came across your desk did it?"
"Yes. Had every cybercrime agency on high alert before your alter ego waved the white hat."
"Testing your reflexes, as you implied in your request." She shrugs innocently. "Also wanted them to understand the cascading consequences if they had a breach of that magnitude. Now, a little more attention will be paid to the proper security of their networks. Bureau geeks are attentive and on task and my ‘alter ego,' as you put it, is taking a well-deserved vacation in a non-extradition tropical country. Wish I could join her."
"Me too.” Garrett acknowledges her comments and thoroughness of covering her tracks. “Not to mention the continuing requests and payments you'll receive for information on how you did it and how to keep the likes of you out."
"True, but a girl’s got to make a living somehow. It was enough to pay off the building and give it a good facelift.”
“Thought you already owned it?” Garrett asks.
"This one? Yeah, a couple of years ago, you knew that. The one in question was some historical building downtown they wanted to knockdown versus retrofitting it after the last earthquake. Price was right; besides, I have an affinity for old things."
Garrett knows immediately which one she's talking about and smiles with a gentle shake of his head. "And for irritating the CEO of Tanner Inc., the thought crossed my mind it might be you behind that bid."
"But when you looked, my name wasn't anywhere near it nor was Lyons. Yeah, they call them shell companies, Garrett. I own a few of those as well. Some you know about, some you don't."
“Between the two of us, you can admit you did it out of spite.”
“Oh yeah, totally, wouldn’t you? He stole my software and claimed it as his own, built an empire around it, millions--potentially billions-- of dollars in government contracts.”
“Never proven he stole it.”
"Yeah well, that's for me to know and to prove later." She smiles evilly. "It'll bite him in the ass eventually, what goes around comes around and time is on MY side, not his. Though I hear the view from his new digs isn't quite the beach front property he was hoping for. But, if I recall, it was you who told me to get involved in the community. Can't wield a hammer or paint a wall,"--she indicates her injuries--"but I can donate some cash that's lying around to ensure future generations of children can explore all the mysteries of the museum they're putting in there."
Garrett laughs, “Surprised you didn’t just buy him out.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“From what I was briefed on your recent adventures, you could have crippled Tanner’s business.”
"Could have. Tanner's safe as long as I choose to stay on the good guy side of things."
"You of course are." Garrett leads for an appropriate answer.
"For the time being." She offers a devious yet reassuring smile. "The company is paying well for sealing up the potential breach. The other vulnerabilities--for those analyzing--consider it a gift to the various agencies that hold a lot of information about my alternate identities. This job offer of yours, related? You adding the personal touch the others lack?"
"You have already turned down overtures from everyone, I understand why. Who you REALLY are, what you're hiding from, and what you're capable of when that's threatened is a secret best left alone by everyone."
"Finally coming around on that are we?" She asks with a smile knowing the answer. "Hum," she utters, her mind appearing as if elsewhere and something of concern has come up. "If I recall, you're a history buff, aren't you?" She asks shifting the topic with a pointed invite.
"Passing curiosity when I have time, which I don't. Why do you ask?"
"What's occupying my time now," she says nodding towards the computers indicating she's heading that way. "You kept up with encyclopedia-memory Sam, so I would say it's more than a passing curiosity."
"I cheated." Garrett carries her beer and follows her.
He keeps a close eye on her and her movements always ready should she falter, but also aware that who he knows her to be would never allow the weakness to show. Her allowance of him witnessing her trouble with the pain of her injuries minutes earlier was a giant step in their complicated and challenging relationship; one to which he knew, from experience, not to prod at, but to take it as it was intended, an opportunity to gain her respect and trust.
"Had a geek team in your ear, did you?" Amanda asks not blind to his watchful eyes and lets it be known through her relaxed stature that she's appreciative, but unable to verbalize it just yet.
"Yes. It was you picking up on things like that which made me curious about your background." Garrett sets her beer down on the desk within her reach.
"You mean as a grand master of the spycraft? Super assassin? Someone plotting the end of the world? Are you still holding onto those theories?"
She wiggles the mouse, the displays drop off the bouncing lock screen saver, and the images Vicky had sent earlier display in full detail across the monitors. He takes in the pictures; a boyish smile crosses his face.
"I will continue until I prove…" he prepares a correction, making a note with his tone"--for myself--who you were before." His focus narrows on the images. "Is that in Coptic?"
"Only a handful would pick up on that so quickly, but yeah, and a rather interesting dialect. Dr. Vicky Abbott unearthed it near a Nubian monastery recently.”
“Why is that name familiar?”
“Sam studied under her for a time, but you probably make the connection to the name through her older sister Elizabeth. You were on your way to meet her when Sam called you about ending up in Landing View with me.”
“Are you ser—“
“Yes,” Amanda quickly dives in and cuts him off. “She wanted to see if I could translate it." She takes the beer and takes a small sip. "It really bothers you doesn't it?"
"Yes, it does," Garrett says, his eyes conveying a question that he would like to ask but is unsure if he should. She gives him indication to hold off. He lets it go and focuses back on the screen. "You translate dead languages as well?"
"It's just like any other coded encryption, just a matter of deciphering it, and we know I'm good at that."
"So is Sam. You mind?" He asks of sitting in her chair following a subtle cue she was giving off.
"Ah, have at it. Be the king geek for a while, I know you want to." She leans against the desk, wincing in pain. "Sam's the one who hooked us up; you know how she is about bringing people together to solve puzzles.” She hints heavily implying it was purposeful that the two of them are having this conversation over the materials. “Vicky was one of her professors or something. Totally legit. Anyway, she asked if I'd take a stab at it; figured why not?"
Garrett picks up the hinting lead. "Yeah, they studied together when Sam was getting her masters or was it a doctorate? I can never keep them all straight."
"I can't either," Amanda says reaching down and massaging just above her knee. "You got a good one with her. She'll make a good agent, though watch out for the CIA --given the opportunity--"
"I’m aware. She's been on their recruitment list since the day it was discovered she had an eidetic memory. Ours as well. Her dad was like any good protective father: on the porch with the shotgun slung over his shoulder as a warning to prospective suitors, me included." He says with unwavering respect.
"I gather he was an amazing guy. Sam doesn't talk much about him, given the constant surveillance and who’s behind it." She lets a hint carry on her tone that he should follow her lead.
"I can understand where she’s coming from, I’m the same way. Can we just say he was one hell of a man and an even better father?"
Amanda gives a little laugh."Yeah, I can go for that. Though, he probably wouldn't like you whisking his daughter into service for the Bureau." She reaches for a bottle of pills behind her and works the top off.
"There you go again as if you know what law enforcement and service are all about."
"Do a lot of reading, and that's where Sam was heading. You're always around --doesn't take a genius to figure out the qualifications of a good or bad agent." She throws the pills into her mouth and swallows them. She looks down at her leg. "I've had my fair share of encounters with the later." She gives him another non-verbal cue of an open topic of conversation.
"Sam made her own choice. I didn't influence it in any way, and you damn well know it."
"Ouch, defensive much?" she returns with a sarcastic smile, then pops two more pills in her mouth and takes another drink. Garrett looks to the action with concern then starts to get up to free the chair, disbelieving of his inconsideration to her condition. "No, you sit, unless my hovering over you is bothersome. Really, it is better if I stand."
"How's that going by the way?" He cautiously asks about her leg hoping this was the path she was directing him down.
"It's kind of you to ask," she says, reaching over and tapping on the keyboard. Her medical records appear on the screen. "But I'm sure it's all been explained to you by the experts you employ"--she takes another drink-- "and don't get all ‘uptight-fed-in-the-presence-of-a-law breaker’ on me. It's not against the law if they're your records. Acquired them fair and square when they wouldn't share easily quoting HIPPA something or other. I was courteous enough not to peek at anyone else's. Forwarded them off this morning to another expert for his opinion; we'll see what he comes back with."
"Unauthorized access," he states simply.
"By law, I have a right to MY information; you, on the other hand, put up all sorts of security around it, without --by the way-- asking for my permission."
"With good reason."
"So one of my many aliases won't be using words like ‘lawsuit’ and ‘abuse of authority’ towards the Bureau for the mistreatment that led to this?" She asks about the condition of her leg.
“We didn’t--”
"YOU didn’t, but we know some crossed those lines. The bigger issue is Lassiter Pharmaceuticals for the shit anti-viral that is appearing to cause major organ failure. I just happen to be one of the lucky ones who it hasn’t killed off yet. I can't open that can of worms because then they'll poke at me wondering why I'm not dead–should be, but not. Broom, sweep under the ‘pre-existing’ or ‘cancer’ rug, done.”
“That’s one way of looking at it. Another is to protect who you are. You’re good with creating identities, but how many of them would hold up to the scrutiny and publicity of such an inquest? Besides, how many of them are legal residences of the States? By my count, not one of them. Rights you’re asking for only come with citizenship.”
“Semantics.”
He rolls his eyes. “And you wonder why I believe what I do about you?”
“Oh, not at all."
"You do it on purpose."
"Yes, because I like watching you work, and you like the challenge. It's the game we play; it's our ‘THING.' I've been to every head shrink, doctor, and quack you've suggested hoping one of them will find something the others haven't; that miracle key that will unlock the mystery of who I was before. I've grown tired of it, and after all this time, I have come to a conclusion --as has everyone else-- it's better to move on with my life instead of wasting all that energy on what has past. Why haven't you?"
"Because it's unsolved, and you dangle the answers in front of me like a carrot."
"Just think of all the hours of sleep you'll get if you just accept it? Don't you think I've been scouring the internet and private networks for that little tidbit of information that will put it all together? Wait, you know I have." She takes a drink. "But for me, it's just a hobby to pass the time and stave off the boredom until Sam gets back."
“I respectfully disagree, and suspect it is to discover who out there may be picking up on who you were before; who might be on the hunt for whatever subtle clues you might drop consciously or otherwise.”
"Ah, yes, he does get it, but only you." She winks. "Though I hope you have a bigger drive this time. Been rather busy, and with the new toys I put together, the encryption should keep your techs occupied for a while, might teach them a thing or two as well. Question?”
“What?”
"Is it legal for you to use government resources for your pet projects?" He does not answer. "You know, you could just ask." she says hinting that he should.
He smiles, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small thumb drive. "May I?"
"Yeah," she says indicating a port to plug it into amongst the many systems lined up beneath the desk. "Least I can do to help you save face. Steiner must think you are a super-spy-extraordinaire. Just let you walk in here, without question, and plug stuff into my computers. Of course, there's that whole spite thing."
"You'd rather give it to me willingly than let him work for it."
“Yes, and no. The government won’t pay me for the encryption software and mobile network protections I developed without all those proprietary non-disclosure agreements and such. Gee, they’re still trying to reverse engineer the patch for the blackout virus. It serves my purposes that they have parts of it to protect my own ass, and it serves your interests if they believe you have a close enough relationship with me that I don’t notice you’re sneaking it out of here.”
“Well said.” Garrett smiles as he moves the dangling leaves of a plant sitting on top of the tower and plugs in the drive. When he looks up to Amanda, a small tendril inches from underneath one of the leaves and wraps around the thumb drive in a tight grip, then fades from luscious green to a translucent state rendering it invisible.
"I've been given the lead to create a new team. I want you to be part of it, but--"
"Can't be a fed without a clean background, and for it to be clean one would need to know where I came from, where I was educated, where my loyalties lie, or some existence that can be tracked." She takes a moment, gives it some thought. "You're not offering a position with the Bureau, are you?"
"No."
She takes the last drink and tosses the bottle into the garbage can, then looks to Garrett. "Do you feel it's safe to be discussing this here?"
"I think that question is best answered by you." he says leaning back in the chair and looking up at her.
"A carefully constructed ploy to learn how, if present, I defeat your attempts at surveillance?" She hints with playfulness yet with underlying tones of seriousness.
"Possible, but I wouldn't have given up the drive if that were the case. Could be seen as me leaking information," Garrett says with gravity, his eyes lock with hers --an unspoken communication taking place.
"And I wouldn't have offered on the same premise," she says holding his gaze and reading what he is indicating. "Why now? After all this time?"
"Sam. Her intuition will put her on the same path her parents were on."
"Tough place for you to be in," Amanda says understanding. Then as if conceding on some long-standing unmentioned barrier. "Grab me another one please?" She indicates the beer.
With a nod, Garrett gets up and makes his efforts purposeful and noticeable in not seeing what Amanda is doing. She leans over to the keyboard, pulls up a small box and types in Garrett's name followed by a string of characters and hits enter. The box flashes a warning about the thumb drive, posing the question to secure or not. Amanda selects the quarantine with delay option. She then works with speed instructing the system to take the delay further out but keep it on their current path of conversation. She returns to her position leaning against the desk as if she'd not moved. He finds his way back, pops the top off the beer and hands it to her.
"So about this job offer, you willing to be open about what it entails, all of it? And I'll do my best not to be so elusive and vague in my answers?"
"What I know, yes." He says accepting her terms. He spins the chair offering it to her.
"Works better if you sit," she says of his kindness. "Lighter processing load if they don't have to accommodate for rendering your movements along with a deviating storyline. The drive, starting point?"
"Yes.”

First/Previous/Next
If I were to guess, I’d imagine they took Andrew to Boss Harold before anyone else and the rumors around Golgotha seemed to support this supposition; the Bosses enjoyed their personal retribution away from the eyes of citizens, maybe it was talking or maybe more, and although there were whispers of the boy being strung up on the wall or maybe he’d be violated in the stocks for all to see, I imagined that the council I held with Boss Harold might’ve had something to do with that never materializing. When I was allowed to the boy’s cell, it was dark, and his face was bruised and the bandaging I’d applied to his severed wrist had been removed probably for amusement. The room was small and there were no windows and only a single doorway let out into the hallway which contained other cells and further, near the exit, there was the office of wall men. The guard that’d let me in locked the door behind me and Andrew sat on a metallic cot without cushioning, and he stared at the grimy floor through swollen eyes.
“Hello,” he said. And I was taken aback by the comment because he spoke it as quickly as he might passing a person in the street. He'd been through so much that the word was abrupt, skittish. I nodded and moved to him, reaching for his arm where he’d been nearly fatally wounded. It was infected. Without fighting me, he allowed me to tend to it without even a question; I wiped it and applied salve. Once it was cleaned and rewrapped and only after I’d settled on the cot beside him, he spoke again, “I heard stories about the cells, but I never thought they’d smell.”
I withdrew a handful of antibiotics, and he took them without putting them to his mouth. “You should have them,” I said, “You might lose the whole arm if not.”
“I might lose my life.”
“Maybe not,” I offered a grim smile and water with for the pills. “You’re alive still.”
“How much longer though?” He took the medicine and grimaced hard. The boy looked older than he was. “It smells like blood here. I can smell the people that’ve been here before.”
I patted him on the back and removed myself from the cell and he did not call after me, not even to ask for the return of his hand and I hoped that I could stave off whatever tortures the Bosses might have in store for him.
It’d been two days since I’d returned with Dave and Andrew and quickly after our arrival, I’d tried departing from the man and hoped he’d drop whatever revenge he believed I could assist him with, but it was to no avail for he attended everywhere with me since our return to Golgotha. Although he’d not been allowed to enter the cells alongside me, he was waiting for me outside as I stepped through the wall men’s office and into the noonday sun; I deftly plucked a pre-rolled cigarette from my pocket and tried at lighting it but before I’d even gotten the chance, he was there at the stoop of the office, pestering, “We should go somewhere quiet,” he said.
“What do you take me for exactly?” I asked while maintaining eye contact with the flame off a match.
“You’re capable enough. You could be a hero. I’d do it with you. We could scrounge up a handful of people and change things. We really could.” Dave was casting sidelong glances at those that passed us in the dirt street just off the stoop, but nary one seemed to care about our conversation.
“Leave it.”
“I won’t.”
I sighed.
He put a hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off.
Felina’s was a structure partially built from ancient shipping containers directly in the heart of the hydroponics towers in the center of town; the chicken shit smell from the base of the towers came with nauseating stagnation and could make a passerby sick, but upon entering Felina’s, the smell subsided and was replaced with the smell of body sweat. The older barwoman stood behind the counter and me and Dave took up on the far corner where we sat around an old card table, using crates as chairs; no one else was there—the smell of the hydro towers probably had some hand in that.
Dave took in close to me so that I could feel the moisture off his breath, “I’ve been talking to a few others over at the towers and they feel the same way I feel—but with you—well without you I don’t think I’d want to do it.”
“No, please go on without me,” I slanted my body across the table to push my face away from Dave’s; with me positioned with my back against the wall, I spied Felina beyond the counter, arms across her chest and watching us with an air of suspicion. She came to our table, slowly with her club foot and upon reaching us, she used our table for mild support with her big hands and greeted us without excitement.
Dave asked for water and her gaze shifted to me and I dismissed her, and we were alone till she limped back over with a pitcher and glass and Dave drank it greedily while Felina watched on from beyond the counter—her eyes suspicious but pretty blue too. She kept the haft from a dismembered axe behind the counter and was known to throttle unruly patrons with it.
Although some might have called Felina’s a bar, it was just short of it because of the rarity of spirits—besides, it was the upstairs brothel portion that the establishment owed to its popularity. Anyone might brave the smell from the street for companionship and if the noises from the rusted overhead support beams were anything to measure, the clientele was content indeed. A man descended from the stairs by the bar, gave a brief nod to Felina then to us and disappeared through the front door; a waft of the outside air rushed in, and Dave scrunched his nose.
“It’s a funny thing, I’ve passed by here all the time, but I don’t think I’ve been inside since before—” he paused, “Well, since before anyway.” He took a drink of water and rubbed his palms against his cheeks. “I know someone that works underground and could get us some gunpowder.”
I merely laughed at this. “Gunpowder, huh?”
“Well sure. The Bosses have reserves in the basements. We could blow them sky high.”
“More likely that you’d blow your hands off.”
“What’s it going to take to convince you?”
I thought, “Could you promise no one would die?”
Dave seemed baffled at the question. “Who cares?”
“These things hardly ever happen quietly—or without collateral. How’s this? Could you promise that no innocents get caught in stray fire?”
“Yes.”
“Then you are as ill prepared as I’d imagined.”
“What’s that mean?”
“The meek are intended to inherit, but many will die before all that.”
“What?”
“Nothing. I wish you’d leave it be.”
Another patron stumbled down the stairs, a scrawny tall man with a thin beard came charging into the chamber without clothes and a voice followed him, crying loudly, “Sonofabitch tried choking me!” A pair of arms and legs came stumbling down after—the source of the cries. There was a topless woman, a belt secured around one of her wrists and a pink mark around her throat. The naked man protested and put up his hands as the woman swung the arm with the belt and whipped at him with it, striking across the forearm he’d shielded himself with.
Felina moved carefully from around the counter, raised the haft, then brought it down across the man’s back. He stumbled to his knees, pleading. The barwoman raised the weapon once more and the sound was like wood against wood as it met the man’s head and his body was taken to the ground completely, perhaps dead, perhaps unconscious. The two women lifted the man out the door and Felina spat through the opening. Outside wind came again and Dave scrunched his nose once more before the door shut. The topless woman removed the belt from around her wrist, tossed it to the floor, then secured an arm across her chest before hurrying upstairs.
“So, gunpowder?” I asked Dave.
He nodded and took another drink of water while eyeing Felina as she took herself back to the counter and stowed the makeshift club into whatever place she kept it. “Yeah.”
“Go for it then and leave me out of it.” I fiddled with my thumbs across the table. “I’ll even make you a deal for when you come running to me for help later. If you blow your fingers off, I’ll try and help you find them. How’s about that?”
“I’ll wear you down.”
Another gust of wind came from the far door and I half expected to see the man that’d been removed there in the doorway, standing on his feet and ready for another round of punishment, but there was no one there in the hollow spot; as my gaze drifted from person-face level, I saw a medium sized mutt there in gray fur, pushing the door in with its nose and then sliding the rest of its starved body through—each of its yellowy sad eyes peered in and I could not tell the breed but Dave lifted himself from his seat and Felina went to the dog too.
“No dogs,” stated the woman.
Dave, the indomitable sweetheart that he was knelt to the dog’s face and touched its snout; it licked his hand and Dave said to Felina, “He’s not mine, but have you got some water for him?”
“No dogs inside. I don’t like repeating it.”
“Fair enough,” said Dave, “I don’t know who he—” he froze and then examined the rear of the dog before petting the dog on the head, “She belongs to, but I’ll take her outside. Just. Please some water, won’t you?”
The barwoman first drummed her fingers against her leg then went to the counter and I noticed Dave flinch as she reached under there, but she came back with a bowl and he took it and ushered the dog out; as he exited, he called to me, and I sighed and moved with him.
Remaining in the street was the man that’d been tossed out, face up, half-opened eyes, and flies buzzed about, and I touched him with my foot, but he didn’t move. Blood leaked from his ears. “Dead,” I said.
Dave took the dog from the body around to the side of the building and the feces smell was strong with the hydro towers, but he sat the water down and the dog went at it quickly, without restraint and spilt half before the man went to steady it with his hand; he knelt by the dog and pushed a shoulder against the wall of the brothel.
“There you go,” I told him, “You’ve found someone dumb enough and maybe loyal enough to follow through with your little gunpowder plan. Strap a handful of dynamite to him and watch him go boom in the Boss’s faces.” I genuinely did try it as a joke.
“You can be very mean,” said Dave.
Once the bowl was dry besides dog spit, he returned it to Felina, reentering briefly, and it was just me and the dog and the dog looked up at me and I turned away while its voice whined in the back of its throat and I took a piece of hardtack from my pocket and tossed it on the ground—the dog went after it, assuredly snapping up dirt in the process. Then the creature made a dry and throaty sound from swallowing too quickly, but moments after the thick cracker was gone. It licked my hand gently, and I scratched its chin and Dave returned and upon seeing me with the dog, he gave me a look and then brought himself to the height of the dog in a hunker.
“Hey there,” he said to it, “Someone’s beat you up pretty bad, huh?” It was true; scars stood out in places where the dog had no fur.
In response, the weathered mutt hoisted its forepaws onto his knees and pushed its nose into his.
“Yeah, girl,” he took one of the dog’s ears between his forefinger and thumb and rubbed it gently and the animal looked up, sad eyed, “What’s a good name for you?”
“Dog-meat?” I proposed.
Dave shook his head. “What sort of sick joke is that?” but he was smiling, “No. I’ll come up with something to call her. Isn’t that right?” He asked the dog, massaging the face of the animal with his thumbs; the dog stared dumbly at him. “Maybe a Beth or a Patty might suit you. How do you like them?”
The dog licked his face but couldn’t speak.
“Well,” I said, “It’s a shame it got you, you’ll pick a person name for it and that’s strange. Why not call her Mary if you want a person name?”
“Bah,” said Dave, rising to a full stand; momentarily, even with the other folks passing us in the street, he took a moment to see the dead man we’d passed on our way out of Felina’s and for a moment he remained quiet. “I’ll come to you again Harlan. Maybe when I’ve got more of a plan. I only hope you’ll listen to the stuff I’ve said about it. I really do. I really hope you’ll be on the right side of this thing.”
“Sides are overrated.”
Dave put a hand on my shoulder, “Of course,” he nodded, “Whatever you say.”
He left with his new friend—the dog following him traced from left to right close behind Dave and I watched him take off and around the nearest hydro tower and I was alone on the street and evening wouldn’t be far away, so I took to home while staring at my moving feet and speaking to no one. A few people along the way tried nodding at me or saying a small greeting here or there, but I was absorbed in my own head, and nothing took me from it once I got going. Maybe that was one of the reasons I enjoyed the wastes; there were no pretenses out there and with the constant thought of death there was no other thing to think about than each passing moment. I could not shut my thoughts up. I could ramble more about the motivations of a scavver, but I don’t think I should—leave that for someone that cares.
Upon taking the catwalks where I could look out on a swatch of Golgotha with the sun beating down and the constant hum of people going about their business, I was frozen on the railing and wishing I’d taken my own life and wishing that Dave had not found me out there; maybe if I was faster or smarter or better in whatever way that mattered.
I pushed into the door into my small abode and cool blood pushed through my body on seeing the robed girl there on my mattress, holding a shotgun with its barrel angled directly at me; she donned a flowy mess of dresses and kept her head wrapped in garb so that only her eyes shone through, but her arms stuck from the mess of cloth and I could see they were skinny with long scab marks like a blade had drawn across the flesh.
“Harlan?” asked the girl.
“Is that mine?” I nodded at the pump-shotgun in her hands. The slowness of the world was gone, and I could think again; if things were different, I’d have been a dead man, but it was unloaded, and I knew it.
“It was hanging on the wall—I don’t know how to use the thing anyway. I don’t know what I was doing with it,” she said, “You just scared me, and I didn’t know who you might’ve been.”
“This is my place.”
She laid the shotgun on the bed and unwrapped her face; it was Gemma, “You were with Andrew.”
“I was.”
“You said he was dead.”
I brought in air slowly through my nose. “I did.”
“You lied.”
I nodded, letting the air come out.
“Why?”
“I needed to find you.”
“But you found us both then, I guess.”
“Not on purpose.” A thought occurred to me, “Does you father know where you are right now?”
She shook her head; although rest had done her good, there was still a fair amount of fatigue present on her. “I snuck out.”
“Would’a though you learned your lesson on that front.”
“Is Andrew okay? No one will tell me anything about it.”
“He’s locked up right now, but he is alive. For how long? I don’t know. I figured your pop paid a visit to him already—wouldn’t you know about that?”
She shook her head again. “Woo,” Gemma slumped onto the side of my mattress and gathered the robes around her, “I’m feeling faint.”
I moved to the bed and gathered the shotgun, putting it back on the hooks in the wall. “You shouldn’t break into people’s homes.”
Cupping her brow in a hand so that I could only see her mouth and the bottom of her nose, she said, “I just needed to know he was alive. These past days I’ve been so worried about him. I knew you told me he was dead, but I knew you were a liar too. So, I had bad thoughts about what might’ve happened to him out there. If what happened to me was anything to go off.” Her voice broke for a moment and then she pulled her hand from her face and blinked a few sudden times. “I just.”
“I get it. You love the boy.”
She nodded without looking at me.
“So, beg your dad to let him go.”
“Everyone’s so mad at him. It’s funny that everyone’s so mad at him, but it was my idea, and they all treat me like a darling little flower. Like I couldn’t have been the one with the idea of running away. I had more reason to run than he ever did.”
“You should leave.”
“I don’t want to. Can’t you see that’s what I’ve been saying? Judge all you like. Call me rich all you like, but I can tell you this: I don’t feel like it.” Gemma grabbed the edge of the bed as her head wavered on her shoulders. “Dizzy spells are awful.” She shook her head. “Like no sickness ever.” Her eyes locked on mine. “Help me.”
“I’ve already tried convincing them not to kill him.” Taking a pause, I thought to add, “And I personally saw to his injuries. Please go and leave me be.”
“Oh, but you’ve asked for it,” she said, “You put yourself in the business of it.”
“Look. All’s I wanted was to save you if I could and get the water running again. That’s it. Now go.” I put my arm up to wave her out the door and she stood to make her way there, catching herself on the frame, then out on the catwalk railing before turning and looking at me over her shoulder.
“Bastard.” she said.
“Yes.” The door shut between us, and I took myself to sitting on the bed’s edge and reminiscing over how Dave reminded me so much of Jackson. Jackson was a real tough one; whatever happened he always kept a cool head (so I reckon him and Dave would be different in that way) and the idea of being a hero was so big for him. It’s a curious thought: whether Dave would have such ideas if hadn’t been for the tragic loss of his family.
The shotgun sat on there on the wall, and I took it and looked over it, putting the stock in my left hand then my right and laid it across my legs; the woven strap on it had gone thin so that the place I’d once worn it over my shoulder was mostly threadbare. I moved to the cabinet by the sink where I kept a few essentials and in the very back there was an old box of shells—it was a surprise they still seemed good, but with old ammo you never could tell, and the shells were just as likely to fire true as they might be to never send pellets from the barrel. I took a knife and began whittling into a shell I’d plucked from the box. Pellets spilled between my feet as I sat on the bed and they rolled across the floor and then I found the gunpowder and rose again, sprinkling it onto the cabinet top into a neat pile. Dave said he had a fella’ he knew that worked in the underground—the sort of person that could get him all the gunpowder he needed. Was he familiar with its destructive force; had he ever fired a gun? He promised me no one innocent would die and I knew that was a lie and there’s surely a piece of him that knew it was a lie just as well.
It was just then as I took a forefinger and thumb and pinched up a bit from the gunpowder splat that I remembered a thing that Jackson told me all the time when he thought none of the others were listening. The gunpowder rained from my fingertips as I rubbed them together and I sniffed the place where they’d become sooty, taking in a smell I’d not smelled in a long time. Jackson would say, “Whoever fights monsters should be sure that he don’t become a monster.” It wouldn’t be for a long time—after I’d visited the libraries in Alexandria or Babylon (take your preference)—till I realized it was a quote that Jackson stole from some guy named Neet-chee. It seemed like a good thing to adhere to, and it was certainly something I wasn’t good at keeping with and if I couldn’t then there was little certainty that Dave would keep to it either. Maybe I had become a monster; morally dubious anyway.
Jackson was a hero, and he was dead as was Sibylle as was Billy as was John and all of them. We’d tried heroing and it got all of us dead. Almost all of us.
I hung the shotgun on the wall and left it there and swept the gunpowder into the floor with a flat palm where the pellets were and chucked the box of old shells into the cabinet again.
Ringing of bells came from the hall of the Bosses and it was time for a display. Denizens gathered in the front square by the gates and awaited while they trotted out Andrew; perhaps the words I’d passed to Boss Harold rang hollow after all. The Bosses were there just as always, drinking their wine on the platform, and Maron was out front with his wall men in the semicircle of gathered Golgotha residents. Of the population, only a hundred or two gathered for this poor boy’s execution. The guards had, at some point after my departure, removed the bandage on his empty wrist and he looked more sickly in the face than before and his cheeks were swollen and he wept, seemingly not from the terror of it but from the skin around his eyes having been so damaged; tears came through swelled eyelids and a wall man kept him by the elbow and Maron marched to the boy and lifted the boy’s face with his hand to look into it and maybe he whispered something to him.
I weaved through the crowd, moving to the steps that led to the stage where the Bosses stood with their foods and wines and their plenty and upon approach, I was stopped by a wall men, but upon catching Boss Harold’s eye, he told the guard to let me through and I took the stairs and from the platform, I could see over the crowd—Dave was far in the rear of those gathered, totally disconnected from the others for he hunkered by a set of crates, patting the head of the dog we’d found just earlier in the day. For a moment, I wished I was there with him and not on the stage at all.
“Dear boy!” Boss Harold shouted at me over the excited jeers of the others, “It’s so good to see you again. You are quite the hero, and it’s always good to be in the company of those.”
I nodded at him and within a flash, he’d slammed his cup of wine into my hand, telling me to drink, and only moments passed before his own cup was replaced by a nearby servant. “We spoke about this?” I tried.
His face was red, and I could just make out the miniscule veins vibrant along the corners of his nose; the man was far gone drunk. “That boy’s been a thorn in my side for too long, so I know you understand it when I say that he needs punishment. I took all that you said into account,” his words slurred, and the sweet sick came off him in a breath of hot air when he pulled me in, resting his ear on my shoulder. “Nobody dies today, but ‘spare the rod and spoil the child’,” the Boss paused. “You’re not a father yourself, are you?”
I shook my head.
“Ah! Then you might not be familiar with that proverb required in bringing a child up in this world.” Boss Harold laughed. “I’d never take my sweet Gemma out in the square like this, but God there’s been times I’ve wanted it. ‘Spare the rod’.” He repeated. “But we’ve something a fair bit more interesting than a rod for that boy.” Boss Harold swayed on his feet and took the fist containing his cup of wine, pointing with his index finger at the open place by the wall where Maron and Andrew and the wall men were. “Speaking of!” Boss Harold was giddy, and he took a magnificent gulp from his cup, throwing his head far back. “You’re a learned man, yes?”
“What?”
“You know how to read? Maron said something about your reading. That’s a rare quality! I’d love to talk about books with you sometime. I’ve my own personal collection.”
The wall men stripped Andrew of his clothes then threw them to the ground and a gasp escaped the audience and the boy shouted and Maron moved to a nearby bucket and reached into the mouth of the container, coming back to a full stand; a whip was coiled around his arm. The Bosses didn’t even look on. The punishment was for the benefit of Boss Harold, and not even he looked on. He jabbered on about how he’d like to speak with me over an old philosophy called Objectivism then he went on about how he’d learned long ago the greatest achievement of man was his own happiness and I listened to the drunk man and when the whip broke skin the first time, I’m sure Andrew felt every bit.
Blood exploded in violent dew off his back and the crack of the whip struck the boy till he couldn’t stand and then several times more. Splatter reached onlookers each time Maron lifted the whip over his head, and it was only once the boy stopped moving that the Boss Sheriff swaggered over to inspect him; Andrew had fallen face down and Maron took his boot to the boy’s side so that the boy rolled onto his back and seconds passed without movement and even Boss Harold quit with his talking. The prone body just lay there and for a moment Andrew looked like the body I’d seen earlier out front of Felina’s. Then the boy spasmed and gasped air and Maron shouted about how he was still alive before giving the toe of his boot to Andrew’s ribs.
“What a show,” said the Bosses—what a show indeed.
The crowd dispersed in clumps, taking back to their jobs or leisure and I left the platform only after agreeing that Objectivism sounded good and Boss Harold laughed and stumbled in pivoting to take on in conversation with the other Bosses and I briefly imagined giving him a nudge, so he’d fall off the stage, but refrained from doing so.
When I met the boy lying in the dirt there, there was me and Dave moved in too and Maron had taken to his station where there was a table by sandbags, and he was engrossed in a game of solitaire; it seemed the man was totally unfazed by the justice he’d dealt. There was a time when that body could’ve been a hero and yet there he was, poisoned.
I called out to the Boss Sheriff, “Ain’t you going to put him back to his cell?”
Without even looking over, Maron swept his mustache with his fingers and waved me off, “Harold was real clear on letting the boy out of custody once it was done.” He lifted his cowboy hat and scratched his head while looking at the cards on the table then he laughed. “He’s a free man. I’ve heard that was your meddlin’ that did it.”
I moved to the boy and snatched up the clothes they ripped from him and Dave, not saying a word with his new mutt by his side, helped me to return some dignity to the boy.
We took him to my small apartment and washed him and tended over him while he lay in my bed.
Gemma came soon after Andrew had been draped in a sheet—she was there in disguise as she’d been earlier and upon me opening the doorway, she began to ask me if the boy was with me. I merely stepped aside, and she rushed to Andrew’s side; if he was aware of her presence, there was no way to tell.
“They killed him.” She’d taken to her knees to be nearer his level. “Oh. Oh, he’s dead.” She touched him and he shivered at the touch. Gemma removed the wrappings of cloth around her head and looked at her sweetie closer and she put a hand to her mouth. “They took his hand!”
“No,” said Dave, “He’s going to live.” The man looked to me and I shrugged. “Yeah,” his voice didn’t sound sure, “He’ll live.”
I moved to the catwalk and Dave came with me, the dog following behind him—the timid mutt looked over the edge of the catwalk to the city below then stepped away and returned to my room. When Dave took up beside me, leaning over the railing, and the sun hit his face just so, he looked exactly like Jackson and maybe that was why when he raised eyebrows then cut his eyes at me with a question—the question was everything and I finally nodded.
First/Previous/Next
Archive

Thanksgiving was wonderful, pure bliss. Luke spent it with his mother and her second husband along with Kevin and his girlfriend, Kaylee. Brooke’s mother and stepfather were away and her father liked to keep to himself, even on holidays. So, it was just two of us — both Thursday and Friday. Which for me, at least, was perfection. I know it may be difficult for some to understand, but times such as this made up for all of the far more numerous days of humiliation and servitude I endured. For me, quality has always been more important than quantity. And having Brooke to myself— a sexually satisfied (because of Luke, of course), happy, playful, indulgent Brooke — was the ultimate in quality time. The rareness of the occasions when it was just the two of us together since Luke’s emergence on the scene made them more special still. When Brooke was content, the two of us had incredibly intimate, fun and happy times together. To me, it seemed that the humiliation I suffered on a more routine basis was the price I had to pay to have this exceptional, beautiful, sexy, complex woman in my life, as my wife. Call me pathetic, call me spineless if you will (and I’m sure many of you will— that, and much worse), it was a price I willingly paid.
One of the things that made this Thanksgiving particularly enjoyable was that Brooke and I had been able to persuade Luke to allow her to fully control my chastity until he returned on Saturday. This concession had been won the prior evening and, like most things with Luke, did not come easily.
Brooke and I approached him on the couch while he was watching ESPN. She sat down next to him, as I brought him a glass of Gentleman Jack. Wearing nothing but skimpy, light blue, nylon panties, I presented him the glass on my knees, holding it out steadily on my upturned palms pressed together.
“May I massage your feet, sir, while you watch TV and enjoy your bourbon?”, I volunteered, after he took the glass.
He picked his large socked foot up from the floor and pressed it against my face, eliciting a giggle from Brooke. Not wishing to have his sock inserted into my mouth, I inhaled visibly, as I knew was expected. He had worn the socks all day, so the odor was pungent, though they were dry at least, thankfully.
“You must want something. I can tell the two of you are up to something. Pull my socks off with your mouth. Then start with my right foot.”
“Yes, sir.”
Brooke started kissing him passionately as I worked on his foot. She said in between kisses, “Babe, could I please have my copy of Walter’s chastity key back while you’re away? He’s been such a good boy lately, and he needs something to be thankful for on Thanksgiving.”
“I knew it. You two are pretty obvious. What do I get out of it?”
Meanwhile, Brooke had started rubbing his cock through his jeans and it began to tent out the denim. “Pretty please, baby! He lost his two pounds this week and has done all of his chores.”
“Sir, I will wash and detail your car. I’ll clean all of your footwear.”
“But you do all those things for me anyway, prof. What is something extra that you can do?”
“I’ll make your favorite dinner on Sunday night, sir.”
By then, Brooke had unzipped him and worked his now mostly erect cock out from his underwear and started gently licking his shaft.
“Again, all I have to do is to tell you to make it, and you will. You need to think of something above and beyond.”
“Babe, stand up for a minute and take off your jeans and underwear, so I can give you a proper, mind blowing blowjob,” Brooke said.
“Well, if you insist,” Luke replied, smiling.
I paused in my massage until he removed his pants and sat back down on the couch. I then pressed into the ball of his right foot with renewed vigor.
“Do you need anything done around your house, sir? May I clean your garage?”, I asked. Brooke had resumed her oral worship of his enormous, now fully erect cock, beginning to suck on its head.
“Same category, prof. I tell you what. Kevin’s truck is a mess. It’s white, but it almost looks black with all the grime and road salt. If you wash and detail his truck, that might convince me.”
The thought of having to wash the truck of the arrogant brat who ratted Brooke and me out the last time I had a release from my chastity was abhorrent to me. That fact notwithstanding, I didn’t hesitate in my response.
“Yes, sir. It would be my pleasure to wash your brother’s truck. I will make it look like brand new.”
“That feels good baby,” he said, wrapping his fingers in Brooke’s hair. To me: “You will treat him with the same respect you give me, of course.”
“Without question, sir.” I then began sucking his big toe, slurping on it in the manner I knew he liked, hopeful that this surfeit of oral attention would convince him to give Brooke her copy of my chastity key back.
“Alright, I’m feeling generous today. I’ll tell Kevin you’ll wash and detail his truck on Monday afternoon. The weather forecast is good. It’s supposed to be in the upper 60s. I guess one benefit of you both having your mouths full is I don’t have to listen to any bullshit about climate change. You can have the key back, for tomorrow and Friday at least. Now lick my ball sack while your wife services my cock.”
I did as he commanded. While not the first time I had done so, I found this task distinctly unpleasant, whether more because of the intense humiliation of it or the physical repugnance of it is difficult to say. At least Luke was a big believer in manscaping, so I didn’t have to contend with hair. Our lips only inches apart from each other, Brooke and I continued to work until he ejaculated, into her mouth and onto my face. We then cleaned him off with our tongues. When he went to the bathroom afterwards, Brooke and I high fived each other, the taste of Luke in our mouths and his sticky semen drying on our faces and in our hair. Absurdly, we laughed, giddy at our hard won, minor victory. That is how Brooke and I won my freedom on Thanksgiving day.
Together we made a fairly simple dinner (limited to turkey with gravy, stuffing, cranberry sauce and brussel sprouts) and ate it together with a nice bottle of red wine. Afterwards we gave each other pedicures and then cuddled on the couch while watching Roman Polanski’s Bitter Moon, she fully dressed and me wearing a pair of navy blue tights. Before the movie started, she took my chastity key off her anklet and unlocked me. The relief at being liberated was intense, as was the anticipation about what lay ahead that evening. During the movie, especially during the scenes when Mimi humiliates Oscar, she teased me my rubbing her nyloned feet against my balls and cock, nylon against nylon. It took real concentration (as well as skill on Brooke’s part to not go too far) for me not to erupt right then and there on the couch. After the movie, Brooke indulged me by allowing me to worship her feet for 30 minutes. Knowing how the commingled scent of leather, nylon and her feet drove me absolutely insane (in a the best possible way), she had worn black, sheer stockings and her long brown boots all day.
When she was ready to let me worship her, she said, “Okay, my meek, duteous knight. It is time for thou to humble thyself at thy lady’s feet. Strip to thy tights and kneel before her. Thou may now remove thy lady’s boot and freely partake of the aroma of her flawless feet.”
After removing her boot, I brought it up to my face and inhaled it deeply and repeatedly. The scent was exquisite. After I did the same with the second boot, she placed both of her moist, stocking-clad feet up against my nose and allowed me to inhale her scent and gently nuzzle her feet with my face. She then ordered me to lay prostate at her feet, and placed both of them over my face. Over the next 20 minutes or so, she moved her feet with delightful restlessness, sometimes gently mashing my face, other times rubbing her feet through my hair (practically giving me a scalp massage) or over my nipples, and still other times inserting her toes into my mouth to suck. I was in ecstasy.
And that was before we ascended the stairs to the bedroom. It had been quite some time since I had last spent the night with Brooke in my old bed (as opposed to sleeping at the foot of the bed on the floor or being called onto the bed for some brief cleanup duty before being dismissed by Luke). When we lied down on it she started kissing me with passion. She then got on top of me, pulled down my tights and inserted me into her. She squeezed my nipples as we made love. What can I say? I did the best I could. After a few minutes of her bouncing on top of me, I ejaculated into her. She didn’t look completely bored; I think she actually might have even enjoyed it a little. Maybe?
In any event, I then went down on her, bringing to her to a point that she unambiguously enjoyed before we spooned each other and drifted off to a peaceful sleep. As I said, pure bliss. In that moment, I was as happy as I could be. Friday was similar in many ways, except we went out to a romantic dinner at an excellent French restaurant in town.
But all good things must come to an end, sadly.
Things got off to a bad start on Saturday at my weekly weigh-in when I registered a 2 pound gain. Thanksgiving dinner, the bottle of wine and Friday dinner at the French restaurant (with yet another bottle of wine) had done its damage, despite my attempts to limit my portion sizes. I had recognized this was a danger even as I was eating the meals and drinking the wine, but I was simply enjoying my time with Brooke too much to really care at that point.
I cared that Saturday, however, when Luke tapped the cane against my bottom as a prelude to administering my correction. Brooke, no doubt, must have felt conflicted at that moment. As much as she was turned on by watching Luke punish me, she knew how much I dreaded the cane, and I’m sure she felt somewhat complicit in my weight gain that particular week given our last couple of days of shared indulgence. Accordingly, she tried to intervene on my behalf.
”Babe, don’t you think you can make an exception this one week because of Thanksgiving? Everybody gains some weight after Thanksgiving dinner. I know I did.“
“Stop making excuses for him. When you’re on a strict diet, you’re on a strict diet. It’s his responsibility to show some discipline. And since he didn’t, I intend to.“
“I understand, and you’re completely right. But don’t you think maybe you could at least give him the belt or the strap instead of the cane? Just taking into account that everybody goes a little overboard on Thanksgiving. And you know how I like watching you take off your belt and give it to him.”
“I feel someone’s always trying to talk me out of using the cane when I know it’s the most effective way of keeping him in line.”
She rubbed her body seductively against his and said, “But it’s just so hot to watch you take off your belt and punish him like he’s a naughty child. Come on babe, please. Do it for me, and then when you finish, please take me upstairs. It’s been three days. I need your cock.”
“You really can’t get enough of Big Luke, can you, you little slut?”
“No, baby, truly, I can’t.”
“Alright. I swear I’m getting soft. The belt today. But the next time he puts on weight, it’s the cane. I’m tired of him going up and down on the scale like a yo-yo. Neither of you had better even try to talk me out of it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir..” We said in unison. “Thank you, sir” I added.
Such is what I had been reduced to, thanking the man who was about beat me savagely with a belt. Which is exactly what he did. I then was ordered to stand in my penance position for 30 minutes as Brooke and Luke went upstairs to the bedroom. Surely, with both of them on the floor above, loudly fucking, I would not stand in the uncomfortable, stressful position in the corner of the living room? Surely, I would cheat? Well, I didn’t cheat. I stood there the entire time, probably even longer than 30 minutes, until the two of them came back downstairs, naked. That’s what I had truly been reduced to. The fear at being caught disobeying (hidden camera?, spying Kevin? I knew not what…) won out over my discomfort and my desire to rebel.
“Look at the lovely red glow you gave him,” Brooke said , laughing as she caressed my tender bottom through my panties.
“You are dismissed, cuck. Run along and get me another glass of bourbon.”
Things didn’t improve the next day when Brooke and I accompanied Luke to his final home game of the season as his personal cheerleading squad. What made this Sunday worse than any of the previous ones, humiliating as they were, was that Luke had invited Neil and Laura to attend this game.
Both were sitting on the bleachers when Brooke and I walked over in our humiliating uniforms, pom-poms in hand. As I mentioned previously, Brooke was a few years older than Laura and, as one of the more experienced waitresses, was somewhat senior to her at the restaurant. I got the sense from Brooke that Laura looked up to her. Which was completely unsurprising given Brooke’s looks, intelligence and poise. Therefore, I had to imagine that it must’ve been somewhat humiliating to Brooke to be dressed in her skimpy, degrading uniform in front of her friend. I certainly knew that it was beyond humiliating for me to appear in my uniform in front of Neil. But, of course, I had already been in very compromising positions vis-a-vis Neil (had in fact been paddled by him), whereas this was somewhat of a new experience for Brooke.
Nevertheless, she seemed to take it in stride.
“Hey Neil, hi Laura,” Brooke said with a smile as she walked up to the section where they were seated. Both were dressed sensibly in sweaters and jeans.
“Hey, sexy,” said Laura, looking Brooke up and down. I could see Brooke’s nipples erect through her top, more so than usual I thought. I had to wonder whether the humiliation of appearing before Laura and Neil in her uniform had contributed to her obvious arousal. Having not been locked back up in my chastity cage since Thanksgiving, I knew for certain that our friends seeing me in my uniform contributed to mine. I was rock hard in my tight cheerleading pants, very conscious of the small, if unmistakable bulge created by my treacherous cock.
“Hi guys,“ I said, sheepishly, hoping they wouldn’t notice.
However, I could see the two of them scrutinizing me with the same intensity with which they had regarded Brooke.
“Look at you two!”, said Laura, laughing. “Such enthusiastic cheerleaders!”
“Hey, pal,” said Neil, trying to suppress a laugh. “How could Luke have anything other than a great game with you two cheering him on?!”
And, of course, he did. Luke’s team won 28 to 6. Luke had five sacks, several open field tackles and even intercepted the ball, running it in for a touchdown. He was the undisputed MVP of the game. Consequently, Brooke and I cheered our asses off, much to the amusement of everyone in attendance. It was another unseasonably hot day, and Brooke and I were both sweating quite a bit by halftime.
Luke walked over to say hello to Neil and Laura, sitting comfortably on the bleachers. The halftime score was already. 21-3. Neil got up off his seat and walked down to shake Luke’s hand warmly.
“Incredible game, Luke. You’re dominant out there. You’re all over the field,” Neil told him.
“Not a bad way to end the season. Now we just gotta keep it up for one more half,” Luke replied.
“I have no doubt you will. Their team is totally outmatched,” said Neil.
“You guys must be thirsty?”, said Luke.
Laura said, “We have a bottle we were sharing, but it’s empty.”
“There’s a vending machine next to the locker rooms over there,“ Luke said, pointing across the field.
Laura said to Neil, “I’ll go get us a couple of bottles of water.”
Luke replied, “Don’t be silly. You’re both my guests. Brooke, get them a couple of bottles of water from the machine and get me a Gatorade. Walter, I have spare pair of cleats in the back of my truck. Go get them.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied before running off to the parking lot.
Brooke and I got back to the bleachers about the same time. I watched her walk up the bleachers with the bottles of water.
“Here, sir. Here, miss,” Brooke said with a smile, as she handed Laura and Neil the bottles. She even lifted her minuscule skirt and gave them a little curtsy.
“What service!”, said Laura. “I like it!”
After the game, Neil talked to Luke in the locker room as I collected the soiled uniforms and towels of his teammates to take home to launder. One of the cornerbacks snapped my ass with his wet towel as I bent over to gather up some towels. It hurt and I yelped in surprise. I looked up to see Neil regarding me with amusement and the running back who called out my lack of dignity last game look at me with an unfiltered expression of disgust and contempt. At least we weren’t asked to publicly massage Luke’s feet this time, I thought to myself.
However, shortly after the four of us returned to the house, Luke ordered me to to remove his cleats and provide relief to his aching feet. He then volunteered my services to Neil, who exhibited not the slightest hesitation in accepting. My colleague and friend seemed to be increasingly at ease in Luke’s company and in accepting my acts of subservience. Meanwhile, Laura sat in the kitchen talking to Brooke as she began prepping for dinner. After spending over an hour on the two men’s feet, I washed my hands and joined Brooke in the kitchen in preparing dinner.
Luke insisted that Brooke and I remain in our cheerleading uniforms throughout dinner. But it was I who served all the dishes, poured the glasses of wine, cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. More humiliating still, Luke ordered me to cut my portion of steak in half and to return my baked potato to the serving plate, as he shared the “unacceptable” results of my weigh-in the prior morning. One could almost hear Neil say “tsk tsk,” as he regarded me with sadness and disappointment. I was acutely conscious of my servant status as I removed everyone’s dirty plates and rinsed them off in the sink. It was shameful, and yet…
Yes, my day wasn’t the only thing that was hard.

Wag customer here- I have had numerous walkers but currently have 2 regulars. I have a Ring doorbell cam and a Furbo, I don’t spy on the walkers but do occasionally check in, mostly to see my dog get excited and do his happy howl on the Furbo, and the Ring obviously clocks when they come and go. My question is this- we book 30 minute walks, and walker #1 starts the timer when the walk begins and ends it when the walk ends, with a few minutes on either side for leashing up, etc. Walker #2 starts the timer when he walks in the door prior to leashing up and then ends it about 5 minutes AFTER he leaves our house, so dog only gets about a 20 minute actual walk. I finally confronted him about this, just suggested that if there is time leftover after the walk maybe he could play with the dog for a few minutes. He told me that he reserves a few minutes at the end to fill out the report card because otherwise he “doesn’t get paid for that time.” Initially I was like ok I guess that makes sense, but no other Walker we’ve ever had has done that, and I feel that a 30 minute walk should be 30 minutes of walking, similar to if you were getting a 50 minute massage the massage would be 50 minutes and the time to change sheets is in between appointments. I also think 5 minutes to fill out the report card is bullshit but because they are like 2 sentences, but I don’t know if the process is more complicated on the walker’s end. Now he hangs out on my couch to fill out the report card (I can see his feet on the Furbo) while the dog plays by himself. Is there guidance from Wag on this/what is the general consensus?