Club Vlad sat near the confluence of Central Avenue and Washington Avenue, Albany’s two main thoroughfares. Two stories with blackout windows and a box office from when it used to be a movie theater, it was swarmed with people when Dom first spotted it ahead. He was somewhat familiar with it: He passed it every day on his way to work, and it was always busy around his time of evening, even on weeknights. Part of him always wanted to go inside and be a part of the scene, but he never did.
The man in sunglasses - his name was Joe - led Dom toward the club, and even before Joe spoke, Dom somehow knew that it was their destination. “There,” Joe said. “We’ll go around back.”
Dom and Joe had been walking for what seemed like an hour but couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes. Dom stuck as close to Joe as possible as if for protection, and had become accustomed to his pungent smell. It was noticeable only at extremely close range, part sickly sweet and part…something else, something Dom could not place but still somehow recognized. They were two blocks from the club, maybe three, and Dom could hear the pulsing techo/house/whatever music as clearly as if he were standing in the middle of the dancefloor. He could hear the chatter of the people inside, or at least he imagined he could. He could smell them too: Beneath the odors of perfume, desperation, and spiritual rot was something richer, something blissful. Dom realized for the first time that he was parched - so parched - and drool filled his mouth.
A crowd of people waited outside Club Vlad, talking and laughing; some vaped, some stared down at their cellphones like Gollum with his precious ring. Dom’s first reaction was to avoid them. Perhaps sensing this…or perhaps feeling it himself…Joe ducked into an alleyway two doors down from the club. “We’ll go in the back,” Joe explained.
The back entrance to Club Vlad was a single door underneath a bare bulb. The music was so loud that Dom’s head began to throb. Inside, a dark hallway terminated in an archway filled with throbbing white light. Dread filled Dom as they approached it - he didn’t want to be around people - but thankfully they went into a room off the hall instead. An office. A cramped desk, a filing cabinet. A set of stairs disappeared into shadows.
“Sit,” Joe said.
Dom obeyed, sitting in the swivel chair.
Joe went up the stairs and Dom was alone. The deep coldness that had long settled into his bones made itself known again, and Dom leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his chest for warmth. The muffled music vibrated in his skull, setting his teeth on edge, and the various smells wafting in from the main room assaulted his senses. He was alternately repulsed and aroused by the crashing din of scents: The good, the bad, and the mouth watering. A sharp pain cut through his stomach like the killing edge of a knife, and Dom hugged himself tighter. Had his throat always been this dry? His throat felt like sandpaper; his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and getting it unstuck hurt so badly that tears sprang to his eyes.
Dom rubbed his arms with his hands and tried to still his chattering teeth. He looked around for a blanket, a discarded jacket, something to cover himself with, but there was nothing. Only drifts of glitter on the floor and walls. He supposed it came from a party or something. He’d never been to a night club but it seemed fitting.
A sound drew his attention to the door leading back into the hall. A woman - no older than a girl - stood there, looking confused and unsteady. She was dressed in black, wore glow sticks around her wrists and neck, and held a red solo cup. “I have to pee,” she said drunkenly and laughed. “I thought this was the bathroom.”
A cold wind washed over Dom, and Joe was standing next to him. “The bathroom’s up here,” he said.
“Oh, good,” the girl laughed, “I thought it was here but I didn’t know. This is my first time here.” She held her cup aloft. “Take me to it.”
Joe glanced at Dom. “Come on.”
They formed a party as they climbed the stairs, Dom in the tear and Joe at the head. The girl stumbled and held onto the railing, talking incessantly. Her voice hurt Dom’s head, but the hot smell wafting from her was intoxicating. Drool coursed down his chin and his breathing came in short, hot bursts. Another sharp pain rent his stomach, and he winced.
At the top of the stairs, where the lights were cold and white, a woman in black stood by a doorway, her back ramrod straight and her eyes vacant. Her face was gaunt, her white flesh pulled tight across her skull. She wore a black dress and her black hair long and straight. Dom only caught a glance at her before looking away again.
She looked like a ghost.
“Show her the bathroom,” Joe said.
The woman’s eyes slowly, ponderles, went from Joe to the drunk girl. Her expression, like Joe’s, was dead. She had no expression. “This way.”
She and the drunk girl disappeared down the hall, and Joe led Dom into a room. Though it was pitch black, Dom could still see; not very well…but he could see. Suddenly, a blinding white light flicked on in front of him, causing him to stop and fall back a step. Ahead, through an archway, sat a vaulted chamber, at the center of which sat a man. To Dom’s light dazzled eyes, he seemed a proud king perched upon a throne, the skulls of his many enemies piled around him. Dom blinked and turned his head slightly to the side. His eyes began to adjust, and the world came into focus.
The man was not, as it had first seemed, sitting on a throne. Instead, he was esconded in a motorized wheelchair. The piles of skulls were actually various pieces of machinery, the kind you’d find in a hospital room. A clear tube extended from one of them to the side of the man’s neck: Yellow liquid flowed from the machine and into the man. Another tube, this one in the other side of his neck, filtered out a mixture of what looked like yellow pus and black sludge. An infected malodor filled the air, and the machines whirred softly as they worked.
As for the man himself, his appearance was normal at first glance, Dressed in a flowing red velvet robe, a blue and green blanket with a plaid pattern draped over his shoulders, he was portly, about fifty, and had shoulder length grayish hair with a bald spot in the middle. If the local theater put on a production of Hamilton, they could cast a worse Ben Franklin than him.
On closer inspection, he was not normal at all. His complexion was yellow and waxy, like a statue, and his body was lumpy, misshapen, resembling an overfilled trash bag stuffed with cotton. His eyes were sick and yellow, and something about his posture seemed…off. It didn’t make sense, but the only thing Dom could think was: He looks impossible.
Joe stopped at the edge of the shadows, where the line between light and darkness lay. He seemed to stand up a little straighter, a general greeting his king. “Here he is,” Joe said.
The man squinted slightly against the glare of the light and motioned with one gnarled hand. “Step into the light,” he said. His voice was soft and kind, that of a senile though loving grandmother. Dom imagined he felt a pull toward the man, and did as he was bidden, wincing as the light stung his eyes.
For a moment, the man stared at him, his waxen features frozen fast as stone. Then, a subtle look of compassion flickered across his face. Dom did not believe in God, but he suddenly felt like a man standing before God, his every thought, feeling, and transgression laid bare. He had never felt so naked in his life, so exposed. He had the sense that the man before him could see everything, knew everything.
“You’ve been through a lot,” the man said. It was not a question, but a statement.
Everything Dom had been through over the past couple of days came back to him in a rush, and hot tears filled his eyes. He nodded.
The man nodded slightly, more to himself than to Dom. “Kneel down,” he said, “I want to look at you.”
Dom knelt without question.
The man lifted one hand and touched Dom’s face, tilting Dom’s head from one side to the other like a farmer appraising a horse. His fingers were long and bony, his nails ragged and unkempt; his touch was like ice. He brushed his knuckles over the purple bruise on Dom’s cheek, and there was such gentleness in that one act that Dom broke down sobbing. He leaned into the man’s touch like a cat and gave voice to his misery.
“Shhh,” the man said, “it’s all over now.”
“W-What’s happening to me?” Dom asked.
In his heart of hearts, however, he already knew.
“You died,” the man said patiently. “And you came back.”
Hearing it stated so plainly, Dom cried even harder.
“Only a handful of people throughout history can claim to have defeated death,” the man said, stroking Dom’s hair, “and you’re one of them. You should be proud.”
“How?” Dom asked between sobs. “What am I?”
The man stroked Dom’s cheek. “You’re the same thing I am.”
At that, Dom looked up at the man. “What are you?” he asked.
A little, knowing smile touched the man’s lips, and when he spoke, his canine teeth were longer and sharper than before. “I’m a vampire.”
“No,” Dom moaned and shook his head, “no, no, no.” He grabbed the man’s hand and held tight, his tears coming faster. He trembled like a frightened animal and squeezed his eyes closed, as if by doing so he could escape the hell his life had become.
But there was no escape.
“You have a lot of questions,” the man said, monologuing now rather than speaking directly to Dom, “I had the same questions when I was your age. I have spent the last forty-two years of my life trying to answer them, but every answer I find leads me to still more questions. There’s one thing I’m certain of, though.”
Dom blinked the tears from his eyes. The last of them had been squeezed from his dead tear ducts and he had no more to give. He simply stared into space, trying to come to grips with his situation.
“There is freedom in death,” the man said. “Death is easy. It’s simple. Once it’s over, you feel no pain, no sadness, no grief. It’s living that’s hard.”
As he spoke, he brushed his long nails across Dom’s scalp. It was a soothing feeling, and served to calm him. “People have so many troubles.” A note of revulsion crept into his voice. “So many needs, so many desires. People are complex but we’re not. We’re easy to please. A vampire wants only two things: A little blood and one more night.”
The combination of his touch and his voice had pacified Dom to the point of almost tranquility. “I’m scared,” Dom heard himself mumble.
Nodding almost reluctantly, the man said, “Fear is one of the only emotions a vampire can’t escape. Everything feels fear. Do you want to know a secret?”
Dom nodded.
“I’m afraid too,” the man confessed. “I’m afraid of death. Well…death as it were. I’m terrified that my body will rot away and leave me a pile of bones somewhere, unable to move but still aware”
A shudder went through Dom.
“As I’m sure you’ve seen yourself, the movies lied. We rot just like any other dead thing. Our flesh decays, our organs turn to sludge, and we go from rational men to monsters whose only thought is feeding.”
Now it was his turn to shiver.
“But…you’re not like that,: Dom said.’
The man smiled. “I’m lucky, I guess” A thin yellow fluid began to drip from his nostrils. He did not seem to notice. “What is your name?”
“Dominick,” Dom said.
“I’m Merrick,” the man said, “and this is my family.”
Dom realized that they were now surrounded by others, ten in all. They stood ramrod straight, their eyes vacant and their faces devoid of humanity. They were mainly men, though one was a woman. Some were pale, others were blue or black, and one was little more than a skeleton clad in withered brown skin, a white button up and jeans hanging from its frame.
A thought occurred to Dom. “You said my brain was going to rot…”
“Not necessarily,” Merrick cautioned, “though it’s possible.”
“Am I going to be…?”
“Like them?” Merrick asked. “Braindead and staring?”
Sheepishly, Dom nodded.
“Maybe,” Merrick allowed. “But these people are free of everything that troubles humanity. You were human just a short time ago. I’m sure you remember all too well what it was like. The constant politics, the moral quandaries, the philosophical pontificating. Human beings - and make no mistake, we are humans - were not meant for all of that. We’re animals. We were made to hunt, fuck, and sleep. Somewhere along the way, we got pretentious and started complicating things.” He looked at Dom, sizing him up, seeming to read him. “Things that animals take for granted, people work their entire lives to achieve. If an animal wants to fornicate, it fornicates. If a man wants to fornicate, he needs to be tall, handsome, rich, funny, progressive when it suits women but traditional when it doesn’t. If a man wants a home, he has to work thirty years for it. An animal has only to dig a hole in the ground.”
Every word struck a chord with Dom.
Because every word was true.
“Unfortunately, the living won’t allow us to live that freely, so we have to hide. These people here - my children - need a guiding hand, a protector, someone who can lead them. And I, an old man, need help.” Here he smiled playfully and patted his bulging stomach. “My body is mostly sawdust and cotton balls at this point, so I can’t do much. I share my wisdom and my knowledge with them, and they take care of me.”
“Why haven’t you…rotted?” Dom asked.
“Embalming fluid,” Merrick said. “Blood doesn’t sustain you. Embalming fluid does.” He smiled at Dom. “It can sustain you as well. If you’ll stay with us. We’re not the most attractive bunch, but we’re a family, and we really wish you’d join us.”
A family.
Dom’s parents had broken up and he lived with his mother. He had never had a family before, and had always wanted one, a real one, like in the movies. Even as a grown man, he sought the love, acceptance, and belonging that a family brings. He sought it in the wrong ways, but that - and not sex, not romantic love - is what he had really wanted all along.
This is what he had wanted all along.
“I want to,” Dom said.
Working quickly, Merrick slashed his wrist open with his thumbnail. An ugly mixture of stale blood, siphoned from someone else, and embalming fluid leaked out. “If you choose to drink, my blood will be in you. You will be my son and I will be your father. You will obey me as your father. You will do whatever is asked of you for this family, as this family will do for you. You will not reveal the secrets of this family to anyone outside of it. You will protect this family from all threats, both inside and out. Do you accept?”
He held his bleeding wrist out to Dom.
Dom did not question, nor did he hesitate. He grabbed the hand of his father, brought it to his mouth, and drank from the seeping wound. The fluid was cold, thick, and vile.
It tasted like belonging.
“Have you fed yet?”
“No,” Dom said.
“Before you do, I have a question for you. Who did this to you? Who made you?”
Dom thought. Everything was hazy. “Was it someone in this room?” Merrick asked.
Dom shook his head. “Her name is…” he wracked his brain. “Heather.”
Merrick nodded. “So there’s another out there.” He looked at Joe. “Did you turn her?”
“Yes,” Joe said.
Merrick looked annoyed. “I’ve told you not to go out and feed on your own. You have no self-control. You drink too much and create others, which creates headaches for the family. Tomorrow night, I want you and Dom to find her and bring her here.” “Okay,” Joe said.
Merrick looked over Dom’s shoulder. “Jess? Can you come here?”
The black haired woman from earlier came out of the shadows, the drunk girl with her, arms tied behind her back. The girl looked dazed. “Max,” Merrick said to the skeletal corpse-thing, “help her.”
Max, Jessie, and another vampire named Matt tied chains around the girl’s ankles and hoisted her aloft via a pulley system. Upside down, she swung back and forth. Merrick instructed the others to leave the room. “Max,” he said.
On his way out, the corpse-thing produced a knife and dragged it across the girl’s throat, slicing her skin; blood spurted out. Max leaned in to taste it, but Merrick shooed him away. When he and Dom were alone, Merrick told Dom, “Go to her.”
But Dom was already on his feet, his eyes transfixed by the crimson life flowing from her pumping throat. The hot, rich smell filled his nostrils and tantalized his senses. Saliva filled his mouth and his stomach panged with hunger. Some small, human part of his decaying brain screamed at him to stop, but he did not listen to it. He had been human for almost thirty years, and he had been miserable. Now, in this chamber of the undead, he gave himself over to his dark thirst. Like a man in a dream, he shuffled to her, inhaled the sweet scent of her blood, and shivered. He was so lost in lust that he hardly noticed the strange, cumbersome feeling of his descended fangs.
“Drink,” Merrick said.
Opening his mouth wide, Dom sank his teeth into the girl’s neck. Her blood filled his mouth and splashed down his throat. Warmth thawed the ice in his marrow and spread through him. His dead heart began to flutter, then to pound. His knees shook, his body trembled, and his mind rolled away on a tide of ecstasy.
As it was his first meal, he couldn’t drink much. Before long, his stomach was hard and distended and his body burned with fire. He collapsed to a heap on the floor and twitched as random nerve endings, stimulated by the blood, began to misfire. He felt full, warm, and drunk. He closed his eyes and let himself drift.
Dominick Mason had died.
And this…
This was heaven.
***
With all that was happening in the city of Albany, the last thing Bruce Kenner needed on Thursday morning was a visit from Bertha the bitch, but that’s exactly what he got. She flew into his office like she owned the place and instantly started in on him. Young man this and have you talked to Joe Rossi that. You’d think she was his boss. And if she were his boss, he’d quit and find another line of work. He heard McDonald’s was hiring.
Bruce almost snapped at her. He’d been up most of last night riding around Albany and looking for Dominick Mason. He and Vanessa expected him to drop dead somewhere close to the medical examiner’s office, but if he had, he’d done so in a super secret location.
“I’ve been busy,” Bruce said, “but I’m going to go by his place of work today.”
Tired and still confused over that bullshit from last night, he had no energy to argue with the old crone. He could spare a few minutes to talk to Joe Rossi, he figured. He assumed that Jessie was safe but he owed it to her to check. If he found the girl, he’d take her back to her grandmother (sorry, kid, really) and try to avoid arresting the guy. Unless he came off as a creep, then he’d bust his ass. See, people assumed that an older guy with a younger girlfriend was some master manipulator hell bent on evil deeds. Sometimes they were, but hell, his grandparents married when his grandpa was twenty-one and his grandma sixteen. They were married for fifty-five years and loved each other to the end. Maybe it was innocent, maybe not. It wasn’t his job to judge either way. Just gimme the girl so I can get her grandma off my back and no one gets hurt.
“It’s about time you started doing your job,” Bertha said, “I heard on the police scanner last night that you people lost a body. What kind of town is this? Your coroner is a drunk who makes up stories about bodies walking away. He probably sold it to black people.”
Bruce couldn’t help it; he snorted laughter.
“Now what would black people want with a dead body?”
“Probably to use it as a prop in one of their rap videos.”
Bruce didn’t know much about music videos, but he was pretty sure that the people who made them didn’t like the smell of corpse any more than the rest of us. “I’ll be sure to round up all the local rappers for questioning. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
Luckily for him, there was not, and Bertha left shortly thereafter. Alone and able to hear himself think, Bruce sat back in his chair and went over his mental checklist for the day. First order of business, go to Club Vlad. Second, find Dominick Mason. There were others, but that was the most important. He wanted the body found so someone could get to work explaining this whole weird thing. There had to be an explanation. The thought that there wasn’t, that a dead guy literally rose from the grave and disappeared into the night, deeply disturbed Bruce, and the more this whole thing remained ongoing, the more disturbed he would become.
Needing some fresh air, he decided to hit up Club Vlad.
Outside, the day was hot and sunny. Waves of heat shimmered from the pavement and not a single breath of air stirred in the whole world. Bruce slipped on a pair of sunglasses and drove over to Club Vlad. It occurred to him that the place might be closed during the day; it was the only place Joe Rossi was associated with. His address in the computer system was Glens Falls, far to the north. The messages he sent Jessie indicated that he lived onsite at Club Vlad.
The build, wedged between a corner store and a check cashing place, was as grimy and dumpy looking as it had always been. The front windows were blacked out and covered with posters and fliers for punk concerts, house bands, and far left political organizations: The Albany Social Justice Center, something called Bash the Fash 2025, and Bruce’s favorite. ACAB. He caught some kid spraying that on the side of the police station once, and under extreme police torture (ie, a good tongue lashing), the kid told him it meant All Cops Are Barnacleheads.
Bruce shot the kid on the spot and planted a gun on him.
How's that for barnaclehead?
Calm down, he didn’t really do that. He made him clean the graffiti off with a toothbrush. LOL he was out there for hours.
The sidewalk in front of the former theater was empty save for some little. The box office was abandoned. There was no open sigh, but then again, there was no closed sign either. He parked his cruiser at the curb, killed the engine, and got out, sweat instantly springing to his brow.
To his surprise, the door opened. Inside, a couple steps led down to a dance floor. A bar lined the wall to his right, and a couple more sets led up to a railed platform filled with tables. Above, a huge balcony looked down on him. A giant disco ball hung from the ceiling like a pair of glittery nuts and there were cages here and there. Presumably where girls danced go-go style. Oh yeah, nothing hotter than a woman behind bars. Why do you think Bruce became a cop in the first place?
Speaking of glittery nuts, there was glitter everywhere. On the floor, on the tables, on the bar. It twinkled like flecks of diamond and swirled around your feet when you walked. Bruce imagined big buckets of the stuff raining down on the dance floor at midnight and he shuddered. Imagine having glitter stuck in your hair. That shit would never come out.
Music played from the sound system, not as loud as it would be during operating hours. It sounded like ‘80s metal, not exactly what he expected from a place like this.
Some say life she's a lady
Kinda soft, kinda shady
I can tell you life is rich
She's no lady, she's a bitch
Being morning, the place was deserted except for a man behind the bar, busy at cleaning the countertop in anticipation for the night’s events. He was tall, Hispanic or Italian, and feminine, with a single earring and a tank top.
Bruce moseyed over to the bar and the barkeep looked up, missing a beat when he realized the fuzz was here. He sat down his rag and walked over. “Can I help you?” he asked in a whispy voice.
“Yeah,” Bruce said, “I’m looking for Joe Rossi. Is he here?”
“I don’t know,” the bartender said. He looked nervous. “I can check.”
Before Bruce could answer, he scurried off, leaving him alone.
They suck my body out
But friend there is no doubt
I'm gonna pay the devil his dues
Cause I'm sick of being abused
Bruce looked around, his fingers absently drumming on the countertop. Club Vlad was a clashing mix of grunge and glam that made his head hurt. He imagined what the place must be like at midnight, packed and noisy, and nodded to himself. Yeah, this was the spot, he guessed, the place all the cool kids went, if they went anywhere anymore. Hell, if he was thirty years younger, he might come here.
He had been waiting for almost twenty minutes when a voice spoke behind him. He turned with a start, and beheld the strangest man he had ever seen in his life. Short and plump - lumpy, even - he sat in a wheelchair, a red blanket draped over his shoulders and his hands resting on his knees. He was about fifty with sparse gray hair falling to his shoulders and a plastic-looking face. He looked like a wax statue of Ben Franklin come to life, and a deep sense of disquiet stirred in the pit of Bruce’s stomach.
Just can't fight the temptation
It's become my inspiration
Gonna get myself an axe
Break some heads, break some backs
It was only then that Bruce noticed the sickly sweet smell of death.
It seemed to come from the man in waves.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” the man said, “my name is Merrick Garvis and I own Club Vlad. Maybe I can be of assistance.”
Bruce grew up in the south where manners and saving face were paramount. His mother and his grandmother both taught him that it was impolite to stare. Maybe he'd been in New York so long that he’d forgotten himself, or maybe Merrick Garvis was just the strangest looking man in the world. Either way, Bruce couldn’t help gaping at his strange appearance. Recovering, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, I -”
Merrick smiled and waved one hand. Why was it so goddamn skeletal? “Don’t worry. I was injured in a fire a long time ago and this is the best they could do for me. To be honest, I’d stare too. What can I help you with, officer?”
“I’d like to talk to Joe Rossi,” Bruce said. “I understand he works for you.”
“He did,” Merrick said, “but I had to let him go. Did he do something wrong?”
Bruce sighed. “Well, yeah, he’s shacked up with a sixteen year old runaway.”
A look of concern crossed Merrick’s features, such as they were. “Oh, my, that is concerning. I haven’t seen him in several days. I assume he went home. He lives in Glens Falls.”
Bruce nodded, his mind working. If Rossi really was in Glens Falls, that meant the whole mess was someone else’s problem. He could send Bertha up there to bother some other poor barnacle head and be rid of her. Yet…he didn’t think Rossi was in Glens Falls. Bruce had a knack for knowing when people were lying, and he was certain that Merrick Garvis was doing just that. It couldn’t be a facial tick, as his features were largely unmoving, like clay. Maybe it was something in his cloudy eyes. Maybe it was the tone of his voice. Or maybe Bruce had the shining and knew things just for the hell of it. In any event, the certainty that Merrick Garvis was lying grew stronger with each passing second.
“Why’d you fire him?”
“He got drunk and hit one of the customers.”
“What did he do?” Bruce asked. “What was his position?”
“He was a bouncer.”
“Aren’t bouncers supposed to hit people?”
Merrick fumbled. “Well…not to punch them in the face for bumping into them.”
“How long did he work for you?”
“Six months.”
“Did you ever see him with an underage girl?”
“Of course not,” Merrick said, “you have to be twenty-one to get in. I make sure everyone’s ID is checked at the door.”
“What if she had a fake ID?”
“Then I guess she’d get in, but I’d assume she was of legal age.”
“You said he shoved someone, when did this happen?”
“Last week,” Merrick said.
“I thought you said he hit someone.”
Merrick again fumbled. “I did.” Now his face seemed to darken a little. A strange yellowish liquid, too thin to be snot, began to drip from his nostrils. Bruce barely suppressed a smear of disgust. “I understand you have a job to do but playing mind games with me isn’t going to solve anything. I can give you his address. Other than that, I can’t help you further.”
“Fair enough,” Bruce said. “But I’d like to see your ID please.”
Merrick glared at him. “I suppose you want my name, rank, and serial number as well.”
“Actually, yeah, I’d love that.”
Merrick drew a deep sigh. “Okay.”
In five minutes, Bruce had Merrick’s ID, social, and all other relevant information. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have bothered, even though he was well within his rights to ask for this information from someone he was questioning. But something about Merrick Garvis was off, and not just his weird face or strangely bulbous body. Bruce was just smart enough to realize that something was going on here, but not quite smart enough to even begin to imagine what.
When he had everything he needed and saw no reason to stick around, Bruce bid Merrick farewell and left the club. Before he could do anything else, he got a call from dispatch: Officer needed assistance in Pine Hills. Bruce slipped behind the wheel and went forth to help, momentarily putting Merrick Garvis out of his mind.
But soon or later, he would get back to him.
Oh yes he would.

So before we jump into the story, I’m pretty much going to be as transparent as possible in this, so it’s going to be a pretty big read. I’ll start with a little bit about my past and then a little bit about hers.
I was raised in a traditional household, with traditional values, parents that stayed together and loved unconditionally, and I guess was always comfortable in my childhood. Obviously, everyone has their own traumas, and maybe I have some that I’ve unexplored just because I consider myself unbothered by the past. Which is a mindset that has served me well, I think. I forgive and forget very quickly, and I tend to give second chances. I’m also very firm on how a second chance looks and how typically there isn’t a third. Now for the bad, I was exposed to porn at a very young age. I feel like it’s been an addiction all my life. Up until probably about eight months ago, I was severely addicted to porn. And we all know how it works once vanilla stops giving you the dopamine you used to get, you start to crave crazier and crazier things. Eventually, mine got to enjoying watching other men lust over other men’s women. Obviously, I know how wrong that is, and when I started realizing that I did not have a husband mentality, I started to shift my mindset. I still struggle with it to this day, but I wouldn’t say that I’m addicted anymore.
A little about her: her childhood is the exact opposite. But I would say that we came to the same conclusions on life and how a husband and wife should act in theory. She was raised in a very abusive household, her parents separated at a very young age, and then it was just trauma after trauma after trauma. And that’s not to say that she’s bringing it into the relationship, it’s simply saying what she’s been through. Her mindset of what marriage should look like is exactly like mine. Her mindset of what love should look like, I think, is like mine. She tends to run away for periods of time, never cheats or anything, but just prefers to be alone. Every single one of her relationships, she’s claimed that she has to be the mom in the relationship. This dynamic, the partnership dynamic, was weird for her.
Me and her met in November, and the moment we met, we knew that this was either going to be a relationship where we get married or the one to really break us. Two weeks in, we were discussing marriage as a joke. We loved all the same things, we listened to the same underground artists, we think almost exactly alike when it comes to life. We enjoy the same humor, and I can 100% say she is pretty much me in female form. Please don’t take that in a weird way, but that is how I felt. I’ve always felt like she is my other half. Months into the relationship, we started joking around about OnlyFans, and I’m sorry to say that I let those same thoughts in my head. She would joke around about how much money she would make on it, and I would “joke around” about her making one and that I was okay with it. She didn’t know about my porn addiction at this time. Well, little did I know she was simply going along with it because she thought it made me happy and turned me on. But I know she’s also very, very bold. Well, eventually, I started to focus back on my addiction, which made me treat her like absolute crap. We went through a phase of arguments, I would threaten to end the relationship, and then she would actually do it. I stopped treating her like a husband would treat his wife. After we had a talk, we decided that what we have is too valuable to let go of. So she gave me another chance, and I really took it. I went back to acting like a husband would for her. And it’s not that I was just scared of losing her; this is my character, and this is who I was when I met her, and this is who I’ve been in other relationships. Two weeks go by, and I really realize how much that addiction relapse brought back insecurities. Well, instead of talking to her about it, I decided to try and basically trap her into selling nudes to one of my buddies. Looking back on it all, I understand how toxic that is, but if I was going to give it my all, I didn’t want to give it to somebody who was actually willing to do that. And I get that everything we talked about before was jokes, but she always told me that she’d be willing to sell those pictures for money. And I never knew if it was just to make me happy or if she was serious. I was insecure, and I was scared that I was giving for no reason. But it’s not a reason to do what I did, and I’m not trying to justify it. I should have communicated it with her. The worst part about it was that I lied to her for a couple of weeks that I had no idea who that was on her Snapchat asking her to sell nudes. She was super upset at the principle that I was able to lie to her face for so long. Long story short, we broke up for two weeks. I would chase her for those two weeks, trying to do nice things for her, ordering food and trying to make it up. It was like fishing—when she’s angry at me, I let her run, but when she gave me an opportunity to reel in, I really took it. I didn’t just tell her sorry because I knew it wouldn’t mean anything. I changed my behavior to show her that I trusted her and I am not a liar. I didn’t try to justify my behavior; I only gave her the reasons why I did what I did after we started talking again. During those two weeks, I hadn’t seen any other woman, nor did I have intentions of it. She went on a car ride with her ex because apparently there were unfinished conversations. Now, with this ex in particular, I’m not worried about it. And it’s not me being cocky; I just know that after meeting me and the way she compared both of us, I’m simply not worried about him. What upset me was that he tried to kiss her. Well, he did kiss her until she pushed him off. Either way, I was unbothered by it, but I’ll tell you guys that so you can decide if it’s important or not.
So we started hanging out again as just best friends. I pretty much stayed at her house for two weeks straight after being broken up. We literally were best friends, but I could tell she didn’t trust me. Obviously, she trusted me with her body, still trusted me with pictures of her, and she trusted me in practical ways, but I always felt insecure hanging out with her because of the fact that she might leave again. Well, eventually, she did. We decided to take a two-week break of absolutely zero contact. So keep in mind, this is after another two weeks of absolutely zero arguments, us not talking about the past and just treating each other with ultimate respect and love. But she still felt like she couldn’t give 100%. I never stopped giving 100%, and she fully acknowledges this and understands it. I want you guys to understand that this girl is the nicest, kindest girl I’ve ever met, and I mean that. So I ask that any advice given takes that into account. I know she loves me just as hard as I love her. I leave her house and go home. Of course, I’m very upset because I love so hard, but I do not contact her. 4 AM, I get a call from her just absolutely wasted. She ended up going out with her coworkers, and I’ve never seen her drink like this. She was just as upset as I was. So I don’t want you guys to think that she is heartless. She ends up begging me to come over, and I tell her no and make her wait until the morning. At 8 AM, I’m at her house, and she’s pretty much still wasted. Well, apparently, she ended up kissing another dude at the bar while drunk. She was very straight up about it and would never lie to me. Nothing else happened, but that’s something that did happen. Now, take into account we were broken up with both of these instances. We were NOT together. I don’t know how I feel about that line, but y’all decide. Anyways, that day apparently was a click for her. She wrote me a letter and basically said that she doesn’t want to do this without me. She said that she is willing to work on herself within the relationship rather than single, and that’s my mindset. In a relationship, you are able to work on relationship issues that you cannot work on while single. The same triggers do not apply when you are single. Anyways, so we start basically living together. A month straight, pretty much. I mean, we were out and about again. We were working together, we considered moving in and all, but I could tell that she was not giving me her all. She would tell me multiple times that she doesn’t trust me. She would tell me that she’s my wife, but she just needs time to trust me fully. Eventually, after a month, I had enough of being in this situationship I didn’t feel secure in. So I left one day after telling her that if she can’t give me the same treatment and love she gave me when we first met, then I’m done. I proved I was trustworthy, and I proved I was the husband she was looking for. Either way, I left. We had a conversation about wife mentality vs. girlfriend mentality and what that looks like, which I think really changed her mindset. Now, I will say this: here are where things take a turn. I come back, and she decides to go back to giving 100%. And I could tell—she was the girl I met again. I was skeptical, but I knew she was back. Anyways, five days go by, and I notice a certain person wasn’t on her phone. That same ex I told y’all I was worried about. Well, I was curious because I know that she didn’t want to block him, and this, I think, is because she doesn’t want to hurt people. I STILL RIGHT NOW WHILE TYPING THIS do not think he’s a threat. I actually believe they won’t speak again. Anyways, she tells me that “if he’s not there, he must be blocked,” and I knew that that’s a lie because that’s how I lied to her. She, I guess, rubbed off me, and this is the very first time I caught her in a lie. Come to find out, there was a ten-minute phone call between them, and she sent him “progress workout pictures” that she claimed “she never viewed as sexual” etc. Anyways, this was at like 2 AM, so I get in my car and just storm off. I’m going to make this part short because you probably know where it’s going. She begs me to come back, posts a picture of us on her story, makes it official that we are together, and proves to me that she’s a “damn good wife.” I’m still upset, and a day goes by. That day being two days ago. While we were asleep, I was still upset about everything, and I decided to look at her phone without asking. Bad move, I know. We wake up yesterday morning, and I accuse her of something I saw. I was still upset from the lie, and she storms off to work and was very open that how we handled that conversation was toxic. I agreed, and I apologized for even going on her phone. I came to the conclusion that I will never go on her phone again without asking before I went to sleep that night, so it wasn’t under any threat of a relationship ending. She texted me about her thoughts, and then I thought all was fine. She called me while at work and asked about moving into a house together rather than her duplex. By the time she got off work, she said she was done.
She said that “one day I will be your wife, but I can’t do a toxic relationship.” I told her if she leaves now, she will never have the chance of being with me again. I will always be her best friend, but I told her very clearly that I will not be able to trust her through thick and thin. I will not feel secure in any future relationship with her because if things get “toxic” again, and they will because no relationship is perfect, I won’t be able to trust that she’ll be by my side. Should I feel bad for giving her until tonight to make up her mind? Should I be patient?
We love each other so wholeheartedly. We still connect like no one I’ve ever met. She loves me just as much as I love her, and I know she’s just as broken as me with this breakup. In my opinion, her lying to me made her realize that she’s also not perfect, and her reasoning was kinda funny. That’s the relationship we have. I’m over all she did. She WAS over everything I did before I went through her phone, and she wasn’t mad that I went through it; she was upset that the morning convo was toxic. Any advice you give, assume that we really love each other and want to make it work. We have never been in a relationship that we actually consider marriage in. We are still figuring it out, and I just don’t know my move and to her, her only option is ending this.

An hour after getting back from the Mason apartment, Bruce Kenner had the distinct misfortune of meeting Bertha Henderson.
A plump, gaudy woman with wrinkles and sun beaten skin only an alligator could love, Bertha Henderson wore bright red lipstick, bright red rouge, and way too much mascara. Her tangled hair was a dull red color and her clothes - pink pants and a white floral top - stretched tight across her bulbous frame. She looked like the kind of woman who lived in a trailer with velvet pictures of Elvis on the wall and pink flamingos in the front yard.
She acted like one too.
From the moment she stormed into his office, she hadn’t shut up once. She scolded, chided, accused, and badgered, sometimes even wagging one fat finger in his face like he was a naughty little boy. Ten minutes into the dressing down and Bruce was beginning to fantasize about police brutality.
It took him another ten minutes to find out what the hell she even wanted.
“It’s my granddaughter,” she shot back, “she’s missing in your town.”
My town? Lady, this is barely my office. I share it with three other people.
“Well, if you’ll calm down, maybe I can help.”
Jesus Christ was that the wrong thing to say. She hit the roof and didn’t come down again until Bruce was this close to arresting her for assault on a police officer. “Young man, I do not appreciate the way you’re talking to me. My tax dollars are the only reason you have a job. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be working at a car wash.”
At least I wouldn’t have to deal with you.
Bruce took a deep breath and held his tongue in check. “How can I help you?” he asked.
“I told you, my granddaughter is missing. If you listened to me, you’d know this already.”
Bertha produced a picture and slid it across the desk. Bruce studied it. A girl, roughly sixteen with black hair, blue eyes, and dimples smiled back at him. “She;’s with that Rossi man, I just know it,” she said bitterly.
“Who?” Bruce asked.
Rolling her eyes like he was stupid, the old woman told him the story. Jessie - the dimple faced girl - had the rotten luck of having to live with Grandma Bertha after her parents went to jail on drug charges. They lived in Sand Lake, a little town in the mountains outside Albany, where Bertha was no doubt loved and admired by all. One day, Jessie, who her grandmother lovingly described as “A little troublemaker”, ran off. Bruce didn’t blame her. He’d known Bertha for half an hour and he wanted to run off. Bertha did some snooping on Jessie’s laptop and found that the “little whore” had been chatting with an older man, Joe Rossi. Rossi, or so Facebook said, lived in Albany and worked at Club Vlad.
“I want him arrested for pedophilia,” Bertha said and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. “He’s a dog just like all men. She’s probably pregnant already. Another mouth I have to feed.”
Behind the old battle ax, Vanessa appeared in the doorway and lifted her brows as if to say What a piece of work. Knowing her, she’d probably been standing just out of sight this whole time with McKenny, the elderly evidence clerk, and snickering into her hand like a little girl. LOL she called him young man.
Bertha noticed him looking over her shoulder and started to turn. Vanessa’s face went white and she ducked out of the way, narrowly avoiding detection. “I’m glad you think this is funny,” Bertha said to Bruce. “Meanwhile, if I don’t get Jessie back, the state’s going to stop sending me my checks. I need that income. I can’t work, you know. I have gout.”
Too bad being an asshole isn’t a job, you’d be world-famous
“I’ll go talk to him,” Bruce said.
“I want more than talk, young man, I want action.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When Bertha finally decided to waddle off and ruin someone else’s day, Vanessa came in and sat in the chair the old woman had so recently occupied. “Oh, my God,” she said, “that was intense. I was this close to radioing in a 1015.”
1015 was code for officer down.
“Funny,” Bruce said without a trace of humor. He had kids going missing, a dead guy someone moved around like a goddamn Barbie doll, and now this. What next, hemorrhoids?
“What do you think? Code 1 or code 2?”
Code 1 meant top priority. Code 2 meant not a top priority. Bruce thought for a moment. It didn’t sound like Jessie Henderson was in danger. It sounded like she met a guy - granted, one too old for her - and decided to hide out with him from her psycho grandma. Maybe it could be something more, but he had a gut feeling that it wasn’t…and his gut feelings were usually right. “2,” he finally said. “I got shit to do.”
By shit, he meant “Talk to the families of those missing boys again.” He’d been interviewing them for two days looking for clues, but there was nothing. It’s like they just vanished. Bruce didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Vanessa said and slapped the desk.
When she was gone, Bruce sighed.
Never a dull moment, he thought.
***
Ed Harris - no relation to the Hollywood actor - had been the medical examiner for the City of Albany since 2002, and in all that time, he had never seen anything quite like this.
It was Wednesday evening and Ed was locked away in the cold, sterile space beneath the city offices that comprised his domain. With its puke green tiles, harsh lights, and cloying smells of disinfectant, the .coroner's office creeped most people out, but not Ed. He was at home here, as comfortable surrounded by toe-tagged bodies as a cactus was surrounded by desert. A thin man in his fifties with curly, steel gray hair thinning in the middle, he wore a white smock, blood stained over his clothes that made him look like a butcher instead of a low level government functionary. He had a dark and dry sense of humor, but then again, so do all people who play with dead bodies for fun and profit.
The coroner’s office was a vast, utilitarian vault segmented into multiple different rooms. Here, where the magic happened, three stainless steel tables stood in a row; a bank of refrigerated drawers kept watch, making sure nothing funny happened. One of the cold fluorescent lights overhead flickered with a hum of electricity, and water dripped rhythmically from a faucet. It was a cold, eerie place, but to Ed, it was home.
On most nights, only one of the tables was occupied, but tonight, two were. On one lay an old lady who died of what appeared to be cyanide poisoning. On the other was Dominick Mason.
Naked save for a white cloth draped over his groin to protect his dignity, Dom was the most corpsy corpse you’d ever hope to see. In fact, if you looked up dead guy in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of him. His body was pale and sunken, one side covered in purple splotches where his blood had pooled, and his eyes were closed. His abdomen was slightly distended with the expected build up of gas, and his flesh stuck fast to the bones beneath. In other words, he was text book. A normal corpse.
Mostly normal.
As men of his trade are wont to do when strange bodies mysteriously appear, Ed had opened Dom up, making a Y shaped incision from his neck to his groin. He hummed to himself as he did so, his hands wielding his sharp and shiny tools with the deft assuredness of a seasoned surgeon. Done cutting, he dipped his gloved hands into the cavity and started removing organs. A spleen here, a liver there, nothing Dom would miss. When he got to the heart, however, he stopped.
There was something…off…about it. At first glance, it was black and withered like an oversized raisin. An odd and putrid odor emanated from it and though he was familiar with the various smells and stenches the human body produced after death, this wasn’t one of them. Try as he might, he couldn’t place it, couldn’t even compare it to anything. Plucking a magnifying glass from the metal cart next to the table, he peeled back part of Dom’s chest and examined the heart closer.
That’s when things got really weird.
Dominick Mason’s heart was, indeed, shriveled, but it was not black. Instead, it was almost entirely covered by an interlacing crisscross of what appeared to be black mold. Here and there, Ed could glimpse flashes of the heart beneath: It was wrinkled and a sickly gray color. “What is this?” Ed asked himself at length. He grabbed a pair of tweezers from the tray and carefully, very carefully, attempted to remove a piece of the mold for analysis. The moment the cold metal tips touched the heart, it gave a violent spasm that sent Ed falling back with a shocked gasp, the tweezers falling from his hand and clinking to the tiled floor.
The heart began to pulse like an alien egg sac, slowly at first, then more rapidly. For a moment, Ed was frozen in place, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Once you die, your heart ceases beating. That’s that. Only living hearts beat, and Dominick Mason was certainly dead. He was dead from the moment Ed first laid eyes on him earlier that day and he was dead now. Yet there was his heart, beating anyway.
It could be a muscle spasm. They usually aren’t that violent and consistent, but dead bodies sometimes do strange things. As he watched the blackened muscle expanding and contracting, however, Ed had the most eerie feeling. He went to rub the back of his neck, realized he was still wearing blood soaked gloves, and stripped them off. He was spooking himself out; he needed a break and a hot cup of coffee. He’d come back fresh and start over again.
With that mold.
Could you really blame him for being creeped out? That stuff wasn’t normal. He’d never seen anything like that before, not even in textbooks. Dom was scrawny and didn’t get enough vitamins in life, but overall, he was healthy; that mold…or whatever it was…had no business being there.
Going over to the coffee pot, which stood in the same room to save travel time, Ed grabbed a styrofoam cup. When he was done here, he planned to go home and -
A terrible, metallic clatter rang out, and Ed jumped. He turned around, and when he saw Dominick Mason standing next to the table, hunched slightly over and staring at him, an electric burst of fright shot up his spine and exploded in his brain, so strong it made the edges turn gray. Pale, hands hooked into talons, and the flaps of his chest hanging open to reveal the cavity beneath, Dominick Mason looked for all the world like a boy who’d been caught sneaking out to meet his girlfriend. A weak, involuntary, “Oh, God,” slipped from Ed’s trembling lips, and the spell was broken. Dom came alive and ran toward the door leading out to the parking lot. He slammed through it, and the sound of it crashing open and then falling closed again echoed through the empty chamber.
Shaking, panting for air, and soaked in piss, Ed sank to the floor in a sitting position, his eyes wide and staring like those of a soldier returning damaged from the front.
It was a long time before he composed himself enough to call the police.
***
Dazed and caught in a nightmarish twilight realm where nothing made sense, Dominick Mason limped painfully down the sidewalk, a stranger lost in a strange land filled with danger and hostile creatures. Barefoot and shrouded in a white sheet, he trembled with cold and struggled to ignore the dark, threatening shapes looming from the fog in his brain, shapes that would turn into unspeakable truths if he let them.
Passersby openly stared at him, their expressions either morbidly curious, disgusted, or alarmed. A man put his arm protectively around his girlfriend; a woman pulled her little boy to her breast, and another man sneered at him, his nose crinkling. Dom, his glazed eyes narrowed against the harsh glare of the many street lamps, headlights, and storefronts, lumbered headlong toward nowhere, his fear growing until he was shambling. He imagined he could hear every cough, every whisper; smell the odor of every unwashed body. Each car horn was deafening, every whiff of ass or armpits sent his stomach churning. The rustle of a passing pedestrian’s jacket jammed into his ears like icepicks, and the approaching globes of LED headlamps burned his eyes. He gritted his teeth and groaned against the pain.
The dense mist wrapping his brain made it hard to think. Like a frightened animal, he made his way on instinct alone. Home. He needed to get home. Out here, on the street, he was exposed. At home, locked away in his small apartment, he would be safe.
A car passed in the street, bass heavy rap music blaring from its open windows, and Dom’s brain exploded with agony. He threw himself against a street sign and held on for dear life, his legs weak. Dizziness overwhelmed him, and he almost went down. He was also cold.
So, so cold.
People around him quickened their step; they never took their eyes off him, as though he were a venomous snake that would strike at any moment. He needed to get away from them. They were going to hurt him; people always hurt him.
Pushing away from the sign, he began to hobble once more toward home, wherever home was. He looked over his shoulder several times as he made his way down Central Avenue, and each time, he saw that no one was following him as he had feared.
No one, that is, except for the man in sunglasses.
Tall and lank with curly hair, he wore dark Aviators and a leather motorcycle jacket over a button up shirt. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets and his face showed no expression. He was always there, always a few steps closer. Outside Capital Fried Chicken, a group of people openly stared at him, He heard their whispers as he passed. What’s wrong with him? Dude’s straight tweakin. And the one that struck him the most. That guy looks dead.
Dom hobbled faster, as if to outrun the realization that he was, in fact, dead. The man in sunglasses was closer now, his footsteps so loud that Dom winced. He turned around, and the man was impossibly in front of him. Dom ran into him and bounced backward, going ass over tea kettle and landing on the former. They were in front of a church on a darkened corner, the lights here either burned out or shot out - you could never tell in Albany. Even though it was dark, Dom could see everything with crystal clarity. Dom tried to scurry away, but he was too weak to escape. Right there and then, he decided to give up. Come what may, he just wanted this nightmare to be over.
The man stared down at him, emotionless, unspeaking.
Dom squirmed.
“You’re real lucky I came along,” the man said. His tone was flat, even.
Dead.
“Get up,” he said, “I’ll take you home.”
Home?
Yes.
Dom wanted to go home.
The man helped him up, and Dom followed him into the night.
***
Bruce Kenner stood in the middle of the medical examiner’s office at half past nine that evening with his hands on his hips and stared doubtfully down at Ed Harris. The lonely cavern was alive with activity as cops went over everything, all of them looking either bemused or a mused. Bruce was neither. He’d been at home, sitting in his chair and having a beer in front of AEW Dynamite when Vanessa called. “You might wanna get down here,” she said, sounding confused, “something really strange is going on.”
Ed Harris - no relation to that one guy - sat in a straight back chair beside his cluttered desk and gripped a styrofoam cup of coffee in both hands, putting Bruce - for some reason - in mind of a monkey. When Bruce came in, the old man was white as a sheet and shook like a leaf. In the last half hour, little had changed.
“Tell me again,” Bruce said.
He and Ed were pretty good friends. He knew that Ed knew standard police procedure. Cops don’t ask you to repeat your story a thousand times over because they’re forgetful fucks, they do it because telling it again and again helps to jog loose details that you might have forgotten. Ed, therefore, did not protest. “I turned my back,” he said and chopped the chair like Jackie Chan, “and I heard the noise.”
His voice was thick, unsteady, and halting. He sounded as squirrely as he looked…and he looked pretty damn squirrelly right now.
“I turned around…and he was looking at me. He was standing there and he was looking at me.”
This was the fourth time he’d had Ed go through the story, and nothing had changed. Bruce felt something stirring deep inside his gut. It was either disquiet…or he had to fart. He opened his mouth to speak, but sighed.
“You don’t believe me,” Ed said.
“I dunno, Ed. Dead bodies don’t just get up and walk away.”
Ed flashed. “I know that, goddamn it, but this one did.”
Bruce glanced at Vanessa. She looked uncomfortable.
“Are you sure he was dead?” Bruce asked.
Ed opened his mouth, closed it again, and said, “I did the autopsy.” His voice broke on the last word, and he sounded almost like he was pleading. “His fucking liver’s on the floor. He stepped on it. The man has nothing in him. I-I’m telling you, there’s no way he’s alive.”
During the autopsy, Ed had sat Dominick Mason’s organs on the little tray table where he kept his pointy things. Mason knocked it over while getting up. Indeed, there were human organs on the floor, and one of them did look kind of squished. Bare, bloody footprints led to the exit door, up a set of concrete steps, and then disappeared in the alley behind the office.
“You said you left his heart,” Bruce said.
“And his brain,” Vanessa helpfully added.
Ed pinched the bridge of his nose like a put upon professor dealing with two particularly stupid students. “Even with his heart and his brain, he’s dead. You saw the livor mortis. He was cold, he was stiff. His heart wasn’t beating, he wasn’t breathing. He was in one of those drawers for nine hours, not breathing, no blood flow - it’s impossible. It’s just…it’s impossible. I don’t care what you think, he was dead. And even if somehow he wasn’t, I cut out almost everything. I opened his stomach, I took his spleen - you don’t just get up from that. You don’t walk away from that, much less run.”
Bruce chewed the inside of his bottom lip because he didn’t have a Twix. He didn’t look like the smartest man in the world…and he wasn’t…but he knew a dead body when he saw one, and the body they took out of Dominick Mason’s apartment was D.E.A.D. And like Ed said, even if by some freak fluke of nature he wasn’t, he couldn’t just get up and go about his day with no liver, spleen, or kidneys. Hell, Bruce had his gallbladder out and he couldn’t even walk away from that.
“You said there was something funny about his heart,” Vanessa said.
Ed finished off his coffee. “Yeah. It was…moldy. I-I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Is it possible that…has something to do with it?”
“Unless the rules of biology have changed overnight, no,” Ed stated.
While Ed poured himself another cup of Joe, spilling some because he was still shaking, Vanessa took Bruce aside. “So what do you think?” she asked. “Is he telling the truth?”
For that, Bruce did not have an immediate answer. All else aside, he was a cop. He followed the evidence - and his gut instinct - wherever it led him. Ed was a sober man - he was not a drunk, insane, or stupid - and no man on earth could fake the look of trauma in his eyes. Bruce’s eyes went to the bloody footprints leading away from the exam table and his stomach roiled. It might be cliched, but there had to be a rational explanation. “Yeah,” he finally said. “The kid got up like he said, but there’s no way he was dead. Maybe…I dunno, he had a surge of adrenaline or something. I’m not a doctor.”
“That’ll only get him so far,” Vanessa said. “We’ll probably find him on the street somewhere.”
He went back to the purple splotches on Dom’s face, to his cold stiffness. There’s no way he was dead?
Bruce was confused, and he hated being confused.
“I dunno,” he said, “maybe.”
But he had the gnawing feeling that they wouldn’t. They would never find him…and Bruce would be confused forever.
Goddamn it, Mason, he thought, where are you?

Link for all the chapters available for free here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road
Deep in the groaning halls of sinew and bone he awaited his audience with the god. At a wave of his hand the ribs which held up the ceiling contracted, tendons shifting within the pink walls of the chamber as the jagged, calcareous spurs that composed the doorway sank back into the spongy masses of tissue, revealing a passage curving down and out of sight.
Menash stood before the yawning portal and considered eternity. This was no an idle thought: here in the Dawning Chamber, the concept was very real. His father, Yulan, had stood in this exact spot times beyond count. When he was struck down in his prime by the Night Weaver and her Leaper offspring, torn limb from limb as he fought to defend Chthonis from a raiding party, Menash’s uncle, Aqavarr, had carried his broken remains over that grinning threshold to join the hosts of the dead, never to return.
A hot and heavy exhalation rattled up out of the depths, wafting in the acrid scent of the bonding pools and the wet slithering sound of the rebirthing canals. Menash felt a crackle of static in the corners of his mind before the signal sharpened and he heard It whisper distinctly:
“Enter…”
The familiar dread crept its way up the small of his back, and he gave a little shiver. No matter how many times he had communed with the Vitalus, he’d never been able to shake the feeling of his utter insignificance. But he persevered, walking bravely down the slurping passage, past the rows of broad antechambers lining either side of the hallway. Each one held a slumbering shape immersed in a cryogenic bath, towering hulks of muscle encased in ribbed and riveted plates of chitin. No two were alike in size or physiology, but all seemed to emanate the same primeval aura of dread that tickled Menash’s fight-or-flight-instinct, skewing it very much towards the latter response. These were the Hollowores, soulless avatars of the Vitalus, each one a tool capable of eradicating an entire species. As Menash approached, one of the living weapons stirred to life. A pronged, anvil-shaped head emerged from the bath, umbilical feeder tubes detaching from its armored flanks as the rest of its bulk followed, its mauve exoskeleton as sleek and shiny as amethyst. The Hollowore extended legs as thick as grown pine trees and lifted itself above him, its pairs of crushing pincers dripping amniotic fluids as it herded him towards the central room.
Bundles of white gossamer filaments spread all across the floor, encircling steaming pools of pus and acid. He saw arms and legs, sensory organs and entire exoskeletons being knitted before his very eyes, the amino acid chains being stitched on a layer at a time, the weeping pus evidence of microphages fighting off possible infections as the Vitalus did Its work.
These were the next generation of exomorphs, yet to be assigned to their hosts. It was here that Vitalus constantly improved the only thing that could ensure the continued survival of Menash’s subspecies. Exomorphs were bonded to Gallivants at birth, the organisms supplying their hosts with the means to breathe an atmosphere they was never meant to endure, and the strength to fight in a world that was red in tooth and claw. They were as swift as the summer wind and could multiply their host’s muscular power by up to twelve times their natural output.
But for all their God-given might, Gallivants were still mortal. They could and often did perish in the endless struggle for existence that the Vitalus called the Great Game. But even in death they could still commit their essence to posterity, passing down their defining traits through the malleable genetic code of the gilt helix. It was the Vitalus’ greatest boon; through the gilt helix a single individual could become a progenitor of an entire generation, becoming at one stroke the father of whole nations and peoples.
One day he too would prove worthy of the honor that Yulan had earned with his life. But he was not alone in that ambition. Menash was annoyed to find the crimson-clad Vezda and the cowardly Racek waiting for him inside, standing next to a large ball of filaments that hung from a tonsil-like growth hanging from the walls.
This node pulsed, emitting a small storm of bioelectric activity, networks of fungi conveying commands in the form of oscillating voltages to their communities of symbiotic bacteria, the latter containing greigite mineral crystals aligned in the shape of electromagnetic coils. Other networks hidden in the walls modulated and amplified the signals, and the three Gallivants steeled themselves for the onrushing flood of information as the Vitalus tapped into their minds.
He was a candle before the raging heart of the thunderstorm. For an instant Menash touched a fraction of Its intelligence, the divisions of time and space rolling back as they joined the ocean of shared consciousness, becoming one with the living systems of Arachnea. From the tiniest aeroplankton floating above the waves of the golden coastlines, to the herds of ultrapods munching their way through swathes of trees in the savannahs. Menash felt himself pushing up out of the soil, longing and lusting and reaching for the sunlight with a trillion green fingers uncurling, alive with the furious movement of life.
But what was that flicker of orange to the east? That searing heat, that prickling pain spreading like a cancer down his side?
The Vitalus scooped them up and hurled them headlong into hell itself. A roaring wildfire was sweeping into the heart of the eastern rainforests. Menash tasted ash and ruin, felt pieces of himself wither and burn, his branches tongues of fire, wood cracking from the intense blaze, sap boiling instantaneously upon contact and rupturing, splitting him right down the grain. He fled in terror, running, slithering, digging, swimming, flying away in crazed panic from the walls of red death closing in on him. As his skin flaked off in clumps of charcoal he looked back and saw it towering over the treetops, the epicenter of this howling vortex of destruction: the grey behemoth. Its burnished metal hide gleamed like copper, reflecting the fury of the conflagration burning well into the night.
Menash pulled his mind away before it was lost forever in the storm of electric potentials. He saw Racek and Vezda swaying on their feet, breathing hard and fast.
“Heart of the World,” he managed to gasp, “What is your bidding?”
The Hollowore maneuvered itself until it was facing him directly. Tiny beady eyes fixed him in their blank gaze. The node emitted a blue pulse and the creature shuddered as it received the signal. It opened a maw powerful enough to chew boulders into gravel and rumbled:
“This one is the alpha which survived first contact with anomalous variable. It will tell Us what occurred, and from whence this threat emerged.”
“It came from the karst mountain range, where the yellowjacket Amit live,” Menash replied, “It was destroying the largest mound in that area, massacring its inhabitants. It brought the mountain down on them—we’ve never seen anything like it. Zildiz was the first on the scene. She warned us not to approach, and that it was dangerous, but some of us,” here he cast an angry look at Vezda, “Some of us went ahead and tried to scavenge from the bodies of the dying. Then the behemoth ignited the air and burned scores of us to cinders.”
“Irrational. Why did you do this?”
“W-we thought that you had spawned the grey behemoth,” Menash stammered, embarrassed to say the least, “That it was the newest addition to the Great Game, another species of ultrafauna that would help perfect Arachnea.”
“Not so. It was made by an evil far older than the All-In-One,” replied the Vitalus, “It is called a Divine Engine. In cycles past, this evil sought to undo this world and all that inhabit it. In that, it almost succeeded.”
Menash felt his blood run cold at those words.
“Is it the only one of its kind?” Racek piped up. Menash and Vezda both bristled at his interruption; subordinates were only supposed to speak when spoken to.
“There were several deployed here in Our infancy. We had thought them all destroyed in the War of Creation.”
“Your Munificence,” Racek went on, heedless of the venomous looks he was getting from the other two, “Most of us survived because Zildiz persuaded us to dive into the river. She saved all our lives! But as I washed up on the riverbank, I saw the behemoth casting a seedpod into the skies. I did not see where it landed, but it was travelling in a high arc due east. Is this the behemoth’s method of reproducing? If so, then how many offspring can it generate from this one seed?”
The Vitalus met his questions with a minute of silence. Menash had never known It to take so long to respond to a query, and felt another stab of unease in his gut. Unless he was imagining things, the Vitalus seemed genuinely disturbed by the scenario that Racek has raised, enough to convince Menash that the danger was far from hypothetical.
“That is a distant possibility,” It said somewhat cryptically, “Regardless, We cannot allow the Engine’s continued existence.”
“Then it must be destroyed,” Vezda said, her barbed tail eagerly perking up.
“We are not certain that it can be,” the Vitalus said, and Menash heard Racek audibly gulp at the admission.
“But Your Omniscience, you alone are the arbiter of growth and decay,” Vezda said in disbelief, “Surely you can unmake this monster as well?”
“Perhaps. The Divine Engines were built to withstand the extremes of temperature, gravity, atmospheric pressure, acidity and irradiation found on semi-inhabitable exoplanets. Worlds of bareness and desolation, glassed by thermonuclear bombardment or infested with alien microorganisms. In the wars of Our youth, the Betrayers used tungsten-alloy warheads fired from space platforms to crack their bulkheads. Not even Our vessels, the Hollowores, could damage them in any significant way. We will need time to gather the raw materials and fabricate the weapons needed to end this threat.”
“What must we do?” Menash asked.
“If this variable is not dealt with, it could upset the delicate balance We have sacrificed so much to achieve. Already the wildfire it has caused will release close to 400 million metric tons of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere and destroy 2.3 million acres of forest before Our countermeasures can stop it. Time is our limiting factor. If the Engine cannot be destroyed now, it must be restrained.”
“It hasn’t moved an inch since we last saw it,” Vezda said brightly, “Maybe it has already died?”
“Yes, and maybe your mother was a horka toad,” Racek said snidely. Vezda scowled and took a step towards him, then stopped as she remembered that she trod on hallowed ground.
“Not so. It has merely gone dormant. Having expended its fuel, it is now running on the bare minimum of its reserves. My children, you must ensure that it does not wake again. Establish a quarantine zone around the Engine and let none approach, on pain of death. The Leaper kindreds will secure the ground while the Gallivants patrol the skies.”
Vezda and Menash exchanged troubled looks. Nobody wanted Leapers establishing a foothold in what was essentially a buffer zone between their subspecies. Once allowed to settle in a habitat, it would not take long for them to adapt and become masters of their new territory. Ousting them would become a battle of attrition, and given the lower birthrates of Gallivants, it was not one they could long afford.
“Respectfully, we do not require assistance from our brother kindred,” Menash ventured, “We are more than capable of safeguarding the area ourselves.”
The node throbbed again, the bioelectric flashes taking on an angry purple hue. With a sound like the grinding of a millstone the Hollowore clashed its claws together impatiently. All three of the mortals took a hasty step back.
“The alpha will obey, or another will be found that can,” the Vitalus growled at them, “All subspecies will observe a general truce during this period. This is a temporary addition to the Great Game. Those that serve Us well shall be rewarded. We shall also enlist the aid of your terrestrial cousins, as well as the Cataphract clans to replenish the soil, and lone Saints who shall rove beyond the quarantine zone.”
Menash’s unease deepened. The Vitalus was bringing together four different kindreds, some of which killed each other on sight, in a move that reeked of desperation. The kindreds had worked together before, of course, on complex projects such as altering rainfall patterns and husbanding struggling species, but never so many at once. This was bound to end in bloodshed.
“Those that break the truce shall be chemically neutered, and their gilt helix purged from the existing gene pool,” the Vitalus continued, “You will maintain this quarantine until We have dealt with the Engine.”
“It is understood!” Menash and Vezda said at once.
“But what about Zildiz?” Racek blurted out, again risking his entire lineage by speaking out of turn, “She might still be alive out there!”
“He’s right,” Menash found himself agreeing despite his dislike for Racek, “She’s our alpha, after all. It would be a shame to lose her helix. Do we have your leave to send out a party to recover her?”
The Vitalus pondered the request for a moment, then crushed his hopes when it said:
“Regrettable, the loss of the female. Valuable stock for the breeding program. But it has not responded to Our signals—it is unlikely to have survived. The female Vezda shall take up its duties as alpha.”
“But Your Benevolence—” both men cried out in unison.
“It is decided. She has risked the Great Game, and must abide by its outcome. To speak more on this would risk Our displeasure,” the god warned.
“We can’t spare the manpower anyway,” Vezda pointed out, trying not to look too pleased at Its decision. She darted a quick look at Menash, long enough for him to see the selfish desire festering in her heart. He turned away from her in disgust, baring his blades by the slightest of margins to let her know what he thought of her, then asked the Vitalus:
“But what of the Engine’s seedpod? Should we search for it?”
“Negative!” the Vitalus boomed, its node reinforcing the word with a spike of activity that sent needles of pain spearing into their heads, “We shall complete this task. It is dangerous and can be entrusted to no other.”
The Hollowore angled its massive head towards the cavernous ceiling, armored flaps on its back sliding aside as it unfurled sets of rigid sixty-meter wings. A wide sphincter on the roof gaped open and Menash saw the evening sky awash with the stars in their milky multitudes. The Hollowore took a deep breath through the spiracles lining its thorax and abdomen, pumping air through a pair of hollow tube-like protuberances under either of its wings. Menash and the others quickly scampered to a safe distance. Seconds later there was a scream of chemical combustion and the Hollowore rose into the evening skies, leaving behind a long trail of superheated gases, the backwash almost knocking Menash off his feet. They watched as the Hollowore gained altitude, making straight for the columns of billowing smoke on the horizon, a sweeping shadow blotting out the light of the heavens.
The Vitalus’ mental presence receded with it. When it did not return, they took it to mean that they were dismissed and likewise took flight and headed for Chthonis. They were hardly out of the Dawning Chamber when Vezda seized the scrawny Racek by his wings and anchored her feet right up against his back.
“Funny little man, are you? Crack jokes at my expense again, and I’ll see to it that you’ll never fly again!” she snarled, yanking hard. Racek yelled as his wings threatened to pop out of their sockets.
“Stop!” Menash said, ramming his shoulder into her and knocking the smaller male out of her grip. Vezda rounded on him, blades out and her tail aquiver with rage.
“As for you! No one should speak to the Vitalus like that!” she shrieked, “Much less gainsay It! Are you trying to get us all killed? It is the source and continuance of life itself—”
“But the Vitalus doesn’t always consider the individual scale of things,” Menash reasoned, controlling his rising anger as he tried to defuse the situation, “Its scope of thought is beyond ours. Therefore it is up to us to look after each other. None of us can win the Great Game alone. We need people like Zildiz for the species to prosper.”
“Your logic is flawed,” Vezda spat, “Empathy is a sham devised by the selfish action of the gene, which seeks only to preserve itself. At least I am honest enough to look after my own interests. Your obsession with that whore is misplaced. Heed my words, Menash. What happened today marks a change in the Great Game. Only the ruthless will reap the rewards of this era. Think on that, and act accordingly.”
The female darted off in another direction, leaving the two behind.
“Thanks,” Racek said, rubbing at his sore shoulders, “My, my. She’s really taking her promotion very seriously, isn’t she?”
“This doesn’t make us friends,” Menash said shortly, “We share a common interest, that’s all.”
The two flew together in silence for a time, the dark canopy unrolling below their feet. Racek had always been a bitter rival for Zildiz’s affections. In the mating seasons he and Menash had flown the damsel-dance against each other countless times, racing and dogfighting at top speed through the dense bamboo thickets in an effort to impress her.
But each time she had always chosen Menash. Naturally. He was the stronger, the braver, the son of the Scourge who had slain hundreds on his lightning raids into Leaper territory. Their pairings had been brief and passionate, yet she had always laughed at the end and gone on her merry way, a rose petal borne on a scented breeze, the dalliance as meaningless to her as other concerns like eating or breathing.
But not to him. Right now, all that mattered was her. And Racek was the only one in the whole wide world who knew exactly how he felt. Did that mean he could be trusted? Menash considered the enormity of what he was about to do, and wavered. Then he saw her face in the darkness of his home, the face she wore when they were all alone together, and he took a deep breath before breaking the silence, saying:
“I’ll be in charge of the quarantine. I can arrange for you to disappear for a few days. I can have one of the younglings mimic your magnetosynaptic signal, make it seem like you’re with the rest of us.”
“You’d do that? For me?” Racek said in astonishment.
“Hah. Not for you,” Menash laughed softly. He looked Racek straight in the eyes and continued: “What’ll it be, then?”
If he so much as hesitates, I’ll have to kill him here and now, Menash told himself.
“Why, yes. Yes, of course!” the little brown male said vigorously.
“Good,” Menash sighed with relief, “She’ll be very grateful to whoever brings her home. I’d do it myself, but as an alpha I can’t risk being seen as disobedient.”
“Then why give me this chance? After all that’s passed between us?”
“I should have thought that was obvious,” Menash replied. Racek digested that for a bit, then out of nowhere said:
“If I find her—when I find her—I’ll tell her exactly who it was that sent me.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Bah! Just so we’re even, that’s all,” Racek grinned, his mouthparts slanting askew.
“Thanks, I guess. I’d…I’d appreciate that. You do understand what we’re risking here, right?”
“Sure. We’ll be total genetic write-offs if we’re caught. But it’s not like I wanted to see tiny ugly Raceks running around the house anyway. What about you, though? Why are you putting your neck on the chopping block?”
“You know why,” Menash said quietly, his thoughts still lingering on her face.
“Yes,” Racek agreed with a wistful air, “Yes, I suppose I do.”
And the pair spoke no more until they reached Chthonis.
Link for all the chapters available for free here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road

FYI, this is a story COLLECTION. Lots of standalones technically. So, you can basically start to read at any chapter, no pre-read of the other chapters needed technically (other than maybe getting better descriptions of characters than: Adam Vir=human, Krill=antlike alien, Sunny=tall alien, Conn=telepathic alien). The numbers are (mostly) only for organization of posts and continuity.
OC Written by Charlie Stastarrfallknightrise,
Typed up and then posted here by me.
Proofreading and language check for some chapters by u/Finbar9800 u/BakeGullible9975 u/Didnotseemecomein and u/medium_jock
Future Lore and fact check done by me.
Caution swearing!
Also, god I love you Conn… please never change!
Previous First [Next](link)
Want to find a specific one, see the whole list or check fanart?
Here is the link to the master-post.
"Both of you get your suits back on."
"What the hell is going on!?”
Richards demanded, Adam took a deep breath,
"Captain Richards that was not an opening for a discussion, that was an order. Now put the damn suit on, or I swear I will knock you out and do it myself!”
The three of them were floating in the module staring at each other, hands resting against what must have been no more than a few millimeters of aluminum.
He stared at them, and they stared back.
Adam did not break eye contact with the two, willing them to do as they were told. Chavez was the first to move, hurrying over to her space suit and struggling to pull it on in a near panic as bright lights flashed from outside. Inside his heart was pounding but he tried to remain calm for the two standing before him.
He hurried over to help Chavez pull on her gear, finally sealing the helmet in place as Richards finally moved to do the same.
Adam helped pull the hard torso over the man's head and link it to the waist before helping him pull on his gloves and, eventually the helmet. Before he let go, he kept hold of Richards by either side of the helmet staring at him through the glass,
"I promise, if you listen to me, I will keep you safe."
He kept eye contact with the other man until Richards finally nodded, and Adam let him go to float over and put on his own suit. His hands were steady, for now, but he knew as soon as the crisis was over he'd be shaking like a leaf.
If he survived…
He gritted his teeth, cursing himself for thinking like that.
He was Admiral Vir for crying out loud. He had survived far too much to go and die now.
He returned to the helm of the command module as he looked out the thick window at the lights flashing on either side of them. Despite the war that was raging around them, everything seemed so strangely quiet. There was no sound no rumbling, not even a vibration as one of the jets flew past. Despite being at the controls of the vehicle, there was nothing he could do. They only had a certain amount of fuel to get them to the lunar surface, and if he wasted any of it at all, they would be either caught in orbit, or miss the moon entirely.
He had to keep his cool.
Another bright burst of light lit the window to his right. This one was closer this time.
His heart leaped up into his throat.
Richards and Chaves joined him buckling into their seats.
"What is going on?”
Richards demanded again, his mike distant and tinny with the sound of very old technology.
"I believe Anti-Alliance forces are attempting to assassinate me. They have been trying for months now, and I think they are being encouraged by very powerful members of the government."
They watched as another set of ships zoomed past.
He saw a flash of a silhouette, just enough to know that one of them was a Thunderhawk and the other was a silver Rundi drone.
It confirmed his worst fears. The Chairwoman had been behind this the whole time!
[…]
Red nearly collided with the rocket. The Thunderhawk had pulled up the last minute, but he had almost been too late. He jerked the stick to the side, throwing up his wing just in time to avoid hitting the rocket as it made its slow way through space. He dove down on the other side forced to break off pursuit and cut in front of another Thunderhawk coming in from above. He made to look like he was going to ram them, playing a dangerous game of chicken, which he won at the last second as the other pilot panicked and cut to the left.
There were too many of them. Only five out of the original twenty had been destroyed, and he and the rest of their pilots were busy just keeping the thunder hawks away from the rocket, much less to have any time of firing at them. He had sent one of his people down to earth and one of them off towards the moon for backup. The moon was still hours away yet, so the hope that some help would be sent from them was unlikely, and even the woman he had sent down to earth's surface was cutting it close.
He didn't have much hopes that they would be able to hold out that long.
Inside the cockpit his warning lights began to blink and blair as one of the other jets got a lock on him. He rolled right to avoid them and dove down, cutting off the lock but still being pursued by those behind him. Up ahead he saw one of the silver balls erupt into flames as it was targeted by an expert hit from one of the Thunderhawk pilots.
He rolled right.
Someone else rolled left. He cut up just in time to avoid being hit and raced forward to cut off another Thunderbird that was heading directly towards the rocket.
[…]
Eris hurried down the hallway, her knees screaming as she did her very best to sprint, but despite her human anatomy, she was a little too much like a starborn.
With a cry of frustration she reached up and tore off her hoodie, throwing it to the ground and engaging her anti-gravity belt. The ribbons on her back billowed out behind her.
Light spilled in from the windows on either side of the catwalk she was now on, filling her with a buzzing energy that she could feel radiating through the ribbons like electricity. She knew from her study of starborn that they could travel at thousands of miles an hour in the vacuum of space, especially when under the power of a star. She didn't think she needed to go THAT fast, but anything would be better than what she was doing now.
As if in response to her will, she suddenly began to glide forward, picking up speed as she swooped towards the end of the hall, wind catching her in the face and roaring along her cheeks. With her starborn skin, she barely felt a thing as she raced around the corner and out of the waiting door. Two men dressed in military ACUs dived to the side as she blew past them crying out in alarm and confusion as the "Alien" floated by.
Somewhere distantly, she could sense Conn racing in the opposite direction towards the base.
Sunny and Admiral Kelly had Admiral Massie in their custody and were dragging him out into the hallway.
She blew across the open ground her ribbons snapping and billowing behind her as she did. She didn't even have time to imagine what she looked like as she roared over the open field and towards the waiting news vans which were just beginning to pack up their things. They were close to leaving, but she set out a sharp hard telepathic pulse ordering them to stop.
Compelling them to stop.
They froze in their tracks and looked up to see her coming.
Someone scrambled to turn on their camera, not sure what was going on but sure it had to be something good.
She tried not to think about what they would see as the camera flared to life following her approach.
"Make us live."
She ordered,
The news people glanced between each other in confusion,
"But no… we aren’t-"
"What are-"
She came to a sudden jolting stop before them, her billowing black hair fanning out behind her like a curling halo.
"I said, put us on air."
This time the telepathic pulse was too strong to resist. Mostly that, paired with the fact that none of them were sure they really wanted to resist. She was way too interesting to pass up.
They hurried to do what they were doing, and Eris was given just enough time to feel nervous before the camera was turned to her.
They were live.
She read it in the minds of those behind camera who she cut off as she began to speak,
"Citizens of Earth, there has been a horrible conspiracy against you. The UN president has ordered the assassination of Admiral Adam Vir and has continually attempted to sabotage the mission. Just now General Massie was taken into custody after ordering the deployment of twenty Thunderhawk’s to harass the rocket and make its destruction look like some sort of collision with space debris."
The group gawked at her as she raised her hand with the small silver device and began playing the recording.
She knew something like this would never be admissible in court. She was pretty sure it would be considered entrapment of some kind, which is why it must be heard now, before everyone, so that the actions of the president could be judged by a jury of the world where it could not be hidden by political machinations.
"Communications have been lost with Apollo 11. And it is... Well... It is likely that he is already dead..."
Her voice broke,
"No matter what happens, I need you, and this nation to understand what is happening before it gets swept under the rug. I saw it with my own eyes, heard it with my own ears and experienced their meeting in the thoughts of a man who is both xenophobic and hateful to his own humankind."
She kept talking trying to give them all the information she could, spilling thoughts she had heard in the head of the UN president and General Massie alike. Every meeting, every liaison, every name until her voice was beginning to crack.
[…]
The UN president was just standing to enter her vehicle when a slow muttering began in the crowd behind her. She turned as the ground before her went silent.
She watched as a wave ran through the people. A wave of nudging and whispering and showing off news feeds they had pulled up on their wrist implants. It wasn't long before the entire crowd was either staring down at their arms or clustered around someone else for viewing.
"What is going on?”
She wondered, turning to one of her men who was staring down at her own wrist.
"Madame president?"
He said with a look of confusion.
She could hear it now.
"Her and General Massie have ordered members of the UNSC to adjust funds in order to hide the twenty Thunderhawk’s they were squirting away for just such an event."
She hurried forward, grabbing the secret serviceman by the arm, staring at it as she watched the streaming newsfeed and the freaky white alien with the large dark eyes and flowing black hair.
"She is afraid of aliens, she wishes to isolate and eventually use humanity's superior forces to overtake trade in the galaxy, forceful if need be."
The muttering behind her had turned into an angry grumbling, and she turned to see the eyes of hundreds that turned towards her.
"Get me out of here."
She hissed. the Secret Serviceman took a step back with a look of confusion and indecision on his face.
"It's your job."
She snarled, but he just stared at her.
She hurriedly ran over to her car as the crowd began to filter in around them pressing close. A few of the secret service men pulled guns, but a large majority of them were frozen with indecision and were taken over by the crowd. She scrambled into the back seat of her vehicle and slammed the door shut screaming at the driver to get moving.
The crowd was surrounding them now, pounding at the glass.
She could hear their angry voices raised for her to be heard behind bullet proof glass.
Outside, she watched a lone figure step onto the platform where the lectern was and stare at her with its beady black eyes. The Chairwoman of the GA stood over the crowd like it's filthy alien lord.
And even though Rundi could not smile, she could swear it was smiling.
[…]
Baby K hit a rough patch of turbulence coming down from the atmosphere. She struggled with the controls as she was thrown left and right inside the cockpit of her rickety shuttle.
Donovan Red had ordered her down here to grab the UNSC, but she was so scared and full of adrenaline that she had dropped it at too steep an angle. The ride was much bumpier than it was supposed to be, and her teeth were rattling inside her head.
Just then two Jets suddenly cut in behind her out of nowhere, and she heard her console beep and warn her about a lock on, making it clear that she was just one click of a trigger away from imminent doom.
"This is Eagle Dispatch One, unidentified vessel, you have crossed into restricted UNSC airspace, identify yourself or be destroyed! You have ten seconds to comply, over."
She scrambled for her communications, but her fingers felt as stiff as wood as she scrambled for the button.
"I repeat, this is Eagle Dispatch One, unidentified vessel, you have entered restricted UNSC airspace, you are ordered to identify yourself or be destroyed. Five seconds remaining. Over."
She slammed her first into the comms button nearly panicking,
"UNSC!"
Her voice was rattling,
"This is B-baby K, and I... The Apollo 11 is under attack!"
She was breathless as she forced the words out.
There was silence over the coms,
"Say again? Uhm I mean please repeat over.”
"Apollo 11 is under attack!"
”…”
”…”
More silence,
”Roger that. Please stand by. Over."
The lock lifted and the two jets pulled up to the side of her, staying close now.
She recognized those jets as two F-90 Darkfires.
They stayed by her side for a moment, and as close as they were she could see one of the pilots fidgeting with the coms, talking and wildly gesticulating, while his copilot was beginning to wildly flip switches.
Meanwhile, a second voice came in over the coms.
"On your left! Eagle Dispatch Two here, unidentified vessel, please land on UNSC base airstrip one. Just contact the control tower once you get close for guidance and instruction."
Baby K looked over into the other jet, just to see the pilot adjusting his helmet and clicking an oxygen tube to the front of his helmet. His co-pilot had already put the additional oxygen mask on and was also flipping switches.
”Uhm aren’t you going to escort me?”
Baby K managed to blurt out in confusion,
”Godspeed Baby K, Eagle Dispatch Two over and out.”
Both men in the jet to her left had apparently finished their preparations and gave her a quick salute.
Then suddenly, both jets adjusted their angle and cut engines, before switching to their big fusion engines, rocketing them up and out of sight within seconds.
[…]
So far it had been a relatively quiet day at the Ellington Field Joint Reserve Base. Most of the air traffic had been canceled due to the launch of the Apollo mission, so there was not much to do, leaving much of the Airport less staffed than normal.
In the Air Traffic Control tower of the base, only two men were working. Though “working” was stretching it, considering Senior Controller M. Fredrick was currently in the middle of his book (though he was at least in front of his station) and his comrade Senior ATC Instructor A. Millard was currently sitting in a corner, watching a movie on his implant.
”So what are you watching? One of those old Star Wars movies?”
”You bet! Those are the best! By the way any info on that “lost civilian” who got into our airspace?”
”No not yet, though I sent Eagle Dispatch and told them to be extra unfriendly, that will scare these civilians off for sure!”
”Pffft, why couldn’t they watch the start like any other person? There is always some dumb rich kid doing dumb stuff with daddies private shuttle… I don’t understand why we always let them off with a warning…”
The console started beeping,
”Oh look that’s them now!”
”Put ‘em on speakers!”
”Will do!”
…
”ATC this is Eagle, come the FUCK in!”
Fredrick rolled his eyes,
”Ahem… This is Elling Field ATC, calling Eagle Dispatch One. We hear you, over.”
”ATC what the FUCK took you so long!?”
”Ellington Field ATC, to Eagle Dispatch one, firstly: language, secondly: please follow standard radio rules, over.”
”THE APOLLO IS UNDER ATACK BY HOSTILE ELEMENTS!”
”Ellingt-WHAAAAT!? Repeat please! Over!”
”THE APOLLO IS BEEING ATACKED BY HOSTILE ELEMENTS! REQUETING IMMEDIATE ASSIST!”
Fredrick just stared at Millard dumbfounded. As the senior officer Millard was quick to collect himself and jumped up and towards his console.
”What are you waiting for Fredrick! Are we blind!? DEPLOY THE GARRISON!”
Fredrick ignored all protocol and just flipped the switch to connect his comms to every recipient available.
”ATC to all personnel and everyone who can hear me, the Apollo is under attack, I repeat, the apollo is under attack. I want all available planes that can reach the outer atmosphere ready ASAP! Get the darkfires on the runway I want them in the air yesterday!”
[…]
Conn raced towards the airstrip, feeling the wind in the ribbons at his back. He couldn't go nearly as fast as he wanted to with air resistance.
Why the hell did Adam always have to get into so much trouble, why did he always have to be the center of attention!?
Everyone either hated him or loved him, but the problem was people who hated him also wanted to kill him.
Why did he have to be so controversial!?
Why did he have to be hated for something that was such a big deal. Why couldn't he be hated for having controversial political opinions. Conn paused…
On second thought, controversial political opinions were kind of what had gotten them here in the first place, so he guessed that was kind of a useless comparison. How about being the kind of guy who liked to talk too much about fishing. That was a great way to make people hate you for being boring, but it didn't usually mean that people wanted to kill you.
Maybe they could get the man a hobby doing something that wasn't so controversial…
Like…
Kicking small Animals or…
Cannibalism.
He came roaring to the stop at the edge of the airfield just in time to watch an entire platoon of pilots racing towards jets. He could hear their minds and looked up to see a rather dinky shuttle descending from the sky. He floated forward towards one of the jets as two pilots leaped inside.
He was going to need a ride.
The pilots turned to look at him, but Conn just shook his head.
The pilots decided to ignore him in the confusion and Conn grabbed on tight.
Starborn, he had come to learn, were a very interesting species in comparison to others. Vertically, as in from the top down he was very fragile and likely to break his neck or collapse his spine if there was any kind of pressure, but with horizontal forces, he was practically indestructible. Below him the ship roared to life and soon they were gathering speed along the runway.
His grip was tight, and he used the extra energy from his ribbons to speed himself up along with the jet to reduce the pull on his arms.
His grip wasn't that strong.
They went vertical almost immediately, and he made sure to orient his body in the correct direction as they went hurtling into the sky.
[…]
Red's right wing had been hit. If there had been atmosphere around him he would have been a goner, but there was no air resistance here, so once he regained control of his roll, he pulled back into position and fired one last shot as the opportunity arose. The sixth Thunderhawk was destroyed in an eruption of debris, which he dodged only with difficulty, limping without the aid of the maneuvering jet on the end of his one wing. Things were only speeding up now, the Rundi were almost gone and the pressure was being laid thick on his people. They were hard to hit but the pursuit made it almost impossible for them to do any real maneuvering of their own. He was almost hit again as another Thunderhawk sped underneath him. They rolled this way and that rocking from one side to the other. Flying through debris and over strips of silver metal.
Below them the earth hung as a glowing orb.
Red cut in a wide circle coming in with the sun at his back, using it to blind one of the enemy Thunderhawk’s as he came in. He watched the group of them form up suddenly as a ring around the slow moving rocket, intending quite certainly to rush it all at once. He screamed into the comm trying to order his men around, but it was going to be too late, he could already see it coming.
The jets rushed forward, and he did too, screaming inside his helmet as they went to broadside Apollo 11.
And then with all the silence of space, sixteen F-90 Dark Fires came spitting overhead all at once, raining down a line of ordinance that cut through the group of unsuspecting Thunderhawk’s.
Space around them was filled with a myriad of silent explosions as each and every one of them was ripped to shreds.
All except one…
He saw it at the last moment.
It had been hit in the tail and had gone wildly off course.
It turned sideways, but had just enough force... For its wing to tear straight through the aluminum siding of the rocket.
FUCK!
[…]
Chavez and Richards had been ordered to strap into their seats.
Adam had taken it upon himself to lock down the rest of the main cabin. Outside the flashing lights were like a fireworks display without sound. He grabbed onto one of the rails, forcing equipment back into place, so that if anything happened it wouldn't fly out.
His legs were kicked up behind him as he floated forward reaching for some of the controls as a sudden bright wash of light filtered in through the windows. He heard a scream over his com, and then the air around him was rent with a horrific tearing noise, which suddenly went silent. There was a rush, and he jerked forward as he was sucked back... And out of the ship entirely.
His hands and legs kicked and flailed as he tried to right himself, hearing his own breathing as the only sound as he watched the rocket begin to spin, debris erupting around him as air, and whatever wasn't strapped down was sucked through the small opening.
The rocket was spinning wildly but still on course, while he was spinning wildly in a silent abyss.
Grunting against the force of his spin, he reached down for the controls to the CO2 canister built into the pack of his spacesuit.
He groaned, not sure which way was up or down or back. He tried to right himself against the spin by firing in the opposite direction to slow his spin.
He could see the rocket now spinning in the opposite direction with the sudden loss of oxygen. He hoped the other astronauts were ok. He saw the silhouette of a jet fly past in the distance making its way towards the spinning rocket.
At least there was someone here to help.
Maybe the others would survive-
And then he just… stopped, coming to a confusing halt in the middle of space.
That shouldn't have been right!
He should have kept going forever!
He tried turning his head, but he felt like the pillsbury doughboy in this two thousand year old suit.
What was happening?
"Did you miss me Baby?”
Well shit, now he sort of wished he could keep spinning.
There was a tugging on the outside of his suit, and Conn floated into view in front of his helmet.
"Hey sweetheart."
"You are probably the last person I wanted to see."
He said, though he didn't entirely mean it, and unfortunately Conn knew that too, the mindreading asshole that he was.
”I could hardly let the father of my child go spinning off into space without taking accountability for his family. After al child support is paying way more than widows pension."
"Shove it up your ass Conn."
"No really, not even the vacuum of space is going to save you from your responsibilities. Now, about custody, I was thinking you could have every other weekend and a couple of major holidays…”
He gave a rueful sort of smile as Conn grabbed him by the life support pack and started floating them towards the rocket.
The F-90s had somehow managed to slow the spin of the rocket, and pull it back on course with grappling magnets.
All around them space was filled with debris. No more working Thunderhawk’s were present and those that were were quickly being grappled. One sleek racing jet slowly cruised past them. One of its wings was damaged, but whoever was inside waved with one hand as he rolled past.
Adam lifted a hand as Conn brought him the last few hundred feet to the torn opening in the side of the ship, allowing him to step through.
Conn patted him on the side of the helmet,
"Make sure to be home by dinnertime sweetie."
Before blowing him a kiss and vanishing back out the hole.
Adam floated there, a bit nonplussed for a moment before turning back to the front of the ship where Chaves and Richards were still strapped into their seats staring at him and after Conn. He floated over to strap himself in.
"Admiral! You're ok!”
"Yes, it seems that I am, thanks to a... Friend of mine."
Just then Conn appeared again just before their right side window, and like the classy gentlemen that he was began rubbing his butt up against the glass.
He sighed,
"Friend is kind of stretching it."
"Apollo 11 this is Houston, do you copy!"
The man on the other end of the line sounded close to tears, and Adam hurried to respond,
"Houston this is Apollo 11."
On the other side he thought he heard the sound of voices cheering in relief.
"What is your status, over?”
"We are a bit beat up Houston, we have a tear in our hull, but our suits are ok, and we have help."
"Prepare to abort mission."
Adam frowned,
"Now wait a second there Houston! I didn't get sucked out the side of my own rocket to just quit now. Tell the boys to come up here and patch us up and we can finish the mission. All systems are still functioning, and we are back on course."
He glanced over at the others,
”That is, if the crew wants to continue."
There was a pause and then Chavez timidly piped in,
"I'd be ok with that."
Richards sighed,
"Roger Houston, patch us up."
Granted it may have been cheating. Apollo 11 hadn't had support with special tools that could just patch up a spaceship within ten minutes, but then again the original Apollo 11 hadn't been in the middle of a firefight while on their journey to the moon.
So it was with some trepidation that Houston allowed it, and before long they had air back inside the cabin back up to pressure, but they also had a sixteen-man rotating escort for the rest of the way.
The group of them were even shocked to see Rundi drones join the formation, only to learn that it had been the UN president who had allegedly called the hit on him. It was hard to believe, but they were only getting snippets here and then from over radio and from Conn, who floated around occasionally to rub another part of his anatomy against the window and give them teasing updates.
The moon was growing slowly in their vision.
"Hehe, I can see my house from here."
Adam remarked as they prepared to detach the lunar module from the rest of the ship.
They landed without incident, observed by mobile camera crews and news reporters as he made his own footprint on the never changing dust of the moon's surface. He gave them a thumbs up to let them know he was fine and hesitated only once before setting up the UN flag in the dirt. He refused to let his enthusiasm be dampened by the day's events and hopped around dancing and leaping for joy as another one of his childhood dreams was fulfilled.
…
That was before he plowed face first into the moon's surface and required help from Richards to stand back up again.
They left soon after taking another three days of escort back to earth before strapping themselves in for final entry.
Conn left them just as they were entering orbit with a very big and very drawn out middle finger for all three of them.
"Your friend is super delightful isn't he?”
"You don’t know the half of it, try having a child with him."
Adam muttered, refusing to elaborate even as they stared at him in confusion.
They fell from the sky and landed somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, picked up by the waiting navy vessel who was within nine miles of their landing site. They were fished from the water and returned safe and sound to the ship to cheers and cameras. Adam's legs felt a little like jelly after days of not using them, and he was finally able to relax lying on the deck of the ship under the sun as people ran around them on either side.
His hands shook slowly building up after the stress of the last week. He took long deep breaths and closed his eyes.
The next few days were going to be a real shit show.
And somehow it wasn’t because he was now known as the man who faceplanted not one, but TWO interstellar bodies…
The media was way to busy with the other story, a massive net of deceit and corruption that would now be uncovered.
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Want to find a specific one, see the whole list or check fanart?
Here is the link to the master-post.
Intro post by me
OC-whole collection
Patreon of the author
Thanks for reading! As you saw in the title, this is a cross posted story written by starrfallknightrise and I'll just upload some of it here for you guys, if you are interested and want to read ahead, the original story-collection can be found on tumblr or wattpad to read for free. (link above this text under "OC:..." ) It is the Empyrean Iris story collection by starfallknightrise. Also, if you want to know more about the story collection i made an intro post about it, so feel free to check that out to see what other great characters to look forward to! (Link also above this text). I have no affiliations to the author; just thought I’d share some of the great stories you might enjoy a lot!
Obviously, I have Charlie’s permission to post this and for the people already knowing the stories, or starting to read them: If you follow the link and check out the story you will see some differences. I made some small (non-artistic) changes, mainly correcting writing mistakes, pronoun correction and some small additional info here and there of things which were not thought of/forgotten or even were added/changed in later stories (like the “USS->UNSC” prefix of Stabby, Chalar=/->Sunny etc). As well as some "biggemajor" changes in descriptions and info’s for the same stringency/continuity reason. That can be explained by the story collection being, well a story collection at the start with many standalone-stories just starring the same people, but later on it gets more to a stringent storyline with backstories and throwbacks. (For example Adam Vir has some HEAVY scars over his body, following his bones, which were not really talked about up till half the collection, where it says it covers his whole body and you find out via backflash that he had them the whole time and how he got them, they just weren't mentioned before. However, I would think a doctor would at least see these scars before that, especially since he gets analyzed, treated and goes shirtless/in T-shirts in some stories). So TLDR: Writing and some descriptions are slightly changed, with full OK from the author, since he himself did not bother to correct these things before.

CHAPTER 9 – ENTROPY
DATE: MARCH 10th, 7 A.U. (AFTER UNIFICATION) LOCATION: SOL SYSTEM, ABOARD UTRN INDOMITABLE WILL
CAPTAIN HENRY O’TOOLE
"Ah, there you are Commander. Your message said there was something you wanted to talk with me about?" Henry asked as his executive officer approached the system map.
“Aye Captain, now's a good a time as any. As you know, the rate of disciplinary incidents has more than tripled in the last two weeks. We've had six fistfights, one near strangling, a few dozen counts of sexual harassment amongst different parties, and a few more incidents of a nature that I would rather not get into for fear of derailing the point of this conversation. I need additional resources to allocate towards ship internal security. With your permission, I'd like to borrow some of our more trusted marines to help the MA's out on their off shifts.” Commander Alvarez asked.
“Yeah, of course, take what you need to nip this in the bud. I can't say I'm entirely surprised; we expected a certain amount of this with the stresses of FTL travel. With everyone cooped up like this, maybe we should brainstorm some new outlets for the crew. Were there any specific incidents I need to get involved with?” Henry replied as he looked up from the list of updates and reports on his own console.
“No, I have it covered. It's just the regs state I need to ask permission to use marines for internal security matters.” The Commander waved it off.
“Excellent, continue to keep me in the loop then. Can I ask you a question?” Henry took the opportunity to ask something that had been bothering him.
“You just did. Hah! Just kidding, put the axe away boy! Now what would you like to know?” He said with a twinkle in his eye.
“I've seen your file, well, the parts that weren’t redacted anyway. If anything, I should be taking your orders! I mean, you're the Space Wolf! Nobody came even close to the number of ships captured or destroyed than you in the early days of the battle for the belt. Why would they want me to be captain when they had someone like you coming along the whole time? Why aren't you a captain anymore? By all right this should be your command, not mine.” Henry asked, after taking one last look around to verify they were still alone around the system map.
Commander Alvarez seemed stunned for a moment before he settled into a more pensive look.
“Listen, son, you're all full of the vigor and high passions of youth. By that I mean you've got a certain fire and aggression in you, yet I've seen you generally keep it balanced by wit and wisdom. You are a perfect match for the job, even if you could use some more real world experience. With some guidance, you'll do just fine, if you can keep strict standards for yourself and crew and a cool head when things get tough."
"I appreciate that, and I will definitely lean on your experience whenever possible. However, you didn't really answer my question... Why aren't you a captain anymore?"
"I... got a lot of damn good men and women killed in an impossible situation when we lost the Michigan-II, and I never truly got over it. No amount of medals, captured enemy ships, or the fact that I've saved many more lives than I lost can make up for that. I finally found peace with that, but that peace required that I relieve myself of any chance of future command. My legacy, for better or worse, is set in stone. Joining this expedition gives me another chance at adjusting the scales without breaking my former vows, even if the only people who will ever know it are here on the voyage with us.”
“So, you claim you have no aims or desires for leadership, but here you are a mere heartbeat away from it.” Henry said, carefully studying his executive officer's every reaction.
“My time for glory is mostly gone, yours is at your feet before you. To the world, I am retired in comfort and isolation. In reality you have me here to help make your will law. You can relax. I already turned down command of this expedition. I was plan A, why do you think they had to scramble to find you? I will take command of this mission only if you are incapable of doing so yourself, Sir. In the meantime, let my experience and whatever wisdom I can offer guide you.”
An emergency alert snapped both of their attention out of their conversation. "There's a fire in one of the officer's cabins?!" Henry’s pulse quickened as he referenced the map to find which one.
“Fuck, it started in Chantal’s room!” Henry said, horrified.
“I've got the CIC under control. Go on and get her out of there, I'll send the cavalry."
“Thank you, Commander.” Henry called back over his shoulder as he rushed for the quick lift.
The officer cabins were the in the very next deck overhead, so he was able to arrive quickly and break into a sprint. The ship shifted as it dodged some antimatter, causing Henry to slip and scramble back to his feet. As he rounded the corner he saw her door was closed and the keypad powered was off. He could hear thumps and muffled screaming from within the room.
"HANG ON CHANTAL, I'M COMING!" Henry shouted in the hope that she could hear him as he pried at the manual override panel.
Two modified Paladin exo-combat armor suits rounded the corner seconds later with a hospitalman trailing behind pushing a medical cart.
"WE'LL TAKE IT FROM HERE, SIR." A speaker-amplified voice spoke from behind him.
One of the Paladin suits accessed the manual control override and forced the door open enough for the other suit to reach in and pry it the rest of the way open as smoke plumed into the corridor. The second suit charged into the room with its flood lights on as a water cannon mounted on the right wrist sprayed flame retardant from a pack on its back. The first suit abandoned the door control and entered, emerging moments later with Chantal awake and coughing from inside the darkened door frame. She was quickly ushered into cleaner air, set gently down, wrapped in a blanket, and was quickly attended to by a hospitalman who began to check her vitals.
Relief flooded Henry’s mind as his adrenaline surge broke against the wall of worry he had built up during his mad dash from the CIC.
“Baby you came for me! I thought I was going to die in there." She pulled him into a tight embrace as she wept in cathartic release.
"Of course I did! I couldn't stand to lose you, especially not over something like this. So, what the hell happened in there?"
"Well you know me, I was all burning the midnight oil and then I smelled smoke! Then there were some sparks, the outlet pops then whoosh! My computer station and my desk are all ablaze along with half my notes, then the damned door wouldn't work! I had to drop to the floor under the smoke and pound on the door in hopes that someone would hear me. God, it was horrible... I don't think I've ever been so scared in my life." She replied with a deep shudder.
"You're safe now, it's going to be alright."
"I know, but what about my work?" She replied with a forlorn look back at her smoke damaged room.
"What about your work?"
"As you know, I lost a ton of it just now, but what’s worse is I don't even have the ability to recover them! Remember how I lost my backup drive last week? Like, I know I packed it and it is not here anywhere! It’s like some sick cosmic joke on me or something. Sorry! Gotta keep it positive, girl! I get to rethink my last few weeks’ worth of work from scratch... that was almost positive! I probably have most of this recoverable from email sent box backups. Fuck, what do you do if there's no good silver lining?” Chantal bemoaned.
Henry couldn’t help himself but laugh for a second, while his girlfriend stared at him, waiting for a response.
“I’m sorry, is this funny to you or something?”
“No, no of course not. This might be one of those times where the only silver lining is that you're alive. Plus, if anyone can remember and rebuild their notes, you can." Henry smiled down at her.
“Fine, fine, at least I am alive. I was only breathing smoke for a few seconds after all.” She said, rolling her eyes. “Thank you for rushing down here right away anyway, it means a lot. You're amazing, you know.”
Henry smiled, slightly uncomfortable for a moment, so he changed the subject.
“I do my best... Anyway, it seems like these electrical issues seem to be getting worse instead of better. Whatever patch these clowns have slapped on my ship to get her to pass inspection is clearly coming undone. What do you think is going on here?” Henry asked in mild exasperation.
“Honestly, I can’t tell you without digging into the systems myself, which I would rather avoid. My plate is full enough as it is right now, especially having to reproduce so much of my own work now. This ship has kilometers of power cables running throughout it, after all, and you have an entire loyal, capable team down there in electrical, so it should only be a matter of time before they sort it out for you. Let them do their jobs without harassing them too much, please?”
Henry felt a little irked at her for not giving him credit to know not to go overboard, but he stowed it, seeing as she ultimately was right.
“The crew has been under a lot of stress, too, between the technical issues with the lights going out, losing power to workstations, or the constant antimatter threat. More than a few people have tried to convince me to turn us around and return to S33 for a more in-depth refit and repair cycle before we try the mission again. So far, everyone has accepted the fact that we are continuing the mission without much argument, but I fear what may happen if these issues are seen as getting worse. Our orders are clear, though, we must continue the journey.” Henry said, uncomfortable with the implications, even if he didn't dare voice it.
“You should get on the Q-Comm to report the fire to S33. Maybe they will order us back to base after this.” She offered, looking for a solution to an impossible problem.
“Good idea, at least the Q-Comm is still working. It’s incredible to me those particles maintained their entanglement once we passed through the baryonic barrier. That alone has been a huge morale boost, being able to contact home base with no time lag.” Henry replied.
“It’s incredible to you because you only have a basic grasp of the science, hon. But that’s alright, very few people truly understand it. That’s in part what you have me here for anyway. Einstein called the effect spooky action from a distance; I always liked that line.”
Henry ran his fingers through his hair and looked at Chantal, with a shake of his head and a smile.
“Listen, Henry, I just had a crazy stressful experience and I need to unwind. Plus, I haven’t slept in almost a day, so I am bone tired. Let’s go to bed, huh? What do you say doc, am I clear to go?” Chantal asked.
The hospitalman closed her eyes and shook her head before responding. "Yes, you are cleared to rest, and only to rest, do you understand me?"
Chantal mouthed a thank you before she took Henry by the hand and led him off to the captain’s quarters. Henry felt no desire to fight it, nor flaw with her reasoning. Sleep sounded good, really good. Plus, he was about an hour from the start of his sleep shift anyway, and Alvarez had the CIC well covered. The lights flickered again, but Henry very purposefully ignored it.
“Hey, since we have a little time and we are both a little wound up, Why don’t we take a shower together real quick?” She said with genuine enthusiasm and a wink.
“Madam, I like the way you think.” The couple raced just a bit faster than regulations would have liked, and arrived at his door in record speed.
Inside the room they fell upon each other in great passion and need, stripping each other out of their BDU’s and underclothes. Henry tossed a giggling Chantal onto the bed, and proceeded to kiss her neck and nibble on her ear causing her to purr in anticipation before he moved down her chest, past her navel, and then eagerly began to move his kisses in between her thighs.
“Hah…. I haven’t showered. Are you sure? Oooookay! I think…. Hah…. Okay.” She said breathlessly as Henry began to work his tongue until she began to shiver and squirm before she cried out as she melted in his mouth.
“Enough, please, I can’t take it anymore! Just fuck me already!” Chantal pulled herself together enough to beg for it. Henry stood rigid and ready and set himself to granting her request, first slowly, and then with a growing intensity. She once more began to squirm as he paid close attention to her hip’s cues, knowing very well by now what she liked.
As she climaxed again, Henry lifted her from the bed and pushed her up against the wall, and then bent her over his desk for a bit before he could take it no longer and they finished together.
“Holy shit… my legs aren’t gonna work for a bit after that one. Help me up?” Chantal said in between shallow breaths.
“Yes, ma’am. It would be my pleasure.” Henry said as he helped her to her feet and into the shower, staying in longer than was strictly necessary.
Henry left the steam first, once more thankful that his cabin included its own small bathroom, rather than a communal one. Being captain had its perks, after all. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist, then handed another to Chantal who gratefully accepted it before it dropped to the ground as she stared straight past him.
“Henry!" She squeaked as she pointed past him.
"What?" Henry asked, confused.
"Henry, someone was in here!”
On their bathroom mirror, wiped from the steam were the words TURN BACK.
Henry's blood ran cold and his adrenaline spiked him into overdrive. He waved Chantal back into the shower and put his finger to his lips. She nodded then wrapped herself in her retrieved towel and dropped to the shower floor with her arms wrapped around her knees, whimpering slightly. Henry moved silently along the wall, watching the visible half of his room for any movement. He then burst round the door frame, only to find everything perfectly, precisely as they had left it. The shock of finding nothing collided with the spike of his adrenaline surge, which only fed his growing unease.
“There’s nobody here!” Henry called out after checking the closet, the only other place someone could have hidden.
“Did you lock the door?” Chantal asked, her mind already working on the mystery.
“I set the security protocol to auto lock every time it closes.”
“Paul. We need to talk to Paul.” Chantal said, squeezing her BDU’s up over her hips with a few hops. Henry pulled on his undershirt before tossing over her bra.
“Why would we want to bring that weasel into this?” Henry asked, incredulous at to how he could possibly help.
“Because he has access to the surveillance tapes, why else?”
Henry stared at Chantal, brimming with rage, trying his hardest to keep it isolated to Paul over the invasion of his privacy.
“Did you just say surveillance tapes!?!” Henry asked in an icy tone. “That does it, I’m going to strangle him.” Henry said, moving with a purpose toward the door.
“Stop. Turn around and give me a kiss. I already disabled the video cameras, at least all the ones I could find. He has audio at best, even that I doubt. What he does have that I want is the data from the motion sensor that he had installed just in case you found the more obvious bugs. Unfortunately, I sabotaged its effectiveness by blocking the sensor with dense foam, but there might be enough of something to give us a clue."
“How in the hell do you know about all of this anyway, and why the hell didn’t you tell me?!” Henry roared.
“This entire enterprise is run by an intelligence agency; how can you not have seen that one coming a mile away? I have gotten very good at catching bugs over the years. Just because I expect the invasion of privacy to be happening, doesn’t mean I have to make it easy on them. Just be happy I already took care of the issue, alright?” She replied firmly while staring him in the eyes with raised eyebrows.
“You’re incredible, I love you.” Henry blurted out before he could catch himself. Chantal beamed and tackled him to the bed sitting on his lap.
“What took you so long? Never mind, don’t answer that. I love you too, man have I wanted to say that one for a while now.”
“You know these things aren’t easy for me. I had to be sure, I also didn’t want to mess anything up. We need to be able to work together even if we had turned out to be a bad couple.” Henry admitted, Chantal made an show as she thought it over, but she then smiled and helped Henry to his feet.
“Alright, my captain. You speak great wisdom. While I have certainly felt, and thoroughly enjoyed, the depths of your passion, it is really nice to hear about it too. I do think it makes it all the better that you rule said passion with reason. It’s just one of the many things I love about you.” She said, laying her hand over his heart.
Henry took her other hand and kissed it before replying. “I think above all, I wanted to make sure that I didn’t take you for granted, nor suffer the same in reverse. A wise woman once gave me some great advice there that I have taken to heart.”
“Okay, Romeo, maybe you have a better handle on these things than you think. Now… Let’s go interrogate Paul.” Chantal had a fire in her eyes that Henry was loving very much at that moment.
“I have wanted to turn the screws on that spook for a while now.” Henry smiled as he spoke, and he opened up the connection to the ship’s intranet through his neural implant to send a message.
MEET ME IN YOUR QUARTERS IN 5 MINUTES FOR A DISCUSSION OF CRITICAL IMPORTANCE – CPT. O'TOOLE
“That ought to get him there and alone.” Henry smirked. “Let’s go.”
Together, they made their way to Paul’s equivalent-sized quarters, which he had somehow secured for himself in the ship design to help facilitate his role as the official thorn in Henry’s paw. I guess being the captain’s handler has its perks as well. Henry’s eye twitched at the corner.
After making them wait far too long, Paul opened the door and gesturing them inside. The door closed and Paul turned towards them, narrowing his eyes, studying them both.
“Is this about the fire?” Paul asked before Henry punched the weasel right in the diaphragm, forcing him to gasp for air. The look of shock on his face as he bent forwards was priceless.
“What the fuck, Henry!?” Paul managed to choke out after a minute between gasps.
“Relax, I didn’t do any permanent damage, yet.” Henry said, Paul for just a second showed actual fear in his eyes before he sneered in defiance. “Oh? That got your attention, did it? Why were you spying on me?” Henry growled.
Paul closed his eyes, dropped his head, and began to laugh before Henry grabbed him by the throat and slammed him into the wall. Foolishly, Paul even then kept laughing amidst the gasping. So Henry squeezed until Paul started slapping his arm, looking genuine fear once more growing across his face.
“Orders… I was following orders!” Paul managed to say amidst gasps and coughs.
“I thought it might be something like that. You're going to open up those files, now, and you're going to show me everything.” Henry said, dropping him to his feet at last.
“Fucking hell, Henry, I thought you of all people would have anticipated this was going to be the case. Do you think the people who made this all possible would simply let you fly around the most dangerous, advanced warship in human history without some insurance?”
“Don’t try and weasel out of your own personal culpability here. You may also want to think back to other people who were “only following orders” while performing acts they knew were wrong before you wave that line around like some get out of jail free card.” The fact that he had nothing to say spoke volumes.
“You should have told me, Paul.” Henry growled.
“That defeats the purpose! Plus, your girlfriend sabotaged them all before we ever left S33 anyway, and once more after! That type of tech doesn’t just grow on trees you know, and I don’t have an unlimited supply. You should be thanking me for covering for her and reporting back like things are normal!” Paul shouted in indignation.
“This is pointless, show me the files from around fifteen minutes ago, motion trackers, thermals, anything you have that's not blocked or sabotaged.” Henry commanded. Paul’s eyes narrowed, but after a long moment he huffed and closed his eyes.
Paul then sat down at his station and fired it up.
“Like I said, I've got practically nothing. No video, muffled audio and readings from what I assume to be a faulty motion sensor, that’s it. What are we looking for?”
“Chantal and I were, well, together. After we got out of the shower we saw that someone had written turn back in the condensation on the bathroom mirror. Only problem? My door auto locks when closed and only opens for my biometrics. That is why all of this even came up in the first place.”
“Motherfucker. That's a whole heap of bad news.” Paul said. Henry merely nodded, paying rather more attention to the screen to see if he could catch Paul in a lie about the extent of the spying.
“There’s nothing. No disturbances in the air that would even remotely resemble human movement between you two getting in the shower and you charging into your bedroom. With the noise of the shower and the distance to the microphone, there is nothing I can discern that is anomalous. You can see it all right here for yourself.”
Henry found himself even more confused and alarmed than before.
“How is that possible? Look again, run through some filters or something. There must be some evidence somewhere!”
“Alright, relax, I will get to work on this and get you a report by the end of C shift. In the meantime, you look like a mess. Get some sleep man! I can take care of it from here. Oh, and I want you to remember that I forgave you quite magnanimously for that little episode back there where you attacked me.” Henry and Chantal gave each other a look as Paul spoke.
“Wasn’t gonna apologize anyway, you had it coming. I’m going to hit the rack. I expect that report to be detailed and ready when I get up.” Henry took Chantal by the hand, and they left together, not waiting for a response.
“What a snake. Did you see him in there? Zero guilt or recognition whatsoever about spying like that. It just makes my skin crawl. Gives me bad memories.” Chantal said, turning pensive and quiet.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Henry asked, seeing that there was something clearly bothering her.
“I… had an uncle that lived with us from time to time and he would spy on me when I was dressing, try and sneak looks in the shower, stuff like that. Never touched me or anyone else that I know of, thank god, but man did it screw me up a bit still. Played havoc with my sense of security and even my sanity, never being quite sure it was real or all in my head. I wish I had said something, but I was afraid everyone would think I was overreacting or imagining it. I saw it in his eyes though, that look of... predatory lust. At least I didn't see anything like that in Paul's eyes. To this day it makes my skin crawl.”
“Good God, I can see how alone you must have felt in the middle of all that.” He squeezed her hand, she smiled up at him.
“Yeah, that was one of the hardest parts. I don’t think Paul is some raging pervert or anything, but it concerns me how normalized it was to him. Even if he isn’t being a creep with it, as if we can take his claims to be covering for me at face value. There is still no way I am going to let him have easy access to intimate videos of us, if I can possibly help it.” Chantal said before adding, “I’ll be all right, don’t worry about me. Let’s just get some sleep.”
Henry put his palm against the biometric scanner outside his room and the door slid open for them. They definitely needed some sleep after the emotional roller coaster of the past few hours, and the irresistible warm embrace of his bed called for him. The Q-Comm report could wait until he woke, he decided.
Better to have the electrical inspection ordered up, too.
I WANT A FULL REPORT AND INSPECTION PERFORMED ON THE ELECTRICAL FIRE IN CHANTAL’S ROOM BY THE START OF A SHIFT. – CAPT. O'TOOLE
Good enough. Henry thought as he sent the message. Now he could sleep. The chief could handle it from there.
MEANWHILE…
DATE : MARCH 10th, 7 A.U. LOCATION: SOL SYSTEM, ABOARD UTRN INDOMITABLE WILL
FIREMAN APPRENTICE SARAH CALLAHAN
It'll be back again tonight...
Sarah’s haunted thoughts repeated like a mantra. She had to be ready, but how? Her skin crawled and itched, the long sleeves of her BDU’s prevented her from being able to do anything about the painful sensation from the inflamed scratches they hid. She blearily rubbed at her sunken eyes, and she drained the rest of her coffee. All the numbers on the screen had started bleeding in together and her eyes hurt horribly, with the throbbing pain in her abdomen only compounding her misery.
“My god, Sarah, you look a wreck, hon. How have you been sleeping?” Yvonne, her shift partner asked, with concern in her voice.
“I have a monster tension headache, I just hope the meds kick in soon. Can you check my math? I need to get out of these white lights for a few minutes. Close my eyes for a bit, something, anything. I've been having nightmares again.” Sarah felt good, being able to admit it, and Yvonne had long since proven her friendship, so it was easier to actually speak.
“Yeah, no prob. As soon as I am done here I will check your readings and we can get out of here. Do you mean nightmares from the invasion?” Yvonne asked, carefully picking her words and tone.
“Kind of the same general themes, but different. Everything is going wrong, like the worst possible outcomes of my worst nightmares are all combining together. Like, it feels actively malicious, I don't know, its hard to explain...” Sarah said, bleakly.
“That’s hard, I am sorry. You need a shower, and an uninterrupted nap. Sleep deprivation plays all kinds of hell on the body and mind. I had a friend who went through an insomniac phase so extreme he would go days without sleeping. Wound up in the hospital after trying to drive to work while hallucinating his dead fiancée was sitting in the passenger seat screaming at him to watch out. Wound up rear-ending the car in front of him. Thank God he lived to tell the tale, but that is why it worries me to see you like this.” Yvonne planted her hand on Sarah’s shoulder as she told the story.
“Yikes, I think I slept like two hours into my sleep shift before I started having the nightmares again, woke up, and passed in and out of some restless sleep. It got really bad around oh three hundred. There were sounds... noises like scratching and a loud bang, and the shadows were moving. I just kept feeling like I was being watched, but everyone else seemed to be having disturbed sleep in their bunks. God, it was a creepy feeling.” Sarah took a moment to compose herself.
“I know how crazy this will sound, maybe that I am sleep deprived and likely hallucinating like your friend, but just hear me out. There was something there Yvonne, in the dark at the edge of perception, I could feel it. I also know I wasn’t the only one tossing and turning either. I could also hear scratchy whispering, too. I just hid, strapped in under the weighted blanket. At some point I slept some more, I must have, but not for what felt like a few stressful and draining hours. I'm just making a total mess of explaining this, aren’t I?”
“No, you're fine, girl! I am sorry that happened, my dorm has been pretty quiet, but I have always slept like a rock. Is there anything I can do?”
“I could use a hug.” Sarah said, which caused Yvonne to laugh, breaking some of the tension. They embraced warmly for a good minute, which did wonders for relieving some of the headache and her black mood.
“Thanks, Yvonne, I know it’s all in my head and it’s a vicious feedback cycle due to lack of quality sleep. Thanks for listening without calling me crazy.“ Sarah said, shying away from the last thing she hadn’t the courage to say.
She didn’t dare mention how she had hidden under the covers as she felt it get near. How she had felt something pushing on the mattress. How as her fear peaked, she herself peeked over the covers to find nothing there just to have the oppressive feeling evaporate along with the sensation of pressure by her feet. Her dorm mates all seemed to stop stirring after that, and only then did the nightmares stop for her that night. By then she was left with barely enough time for one last short sleep cycle before the start of A shift that very morning. This was a secret she would have to keep to herself, nobody would believe her anyway.
“I think I'll ask the Chief for a break from my duties today to rest and to visit med bay. Maybe they can give me something to help catch back up on my sleep.” Sarah said.
“Good idea, can I come with? I’ll back you up.” Yvonne said. Sarah smiled at her friend before she nodded at her before they checked off the last of their duties on site and headed away to find the Chief.

Adding new books every week! Added an inventory list (newly arrived issues in bold at the top) then you can scroll further for more details on condition and key facts. I’m always open to bundle deals and reasonable offers.
I’ve also taken on a lot of random fillers as I fill inventory, so I’ll be including a random comic valued around $10 in each order. Just some examples of the issues I will randomly include in packages:

• Marvel Super Heroes Secret Wars #4 (iconic Hulk cover)
• What If #37
• Our Army at War #238
• From Beyond the Unknown #13
• House of Secrets #109 (low grade)

I’m selling off a portion of the collection to fund the next portion of the collection. Still looking for enablers! These prices include shipping (Gemini mailers whenever possible). I've tried to provide condition explanations, photos of everything (even the ones below $100) and detailed photos.
Please take a look. Up to 7 imgur albums at this point to cover it all:
https://imgur.com/a/4Vs2PvN (Newly Listed Items)
https://imgur.com/a/Oq8vHnw
https://imgur.com/a/atKGE1G
https://imgur.com/a/eu9hXc9
https://imgur.com/a/CbVrE6w
https://imgur.com/a/3RtKPXR
https://imgur.com/a/rowfZD9
https://imgur.com/a/YfgSMEa
Inventory (new items since last post at the top in bold, scroll below list for details on each):

• Amazing Spider-Man #33 - $190
• Amazing Spider-Man #98 - $SOLD AT $56$66$SOLD
• Amazing Spider-Man #121 - $200
• Amazing Spider-Man #361 Newsstand (slice damage) - $38
• Journey into Mystery #125 - $49
• Early Man-Thing lot: Astonishing Tales #13, Adventure into Fear #11-13: $80 (willing to split this lot up)
• Flash #113 - $75
• Werewolf by Night #8 Mark Jewelers Insert - $26
• Werewolf by Night #18 - $22
• House of Secrets #91 - $32
• Amazing Adventures #13, #16 & #17 - $42
• Invaders #31 (Nazi Frankenstein) - $17
• Action Comics #263 - $33
• Giant Size Chillers #1 (1975 not 1974) - $20
• Daredevil #184 Newsstand - $22
• Astonishing Tales featuring Dr. Doom & Kazar #1 - $15
• Detective Comics #355 and 2 copies of #375 - $25
• Green Lantern #59 - $125
• Wolverine (1988) #1 - $65
• Amazing Spider-Man #29 - $140
• Amazing Spider-Man #40 - $185
• Amazing Spider-Man #64 - $90
• Amazing Spider-Man #72 - $35
• X-Men #221 - $75
• X-Men #4 (1992) - $20
• Daredevil #157 - $15
• Daredevil #164 (Newsstand) - $55
• Plastic Man #1 (#19 free with purchase) - $SOLD AT 35 $41 $SOLD
• Detective Comics #259 - $175
• Batman Annual #14 - $15
• Detective Comics #324 and Batman #410 - $32
• Amazing Adventures #11 - $100
• Incredible Hulk #105 - $SOLD$45$SOLD
• Incredible Hulk #179 - $SOLD$15$SOLD
• Incredible Hulk #250 (Newsstand) - $38
• Tales of Suspense #94 - $50
• Captain America #110 - $60
• Flash #129 - $95
• Flash #147 - $95
• Aquaman #11 - $95
• Mystery in Space #68 - $25
• Strange Adventures #138 - $18
• Golden and Silver Age Lot of 12- $85
• Tower of Shadows Annual #1 - $25
• Dead of Night #1 - $35
• Tomb of Dracula #27 and #63 - $23
• Sub-Mariner #15 and #31 - $22
• Marvel Feature #1 - $49
• Fantastic Four #150 - $25
• Tales to Astonish #58 - $19
• Marvel Team-Up Annual #2 - $30
• Spider-Man vs. Wolverine #1 - $19

Amazing Spider-Man #33 - 1966 - Classic story and iconic cover. You know it, I know it.: $190
This iconic book is in good to great shape, see the photos for the details. Solidly attached and great colors.
Amazing Spider-Man #98 - 1971 - Non-Code Approved Drug Issue, Green Goblin cover: $SOLD$66$SOLD
Great condition. Some minor wear and ticks on the spine, but overall a great, beautiful, solid book.
Amazing Spider-Man #121 -1973 - Death of Gwen Stacy: $200
The cover is worn, has some holes but despite that the staples are attached,colors are good, and everything is attached and complete. The inside looks good, too. See photos for details.
Amazing Spider-Man #361 Newsstand - 1992 - First appearance of Carnage - Slice at top, $38
Here's a tragedy. This otherwise beautiful high grade major key book has a clean scissor cut at the top through the whole book. Included photos and closeups.
Journey into Mystery #125 - 1966 - Iconic cover and last Journey into Mystery before Thor title change: $49
Very good condition, has a small chip out of the bottom left cover but other than some cover wear it’s just a solid book with great colors.
Early Man-Thing lot: Astonishing Tales #13, Adventure into Fear #11-13: $80 (willing to split this lot up)
Third cover appearance of Man-Thing in awesome condition. The Fear 11-13 are in good condition, but a little more worn than the Astonishing.
Flash #113 - 1960 - First appearance and origin of the Trickster: $75
This one looks good until you realize it has tape up the spine holding the loose staples on. Included pictures of the staples and tape. It is complete and has good colors otherwise, but still low grade because of the tape/staple issue.
Werewolf by Night #8 - 1973 - Has Mark Jewelers insert included: $26
Is in great shape and includes a Mark Jewelers insert making this regular issue a little more rare.
Werewolf by Night #18 - 1974 - $22
Worn condition but great colors. See photos.
House of Secrets #91 - 1971 - Iconic Neal Adams cover: $32
Book is in great condition. There is some minor chipping on a portion of the bottom edge of the cover but other than the wear on the cover it is a beautiful book.
Amazing Adventures #13, #16 & #17 - $42
Good to great condition on these Beast issues, including the Juggernaut vs Beast cover. Bundle with Amazing Adventures #11 (first furred Beast) and I'll give you a great deal.
Invaders #31 - 1978 - Frankenstein is a Nazi. Come on: $17
In awesome condition. Also did I mention Captain America fights Nazi Frankenstein?
Action Comics #263 - 1960 - Last appearance of Bizarro world. End of Bizarro world not told. Not good deal.: $33
Cover has pen on it and is worn but interiors are good, complete and attached and colors are great.
Giant Size Chillers #1 - 1975 - John Romita art: $20
Not the more valuable 1974 with Drac but this is in awesome condition and still some great classic horror.
Daredevil #184 Newsstand - 1982 - Iconic cover: $22
In fantastic condition. Newsstand variant that has been very well kept.
Astonishing Tales featuring Dr. Doom & Kazar #1 - 1970 - First issue in series: $15
In great condition. Great colors and quality. Doctor Doom.
Detective Comics #355 and 2 copies of #375 - $25
Some classic old Batman. Good but a cleaning is needed on 355, two copies of 375 one clean and great condition one worn in but complete and attached.
Green Lantern #59 - 1968 - First appearance of Guy Gardner: $125
Worn but complete. Attached at top staple, bottom staple detached.
Wolverine (1988) #1 - 1988 - Can’t have the 1982? Take this instead!: $65
Also in awesome condition. Very, very clean.
Amazing Spider-Man #29 - 1965 - SLAB CGC 4.5 - Second Scorpion: $140
Slabbed. See photos.
Amazing Spider-Man #40 - 1966 - Origin of the Green Goblin, Iconic Cover: $185
Looks great, clean, bright colors. Complete and solidly attached. See photos
Amazing Spider-Man #64- 1968 - Romita Spider-Man vs. Vulture Cover: $90
Great condition. Bright awesome colors.
Amazing Spider-Man #72 - 1969 - Shocker cover: $35
Is a bit worn and the centerfold is detached (see photos). But it is complete and still has good colors on the interior.
X-Men #221 - 1987 - First Appearance of Mister Sinister: $75
Awesome condition. Just a couple of minor spine ticks. Other than that, beautiful. See photos.
X-Men #4 - 1992 - First Appearance of Omega Red: $20
Awesome condition. Not even any spine ticks. See photos
Daredevil #157 (Newsstand) - 1979: $15
Awesome condition. No spine ticks, creases, color breaks or bends.
Daredevil #164 (Newsstand) - 1980 - Iconic Cover: $55
In awesome condition. Great colors on cover despite all the white. No spine ticks, creases, color breaks or bends.
Plastic Man #1 (#19 free with purchase) - 1966 - First appearance of Plastic Man (son of original): $SOLD AT 35$41$SOLD
Hole in cover, worn, needs a cleaning. But come on, it’s Plastic Man!
Detective Comics #259 - 1958 - First Appearance of Calendar Man: $175
Worn but expected for its age. Solid staples and fully attached. Great colors.
Batman Annual #14 - 1990 - Iconic Neal Adams Two-Face Cover, Origin of Two-Face: $15
Amazing condition, almost unused. See photos.
Detective Comics #324 (1964) and Batman #410 (1987) - $32
324 in good condition but could use a clean and press. Batman 410 is in awesome condition, but considering the prices of these I figured I’d just throw them together.
Amazing Adventures #11 - 1972 - First furry beast: $100
In awesome condition. Minor, tiny blemish (possibly a tape pull?) on the bottom of the A on cover. See photo, but very tiny blemish.
Incredible Hulk #105 - 1968 - First appearance of Missing Link, iconic cover: $SOLD$45$SOLD
In really good condition, with minor wear to the cover and some breaking on it. White interiors, solidly attached, great colors.
Incredible Hulk #179 - 1974: $SOLD$15$SOLD
In great condition.
Incredible Hulk #250 (Newsstand) - 1980 - Iconic Hulk vs. Silver Surfer cover: $38
Awesome condition. See photos.
Tales of Suspense #94 - 1967 - First appearance of M.O.D.O.K.: $50
In good condition, with a little edge wear and marks on the cover in places. Other than that it has bright clean pages and good colors.
Captain America #110 - 1969 - Rick Jones dons Bucky Costume, first appearance of Madame Hydra: $60
Iconic Jim Steranko cover and art. In OK condition, a bit worn, could definitely use a cleaning. See photos.
Flash #129 - 1962 - First team-up of golden age Flash and silver age Flash; first appearance of golden age Green Lantern and JSA in silver age: $95
Good condition! Very solid, great colors, complete and attached.
Flash #147 - 1964 - Second appearance of Professor Zoom: $95
Good condition! Very solid, great colors, complete and attached.
Aquaman #11 - 1963 - First appearance of Mera: $95
Worn condition but solid, complete and attached.
Mystery in Space #68 - 1961 - 10c Comic Goodness: $25
Cover is detached, but hey, it’s a 10c comic. Otherwise good colors and pages.
Strange Adventures #138 - 1962: $18
Good condition, good colors.
Golden and Silver Age Lot of 12- $85
Came into a lot of worn golden and silver books I know little about. Would like to offload them all together, so take a look at the album. Includes Little Lulu, Cheyenne Kid, the Flintstones, Tarzan, some other Gold Key and Dell stuff and an Adventures book from 1945. Did some research to get prices, take a look.
Tower of Shadows Annual #1 - 1971 - Romita cover and Neal Adams art: $25
Great condition. Good colors, solid book.
Dead of Night #1 - 1973 - Romita art: $35
Really great condition, with a minor color rub or stain or something (can’t tell what) to a spot on the bottom of the front cover and top of the back. Fantastic colors, white pages.
Tomb of Dracula #27 and #63 - $23
Non-key issues in great condition, just throwing together to move.
Sub-Mariner #15 and #31 - Silver Age Namor bundle: $22
Great colors and interiors. Fading on spine cover on #15, #31 in great condition, see photos.
Marvel Feature #1 - 1971 - Origin & First Defenders: $49
Has tape pull on cover, subscription crease color break (see photos)
Fantastic Four #150 - 1974 - Wedding of Crystal and Quicksilver: $25
In awesome condition. No spine ticks, creases, color breaks or bends.
Tales to Astonish #58 - 1964 - Silver age Giant Man: $19
Worn condition but complete and attached. See photos.
Marvel Team-Up Annual #2 - 1978 - Spider-Man & The Hulk team-up: $30
In awesome condition. No spine ticks, creases, color breaks or bends.
Spider-Man vs. Wolverine #1 - 1987 - Death of First Hobgoblin: $19
Awesome condition. Pressable non-color breaking crease on back cover. See photos

I (21F) am part of a very religious and traditionally strict family. When my sister (40, Alice) got married her husband (40, Stephen) and his brother (mid 40s, Joseph) moved into the house next door (my dad helped them get it and their jobs since they emigrated from a different country). Stephen and Joseph came to our house at mealtimes to eat (since they're men and obvs can't cook /s).
One day Joseph came to eat and he had a helium balloon to give me (i was 5 at the time), I was in the bathroom and instead of leaving it there or giving it to one of my many family members, he decided to take it back with him. After he'd left, someone told me about the balloon so I went to get it with my brother (34 now, 18 then, Simon), my brother went to park his car from the driveway into the garage and told me to quickly go and get it. I went in and I couldn't reach it since it was stuck to the ceiling so asked Joseph to get it down for me to, which he said "take your pants off first".
Even at that age I knew I shouldn't do this because not only did it feel wrong but my mom had also repeatedly told me to be careful, modest and stay away from boys (religious and all, she instilled these beliefs in me from back then and I have older sisters who were thought they same things but more strictly so I was the same). So I didn't do anything and was like "no, give it to me". He kept insisting but by that point my brother had also come in and he got it down for me and we went home. Idk if my brother heard but he never mentioned it.
Stephen on the other hand seemed like a nice guy, was good to my sister and all of us siblings and treated us nicely. Throughout the years he somehow flipped, around the time that their sister (Tammy) married my brother. Now, my sister and Stephen can't stand each other but stay together for the sake of their kids and because they know that if they divorce the same will happen to their respective siblings.
A similar thing has already happened in their family, basically their other brother (Cameron) and sister (Sammy) are also married to a pair of siblings. Cameron was caught fucking a random other girl in a field so his wife's brother who is married to Sammy openly dated and had a mistress while still being married. They basically want to avoid another situation like this, our culture is very family oriented and one couple cannot break up and the other stay together.
So basically my sister Alice is scared of her husband and his brothers doing stuff to her children because she lived with them for a decade and they were physically abusive to the kids and also weird in a pedo way. Although they didn't do anything sexual during this time (that I know of; me being so much younger means they don't tell me some stuff) I don't have any doubts about why she thinks that because I know they have these kind of tendencies and wouldn't put it past them to try on their little children.
I believe this because Stephen recently told his 9 year old son about how to "feel good" and get a "warm reaction" when rubbing his private parts. Now his son is 10, and Stephen took him to his bedroom and "laid on top of [my nephew] and jumped and pressed into" in my nephews words. I have nothing against secual education, or masturbation, but 9 years old is too young and humping your son is also a unacceptable.
On the other hand, my sister in law Tammy has a habit of watching porn on our TV, which is in the living room and used by everyone (mostly for the children to watch cartoons on or for family movie nights, ironically). Additionally, she was caught by my brother chatting up my other brother in law (35, Elias). Elias was my brother Simon's best friend since they were toddlers and he strongly denied anything happening between him and Tammy, but his wife (my sister Felice, 32) has previously caught Tammy doing this thing and told my brother Simon. He didn't believe her until we were all vacationing together 2 years ago and he saw it happen first hand. Since then Simon and Elias haven't talked to each other and their wives are basically no contact with each other (Simon and Felice still talk tho, although its more of a small talk kinda relationship so not very close).
Another thing I hate is that Tammy is hateful towards me and my all my sisters, but I will focus on Alice. Alice lives in a one bedroom with her 6 kids, she relies on her husband Stephen for money and everything else, he has control of all the banks and all the government benefits they receive for the kids. He recently sent 20000 back to his family in a different country and sends an additional 1000 every month. His family bought 4 houses in the past 2/3 years, while Alice's kids literally get bullied because they dont have the right equipment for school, their lunches, their clothes and other such reasons.
One of these was when their washing machine broke when Alice was 7 months pregnant and she had to wash the clothes by hand. She tried to talk to my parents and brother Simon and his wife Tammy to persuade Stephen to buy a new one cuz she physically couldn't anymore, to which Tammy responded with "whatever happens, whether something breaks or not, he's not gonna fix it and we're not gonna get you a new one. If you wanna stay here stay otherwise fuck off". My brother shouted at her and then her crocodile tears came out, but in the end my brother had to buy a washing machine for my sister Alice. Stephen also has a habit of leaving his wife with their 6 kids for months on end when he goes to his home country, this happened when she was pregnant twice.
When I was 14, they also tried to arrange a meeting for me to get married to their younger brother who is 7-8 years older than me. My parents and I both rejected this thought without hesitation.
I feel like their whole family is sexually fucked up and I hate them so much, I'm scared for all their kids and feel like either they will rape them or teach them that these things are normal, so they will grow up to be like them. Naturally I want neither of these things, I love my siblings and wish we could just get rid of Tammy and Stephen, but in our culture divorce is frowned upon and people make a really big deal out of it. Idk if I should report Stephen or how to help Alice, pls lmk if there's something I could do, if not pls help me sort out my thoughts and thank you for listening to my rant.

I (21F) am part of a very religious and traditionally strict family. When my sister (40, Alice) got married her husband (40, Stephen) and his brother (mid 40s, Joseph) moved into the house next door (my dad helped them get it and their jobs since they emigrated from a different country). Stephen and Joseph came to our house at mealtimes to eat (since they're men and obvs can't cook /s).
One day Joseph came to eat and he had a helium balloon to give me (i was 5 at the time), I was in the bathroom and instead of leaving it there or giving it to one of my many family members, he decided to take it back with him. After he'd left, someone told me about the balloon so I went to get it with my brother (34 now, 18 then, Simon), my brother went to park his car from the driveway into the garage and told me to quickly go and get it. I went in and I couldn't reach it since it was stuck to the ceiling so asked Joseph to get it down for me to, which he said "take your pants off first".
Even at that age I knew I shouldn't do this because not only did it feel wrong but my mom had also repeatedly told me to be careful, modest and stay away from boys (religious and all, she instilled these beliefs in me from back then and I have older sisters who were thought they same things but more strictly so I was the same). So I didn't do anything and was like "no, give it to me". He kept insisting but by that point my brother had also come in and he got it down for me and we went home. Idk if my brother heard but he never mentioned it.
Stephen on the other hand seemed like a nice guy, was good to my sister and all of us siblings and treated us nicely. Throughout the years he somehow flipped, around the time that their sister (Tammy) married my brother. Now, my sister and Stephen can't stand each other but stay together for the sake of their kids and because they know that if they divorce the same will happen to their respective siblings.
A similar thing has already happened in their family, basically their other brother (Cameron) and sister (Sammy) are also married to a pair of siblings. Cameron was caught fucking a random other girl in a field so his wife's brother who is married to Sammy openly dated and had a mistress while still being married. They basically want to avoid another situation like this, our culture is very family oriented and one couple cannot break up and the other stay together.
So basically my sister Alice is scared of her husband and his brothers doing stuff to her children because she lived with them for a decade and they were physically abusive to the kids and also weird in a pedo way. Although they didn't do anything sexual during this time (that I know of; me being so much younger means they don't tell me some stuff) I don't have any doubts about why she thinks that because I know they have these kind of tendencies and wouldn't put it past them to try on their little children.
I believe this because Stephen recently told his 9 year old son about how to "feel good" and get a "warm reaction" when rubbing his private parts. Now his son is 10, and Stephen took him to his bedroom and "laid on top of [my nephew] and jumped and pressed into" in my nephews words. I have nothing against secual education, or masturbation, but 9 years old is too young and humping your son is also a unacceptable.
On the other hand, my sister in law Tammy has a habit of watching porn on our TV, which is in the living room and used by everyone (mostly for the children to watch cartoons on or for family movie nights, ironically). Additionally, she was caught by my brother chatting up my other brother in law (35, Elias). Elias was my brother Simon's best friend since they were toddlers and he strongly denied anything happening between him and Tammy, but his wife (my sister Felice, 32) has previously caught Tammy doing this thing and told my brother Simon. He didn't believe her until we were all vacationing together 2 years ago and he saw it happen first hand. Since then Simon and Elias haven't talked to each other and their wives are basically no contact with each other (Simon and Felice still talk tho, although its more of a small talk kinda relationship so not very close).
Another thing I hate is that Tammy is hateful towards me and my all my sisters, but I will focus on Alice. Alice lives in a one bedroom with her 6 kids, she relies on her husband Stephen for money and everything else, he has control of all the banks and all the government benefits they receive for the kids. He recently sent 20000 back to his family in a different country and sends an additional 1000 every month. His family bought 4 houses in the past 2/3 years, while Alice's kids literally get bullied because they dont have the right equipment for school, their lunches, their clothes and other such reasons.
One of these was when their washing machine broke when Alice was 7 months pregnant and she had to wash the clothes by hand. She tried to talk to my parents and brother Simon and his wife Tammy to persuade Stephen to buy a new one cuz she physically couldn't anymore, to which Tammy responded with "whatever happens, whether something breaks or not, he's not gonna fix it and we're not gonna get you a new one. If you wanna stay here stay otherwise fuck off". My brother shouted at her and then her crocodile tears came out, but in the end my brother had to buy a washing machine for my sister Alice. Stephen also has a habit of leaving his wife with their 6 kids for months on end when he goes to his home country, this happened when she was pregnant twice.
When I was 14, they also tried to arrange a meeting for me to get married to their younger brother who is 7-8 years older than me. My parents and I both rejected this thought without hesitation.
I feel like their whole family is sexually fucked up and I hate them so much, I'm scared for all their kids and feel like either they will rape them or teach them that these things are normal, so they will grow up to be like them. Naturally I want neither of these things, I love my niblings and wish we could just get rid of Tammy and Stephen, but in our culture divorce is frowned upon and people make a really big deal out of it. Plus both Alice and Simon love their kids, and one of them would have to probably give up on them if the divorces took place.
Idk if I should report Stephen or how to help Alice, pls lmk if there's something I could do, if not pls help me sort out my thoughts and thank you for listening to my rant.

Part 5
Gerard, God
Somewhere in time and space
He watched the passers-by as they moved about, following their daily routines, unaware of the fate that would shortly befall them. This was the time that fascinated Him the most. The moments before they finally understood that The Threat was here.
It was a sort of last hurrah, He thought. They didn't know it, but Gerard could nonetheless sense a sort of joi de vivre, a liveliness that simply didn't exist in prior times, and couldn't possibly exist in future ones. He watched mothers dote lovingly over their children, watched children hurl themselves into play with abandon, watched addicts take in their drugs like a drowning man would gulp for air. They might not known that there was no tomorrow for most of them, but they nonetheless seemed to put just a little bit of extra effort into everything.
Eventually, it came to an end, of course. It always did, no matter how many times He watched it. He saw happiness and mundanity give way to pain and suffering. Laughter was replaced by the screams of the dying. Life was replaced by death. The world replaced by destruction.
He sighed, leaving this timeline. He never watched the arrival of The Threat twice in the same timeline. There was nothing for Him to learn that way. His power was immense and total. He only had to witness The Threat once in each timeline to understand it.
Worst of all was the knowledge. The knowledge that He would only be able to save a single timeline. That all others would fall into ruin, destroyed and left to rot away. Only one could survive; the one that He chose. He could stop The Threat only once, for doing so would require Him to remain. Ever vigilant, ever ready to stop any recurrence.
He had to choose which timeline. That task was less than He feared, for now he knew that there were an infinite number of them. He could choose one with the right qualities, one whose nature would aid Him in His work. He realized then that He would, once He had chosen the proper timeline, finally watch The Threat come twice. Once, when He reviewed that timeline prior to choosing. And again, when He would stop it.
And stop it, He would. No other outcome was acceptable. He had already sacrificed too much. His mortality, His life, His happiness, His very soul itself. He had wrought Himself into a weapon, to strike down The Threat, and He would fulfill that purpose, no matter what.
----
Jerry Williams, Godslayer
Nibiru
We were sharks, swimming and darting among a school of fish. Gods and devas fled, screaming in terror as we flew through the swirling, chaotic energies that should have driven us -or at least my wife and daughter- mad within seconds. They had thought that their realm protected them.
Little did they know, we were already mad.
Inanna and I flanked a group of fleeing gods, preventing them from leaving this world, extending their essence into manifested bodies somewhere in one of the countless material worlds, or simply crossing the energy that was the core of their beings into the Spirit World. Here, in Nibiru, our divinities and demi-divinities gave us access to unlimited power. We seized it and wove nets with which to entrap those minor gods who could not find escape elsewhere, and had huddled here in fear of our coming.
As the group fled, we sped up, curving our course, which caused them to curve theirs, fearful of drawing too close to either of us. We moved slowly, carefully, angling them where we wanted them to go.
It wasn't long before the gaping maw of the Grandfather of the Gods came into view. Ixlublotl, the primordial god, the originator of divinity. The gods we herded realized their peril and turned to flee back the opposite direction, but there they found Aaina, burning towards them, screaming in rage and bristling with offensive energies.
Trapped, they had no choice. They attacked us. Emotions and thoughts, energy and matter, all of it flew at us in an orgy of sudden violence that churned the substrate of this world into a screaming chaos. All three of us linked our magics into a shield; a half-sphere of anti-magic that absorbed their attacks, sending the energy of which they were made back into into the swirling chaos around us.
They threw everything they had at us, a desperate last stand, driven by necessity and panic. All of it crashed against our defenses, the resulting streamers of magic filling the space around us with an all but impenetrable cloud. Hidden by that cloud, Ixy closed in.
By the time they realized that it was too late, it was over.
Ixy's physical body, that cloud-wrapped cacophony of maw-stalks, eye-stalks, spider-like legs and whipping tentacles, currently the size of a skyscraper, swept in, mouths snapping up the energies that were the cores of our quarry.
We came together when it was done. Inanna created a haven for us, allowing us to release the magic that held our bodies in stasis and protected us from the wild magic all around. It was a copy of our house, something she'd come up with a while back and shown to me with great pride. I had loved it, of course.
I sank into the loveseat with Inanna next to me as Aaina took the recliner.
"That's most of them," Aaina said.
"About thirty more," I replied. "And then we can start the next phase."
"Do either of you have any doubts about what we're doing?" she asked. I could see the indecision in her eyes. She was so young, and such a good girl. My heart broke at having dragged her into such dirty business.
"No," Inanna answered, her voice hard and confident.
"Yes," I added. "But at the end of the day, this is what needs doing."
Aaina looked back and forth between us, then nodded. None of us smiled.
----
Emily Windham, Wizard, Artificer
Fremont, Nebraska, at the corner of E 4th Ave and N Main St
Emily turned just in time to see the massive troll hit Jim Carmichael with a shoulder, sending the trooper flying before angling at her with no change in speed.
Acting on pure instinct, she conjured a wall of force between them. The troll slammed into it, shattering the magics that held it together with raw force, but the wall did its job, stopping the warrior in his tracks.
Emily snatched the rune-engraved knife off her belt and surged forward, jumping at the last second to put her in range of the troll's huge neck. The blade plunged in, and she released a quick burst of magic that made her legs and off hand sticky, allowing her to cling to the thing, too close for it to use its battleaxe on her.
She ripped the knife out and plunged it in again and again as the barbarian roared in pain and indignation at being hurt so badly by a foe so tiny. Emily grabbed his beard, yanking hard to bring his eyes to hers as she slammed the knife in and twisted, the magic in the blade telling her when it found his windpipe and carotid artery.
Blood sprayed, coating her face and shoulders. The troll's roars were cut off in a gurgling, breathy hiss. He stumbled, then fell. Emily rode him down, her eyes locked onto his, watching all hopes of victory, or even survival, fade from them. She lost herself in those eyes, in the mystery that was this troll's life, ending right before her. She saw the regrets, the crushed hopes, the shame of defeat and wondered at the context.
The impact as they hit the ground broke the spell.
Emily released the magic and stood up, instincts trained into her by the security troops and war wizards making her search for more threats before she could even process what had just happened. But there were no more threats. That had been the last one.
Greg Ramirez walked towards her, his rifle barrel pointed down, hanging from the sling in front of his armor and all the various attachments that he and the security troops referred to as their 'battle rattle'.
"Nice work," he said, eyeing the troll, who continued to gasp for air, the sound of his labored breaths reminding Emily of a pig squealing. She looked down, searching for that orgasmic feeling her bio-dad had so desperately wanted her to share with him, but not finding it. All she found was a sense of satisfaction, yet even that was too much.
Years of therapy, of telling her story to trained clinicians and listening to and internalizing their advice. All of it had helped her make friends and move among the normal people, but it had never erased that feeling of satisfaction. This was the fourth time she'd killed a sentient being, and each time, she felt the exact same way. It was a victory.
Her maudlin thoughts were interrupted by the bark of Greg's rifle. The troll's head jerked and deformed, a splattering of blood coming out as a .277 fury round drilled a hole straight through his temples. She glanced up to find Greg still eyeing her.
"You did good," he said, his expression showing some concern.
"I liked it," she said quietly, her eyes turning back.
"You liked killing him?" Greg asked. Emily nodded, wondering if she'd always be fucked up.
"I killed him," Greg said. "And I damn sure liked it."
Emily turned back, eyeing him with some interest. Greg was, in many ways, the opposite of her. Cool, confident, charming and just all-around well-adjusted. She hadn't ever imagined that he wound enjoy something like this.
"It means I won," he explained. "It means that big, badass motherfucker showed up here trying to bully us, and take whatever he wanted from us, and little old me stood up and said 'no', and when he tried to force the issue, I took his life away. It feels like justice. It feels like one less motherfucker trying to kill me and my friends. Damn straight I liked it."
Emily smiled. She didn't realized she had smiled until Greg smiled back.
"I read your psych eval," he went on. "I know you think you're fucked in the head, but I'm gonna tell you right now, you're not. You're a warrior, that's it. Bloodlust isn't a bad thing, if it can be controlled. Enjoying killing isn't a bad thing, if you're killing the people that need killing. Give yourself a break, girl."
He clapped her on the shoulder, then took the back of her head with his free hand and pressed her forehead to his.
"I'm gonna recommend you be allowed to join the war wizard roster. You're all trained up, you're prepared for it, and from what I've seen today, you're a fucking natural."
Without waiting for a response, he let her go and turned away, grabbing the radio fob on his armor and squeezing it.
"Black Lead, this is Black-Two Actual. All raiders at the target site are neutralized. We're commencing a sweep now, will report back in thirty mikes."
Emily smiled at his back as he walked away. A part of her reflected that he was a natural leader, knowing exactly what to say to her in that moment. Another part didn't care, because it worked. She glanced down at the troll again, and didn't see a victim.
She saw a victory.
----
Kathy Evenson, Professional
Somewhere in the ruins of an ancient city in the Seventh World
Kells shifted nervously as Kathy continued to cut chits from the electrical panel lid with the magical laser emerging from her fingertip. He held his machete, really a short sword, in one hand, and his dagger in the other.
"We really shouldn't be much longer, Kath," he said. Kathy had explained to him the difference between Kath and Kathy, and even hinted at the things she'd done while possessed by Pissface and calling herself 'Kath', and even gone into some detail about how much she hated the nickname. Kells hadn't cared. He simply agreed with her, then continued to call her 'Kath'.
And the truth was, she really didn't mind that much.
She wasn't quite sure why, though she could hazard a guess. The man was disarming to a great degree. He presented himself as a dirty wanderer, a simple, violent man who shouldn't be trusted as far as you could throw him. But within just a few minutes of meeting him, she'd seen the intelligence in his eyes and words. She had seen the integrity in his negotiations with her, and the ethics that had turned him protective when the Searchers had appeared.
And despite that protectiveness, he still managed to avoid being patronizing. When she'd told him how she planned to get his chits, he had warned her of the dangers, then agreed to come along without hesitation when she didn't change her mind. Kells was a good man, she thought, and if a good man wanted to call her Kath, she supposed she could let him reclaim the name from the hell it had once represented.
"It won't be much longer," she said. She already had over seven hundred, and this plate would bring her to eight hundred. She only needed five or six more. This deep in the ruins, there was an untouched electrical box on almost every building. Some had been corroded, but most were surprisingly intact.
As she cut the final strip into chits, a roar sounded. It was a gurgling, rasping roar, unlike anything she had ever heard before. Or rather, the first one had been unlike anything she had ever heard before. This was the third time she'd heard it, and it sounded closer than the last two.
"That's no good sign, right thur," Kells said.
Kathy finished, dumping the little squares of galvanized steel into her bag and standing up.
"Come on," she said. "We'll go a couple blocks away from whatever that was before I cut the next one."
"Aye," Kells agreed, his head swiveling on his shoulders as he followed her down the alley. Kathy took note of how spooked he was. He seemed more nervous here than he had with the Searchers right in front of him. She supposed that might have something to do with the nature of the threats. The Searchers were, regardless of power and reputation, mere humans. Whereas whatever was making that roar was clearly some sort of monster.
She led him six blocks in a direction away from the roar before she stopped to examine the buildings. They had moved into a downtown area, which was one of the reasons she had stopped. The buildings here were closer together, which should make the rest of her task quicker. She found a good cover and ripped the little padlock off, then pulled it open and off its hinges.
A mass of spiders rushed out of the electrical box. She jerked her hand away, but they ignored her, scurrying down the wall and vanishing into the cracks between the bricks, safe once again in enclosed darkness.
She began to cut as Kells again stood watch.
She hadn't even made it halfway through the panel when another roar sounded, even closer than the last, and from a different direction.
"Call it," Kells said. "Call it now, Kath. Better ye collect some more later on than deal with the beast makin' them sounds."
"What kind of beast?" Kathy asked. She kept cutting, but glanced up and around, not seeing anything but filthy, dilapidated alleys.
"Walkers, they call 'em," Kells said. "Like great spiders, but rottin' away, with bones stickin' out an' flesh hangin' off th'legs."
"Great spiders?" Kathy asked. "How big?"
"Bigger'n a building."
"You've seen them yourself?" Kathy asked.
"Only once," Kells said, his voice growing quieter. He seemed to be done speaking for a moment, staring around. But after a few seconds, he continued.
"Friend o'mine, name o' Gil. We used t'work together, he an' I. I were real new to runnin' a caravan crew back then, about ten years back. Gil were an old hand at it, though. Took me under 'is wing and taught me th'roads, as it were.
"Anyways, we'd taken a pair o' contracts. Rough ones, with a tight timetable. Merchants needed t'get to Freeman's Port post-haste. One faster'n th'other. Gil took that one, left me with the easier one, though that weren't t'say it were an easy job.
"We was in Craster's Holdfast at th'time, an smack in between there an' Freeman's Port were an ancient ruin. Big one, 'bout the size o' this'un, in fact. Normally, it took about a week t'travel between the two places, but if one were brave or foolhardy enough, they could cut through th'ruins an' make it in five days.
"Well, old Gil had that in mind. We left together, an' at th'place where ye normally would turn north t'go around the ruins, he led his caravan on straight. I prayed fer their safety that night, but never really believed anything would happen. Gil were an experienced caravaner, an' tougher'n anyone else I'd ever met.
"Two days later, we was walkin' this ridgeline north o'the ruins when somethin' called out t'me. Not sure what, exactly. I started lookin' south, scannin' the ruins, an' sure enough, I found Gil's caravan, walking down a wide road between th'largest buildings. They was movin' at quite a clip, I hav'ta say.
"I were tickled pink, at first. Because we'd made near as good a time as they had, despite movin' almost a day's north to skirt th'ruins. But as I watched, I realized that they weren't just travelin', they was runnin'."
Kells sighed, his eyes distant and full of old regrets.
"That's when I saw one. A great Walker, striding out o' th'deepest part o' th'ruins. The way it moved were like nothin' I ever seen before. It crawled along th'sides o' the ruins themselves, like a spider almost, but always with two or three feet on th'ground.
"It came fer th'caravan, and fell on 'em in a slaughter. I watched it breathe fire down on 'em, stompin' men flat with its feet an' scooping 'em up with its great claws."
He sighed again, then looked down. He tucked his sword under his armpit and used his hand to rub his eyes for a moment, before taking the blade up again.
"Killed 'em all, it did. Erry single one, as I live an' breath. An' when it were done, it went around, stompin' th'bodies flat. Never ate one, jes did all it could t'make sure that not a single survivor lived t'tell the tale. I were shook something fierce, I tell ya. Took me own caravan down off the ridge, t'avoid bein' spotted. We ended up arriving a day late, but to this day, I thank me lucky stars we made it at all."
Another sigh came, and Kathy heard the cracks in his voice as he continued on.
"Not Gil, though. Nor any o'them what worked for him, or th'merchant what hired him. A few years later, I worked up th'courage t'take a couple o'men into the ruins, t'find the bodies. I found bones dressed in Gil's clothes. I took his sword, which had survived, an' is th'one I carry to this day. I think Gil'd be pleased to know his blade had saved me life, quite a few times since."
Kathy finished cutting the cover up and stood to put her hands on Kells' shoulder.
"Thank you for telling me that," she said, her voice gentle. "I can tell it's an important story to you."
Kells nodded and sniffed once, then jerked his head in the direction away from the most recent roar. "I still think we should get out o' here, Kath," he said. "I'll face down the Searchers an' be happy o' a good death, should they take me. But them Walkers... They ain't warriors ye can face an' die with honor. One o'them things finds us, there ain't no fightin' it. We jes' die screaming, th'only consolation coming when it's all over."
Kathy weighed his words carefully. Kells knew this world far better than she did. And while she knew her own abilities far better than anyone here, she had to be mindful not to be too arrogant. Kells had told her how a single Walker had slaughtered an entire caravan of experienced fighters, led by an experienced leader.
"Okay," she said. She handed the bag to Kells. "There should be about eight hundred and fifty chits in there. You can count them out later, and I'll trust your count. After I find what I'm looking for, I'll collect the rest and we'll settle up."
"Good call," Kells said. He tied the bag off to his belt and walked to the corner of the building, peeking around. When he was satisfied, he nodded. Kathy joined him, and together, they made a beeline to the edge of the ruins.
They had made it about halfway out when another roar sounded, this one right on top of them. A rumbling crash sounded from her right, and Kathy turned to see rubble falling to the ground as something massive rose off the ground, two blocks over.
"Stars an' stones," Kells swore, then shouted "Run!"

David agreed to organise another search party in the following week, and another in the week after that. It comforted Lee to know he was at least doing something to look out for her, even if she wasn't here to realise it. If he couldn't have Clementine back, something he hated the very thought of, he needed to honour her. Her promises, her legacy, her meaning to him could not be forgotten — and neither could she.
They'd been out looking for hours. Since they set off at first light, the sun had circled in the sky and come back down once again, painting the already orange gates with a golden hue. It was tiresome and their feet ached with the aftermath of walking for miles on end, but it came with the satisfaction of knowing a bed was waiting for them back at the base. Though, he still felt a part of him missing. In a way it was almost like he'd earned the right to have found her, how after all this patience and all this time, shouldn't he be entitled to that payoff now? He walked along with his small group back into the gates, down-trodden. How was he to continue deceiving himself of hope when for all he knew, it was hopeless? That was something he berated himself for even thinking. She had to be out there somewhere, of course she was.
"Open the gates," he called to the person on watch. The large wall of rust and metal creaked, revealing their sanctuary. AJ would be in the nursery, probably colouring wildly on a paper, anticipating just as much as Lee was for when they could retire to their home of the living quarters for a good night's rest.
Ava rushed out of the gate towards Lee in a hurry, not slowing down for a second. "Lee!"
"Hey, Ava. What's-"
"She's back."
He opened his mouth, to exclaim with delight, to ask where she was, maybe to burst into tears — everything, every sound and colour, seemed to jump into existence all of a sudden. His legs weren't worn down with fatigue any longer, and they called for him to start running. Where to, he didn't know, but he needed to see where she was. That's when he heard her voice again, something he realised was a greater privilege than he ever remembered, and stopped in his tracks.
"Lee." Clementine appeared behind Ava, leaning out to look at him. She looked at him with her eyes wide, her mouth that opened in shock turning into a wide grin. She ran towards him and enveloped him in a hug.
"You're back! You're okay, sweetpea!" He said, the words sounding imaginary even to him. "I missed you, Clem. I was so worried about what happened while you were gone. You- you've grown a bit taller." He could hardly believe his eyes, but they didn't lie or show any falsities: just, for once, the light in his reality. Ava smiled at the two of them, crossing her arms comfortably.
Clementine laughed, pricks of teardrops forming in the corners of her eyes. "I tried to get back to you so many times. I- There was so much going on. I didn't know what to do, I-" She hugged him again, burying her head in his shirt to mask her tears. "They said AJ's okay. He's going to be okay, Lee. He'll live." Her voice was muffled and shaky but pitched with glee, with relief and with joy. It appeared she was in just as much disbelief as well.
"I know, Clem. He's better now. They helped him."
"About time," she said quietly, though she smiled.
"Let's go inside the gates, come on. How did you get here? Did you have any help?" he asked, a million thoughts swimming through his mind.
She nodded. “I found people who wanted to help. Lots of people. The ones I came here with were put into quarantine for bites — they only let me out here because they knew you were looking for me.” Then she stopped in her tracks, both taking the time to survey the surroundings and glance at Lee. “You never stopped?”
“Never.”
Clementine grinned up at him. "I knew you wouldn't." Her smile then faded, but the glimmer in her eyes remained: whatever she was troubled by, she seemed to hold onto some hope, or at least she did now that Lee was there. "Lee, I have to talk to you."
"What's going on? Is something wrong?" He watched for her reaction cautiously. When she didn't move, he asked again. "Are you in danger?"
She shook her head and began walking further away, slowly down the unfamiliar streets of New Richmond. "Not here. We need to go somewhere quiet."
Something in Lee felt disturbed again. It should all be over by now, with Clementine reunited with him and AJ better than ever. By all means, they shouldn't have any more problems to deal with. Sure it was unrealistic, but hadn't they earned the right? It was like danger was hanging over his shoulder, eyeing his every move and ready to step in.
"Let's go to the nursery, okay? No-one should be around to hear us around now, and besides, you should see him." He placed his hand on Clementine's shoulder, kneeling down to her level. "He’s really missed you, you know."
"He- he did?" She whispered. The smile on her face revealed she had no doubt he would feel otherwise, but just hearing this was like the first melodic tune after a lifetime of silence.
He nodded.
She rubbed hastily at her eyes again. "Take me to him, please."
...
She sniffled, masking the tears she was choking back as she looked down upon a sleeping AJ inside a crib. "I never would've thought...I mean, even you, I thought we might never get to see each-other again. But I was always so scared for AJ. I knew you could handle things, but he was- he's so little, Lee. I didn't know if he could take much more." The drops cascaded down her face, and she turned her head sharply towards the ceiling to stop them from falling. She breathed in deeply and looked back at the toddler one more time. "My little goofball."
"He was tough."
"That's for sure."
"Lingard helped us out."
Her head propped up again and she wore an intense expression. "He did?"
"Of course he did. He found more antibiotics, and he's going to be taking them for a few more weeks, and..." He stopped himself when he noticed her silence. It wasn't unlike her, but this was a different kind, the kind that silences even those outside of it. "I know you have your issues with what happened, Clem, and so do I — but he really did help. AJ is better now."
She shifted uncomfortably.
"Lingard is a good man," Lee continued.
"I'm not saying he wasn't. But Lee," she said, eyes darting to each side in turn. "We cannot trust them."
He looked confused. "What?" Just as he had begun to fully trust them, maybe more than he ever had in the time he had been with them, it came crashing down like it had before on that night of the plan. He wasn’t sure what to think anymore.
Clementine straightened herself up, preparing herself to explain. "I didn't leave for no reason, and it wasn't by choice. Joan forced me to leave."
"Joan forced you? Clem, are you sure-"
"I wouldn't lie to you, Lee!" she defended.
He held up his arms to ease her. "I know that. I'm just saying that if Joan wanted you gone then how come she's allowing you to walk free now?"
"I haven't seen Joan yet, and I don't think she knows I'm here, but I'm betting she's going to have something up her sleeve for when she finds out." Clementine rolled her eyes at the thought of the woman leading communications, being one of two council leaders she wasn't afraid to show her distaste for. "There's a lot that happened while I was gone. I didn't come here all by myself, for starters. I came with a group."
"Where are they?"
"They're getting quarantined somewhere, but I don't know where it is. I found them in a town called Prescott, and things got a little complicated along the way."
Lee had questions upon questions inside his head. "How so? I thought Prescott was a good town; they helped us out with supplies just a few days ago. Are you in trouble with them?"
She looked him directly in the eye, lowering her voice again. "No, Lee. They're in trouble with us. Prescott was raided by the New Frontier and burnt the place to the ground — one of the men I'm with, Javi, had his niece murdered, and we have a woman shot in the stomach. That's why I told them to come back here, to get her medical help."
At last, something at least seemed to ring a bell. "Javi and Kate?" He'd heard those names before. "They're-"
"David's brother and wife. We all met outside the gates." She nodded, a bitterness taking over her countenance. "I thought with his family in a state like this, he wouldn't turn us away. I still haven't forgotten about what he tried to do before I left. Besides, I came back because I knew that if you were still out there, you needed to know the truth about the others."
"Others?"
"I don't trust anyone in the New Frontier except you, Lee. The men who attacked Prescott are up to something, and we need to figure out what's going on."
"Slow down, Clem. I don't doubt you, I think something is going on, but not everyone might be involved. Ava and Paul have always looked out for us. Even David-"
"You think you can trust David? He's the last person I want to be around. I'm sure he's got something to do with all of this. We could've lost AJ forever because of him."
Lee rested his back against the wall in defeat. "Clem, this is a lot to take in."
She nodded, but still looked impatient. "I don't want to play it safe anymore, Lee. We have AJ safe and sound, we can leave right now."
"If you're right about people working against us in the New Frontier, then they'll spot us running off a mile away. I’m gonna take us to your group, okay? I need to talk with them."

Huge shout out to & for helping with Brainstorming and Co-Writing this.
As always, all credits for the original Nature of Predators and it's content goes to Space Paladin15, thank him for allowing artist and writers to use his original work of art for their own uses.
Gaian Ref Sheet-Here, Done by the artist
As well as a *Huge* thank you for Julian Skys for filling in for the editor for this chapter. I'll post a comment as to why I haven't been posting too much, safe to say though, kept ya waiting huh?
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[Subject Memory Transcription: Rux Limpbut, Venlil News Anchor and TV Show Host]
Date [Standardized Galactic(?) Time]:August 1st, 2136
Now I'm regretting not taking that transfer last week. This just keeps getting better.
I was in my car outside of the Network’s station. I was at my wits end yesterday and was trying my damnedest *not* to freak out on air. Now? Now I had the pleasure of my network telling me they needed me to come in way early to report on some breaking news. Just as I was about to leave for Solgaliks sake!
I took a small sip of the “coffee”. Now this was a blessing, coffeehouses on Gaia were open paw around, no matter what. I was giving a small prayer to those “ancestors” for their love of anything strong. Well, anything strong that wasn't alcohol. They could stomach one drink or two but after that? They were out.
Slurrrrrp
I let out a relieved sigh as the warm liquid flowed down my maw, the reward of caffeine soon following after this. Hopefully in time for the recording. With that I opened the door, grabbing my briefcase as I greedily drank the rest of the coffee as I approached the wide doors of the Networks station.
They creaked a little as they always did as I appeared in the doorway, a sleepy, overworked ghost. I tossed the coffee cup into the trashcan by the door as I nodded over the after work plans that I had to either postpone, or completely not do.
No bar time, going to be too tired. Not going to have enough time to do more digging in what that Farsulian diplomat released, even after it's been nearly two months. Brahk. Still need to be ready for the shift tomorrow-
“Rux?” The front desk secretary pulled me up and out of my thoughts as I blinked a couple of times, my ears raising as one of my eyes focused on her, a bit frizzled from the overtime I was clocking at the moment.
“Hm? Oh. Hey Liakal, caught me off guard almost as bad as the padcall I got. What's up?” I rubbed my eye as I fully focused on her, making my way over to her.
“Well, whenever you're ready for them they'll give you all you need, apparently, when you get into the studio. What they told me is uh, it's not a pleasant amount of news.” She nervously played with her claws and her headset, her lips quivering a bit.
“That bad? Speh. What about that uh, guest? She gets off-”
“O-oh! Mrs Tarva. She got off the planet easily. I can't say anything else though Rux. They said whatever they have to tell is very, very pertinent not to be let loose until you broadcast it… sorry Rux.”
I patted the top of the semi circle desk that Liakal was sat into, before giving her a quick, albeit small smile with a finger gun before I quickly deflated. It was that bad. With a nod from me I departed into the hallway to the left of the front desk, approaching one of the elevators.
A button press, a chime and the feeling of gravity and anxiousness about to make me hurl later, I was on the floor with the studios. I retraced the steps I had taken only claws before to mine. The green sign saying “Predator Problems” told me I hadn't failed as usual. Something had to be done with our program and segment name, if for nothing else there was apparently much more juicy stuff to talk about.
Opening the door, I expected the hustling and scrambling of the cameramen, the lighting crew, audio specialists. But nothing except a small huddled group of uniformed men. Brahk, I was hoping this wasn't the case but I was never that lucky. I resigned myself to fate as the group finally paid attention to me, and the door clicking and shutting behind me.
“Mr. Rux. Please come over here and sit. You're all good, we just need to go over what we need you to announce in this upcoming impromptu broadcast.” Why the hell were the Gaians on Prime? Wait no. That's not the problem. Why are officers from their military here? Oh stars.
However I could feel my body coming towards the oval shaped table. Eventually knocking into a chair and pulling it out, resting my briefcase onto the ground and taking a seat, pulling up to the desk. I rested my paws on it as I gave a look to the group assembled around it.
All were wearing roughly the same uniform, their fur patterns one of the only differing things between them. Aside from the one at the end of the table. They wore a green beret atop their head, nestled in between the horns that adorned it. They cleared their throat and slid a small packet of papers towards me, startling me a tiny bit.
“While I wish to be polite and respectful, there's simply no way to say this without being blunt. Sole Speaker Jikem is dead. With the current atmosphere on Gaia we thought it'd be best to announce the formation of an emergency government and a leader to head it. All of which has been done in a roundabout manner so as to not alert any radicals or terrorists.”
I had only taken a cursory glance at the front of the small packet before that bombshell of an information was dropped onto me nonchalantly. My paw was halfway to the front page to turn it before my gaze looked up at the Gaian at the end of the oval table who had done so.
“What? Sorry can you-”
“Rux. Come on, you know what I said. Now, I know it isn't everypaw that you get to report on the death of a head of state, let alone be the first one to do so. I'll most certainly give you that. So, we'll give you some time alone…well mostly, to get acquainted with the packet and once you and your crew are roaring to go we'll release the news to the Commonwealth.”
I took a small lookover of the second page but had to pause for a short moment again as I took it in. Yes, yes I did have some questions. Half from the large info dropped on me and the other half that I was now reading with my very own eyes now.
Before they could fully get up I had worked up the courage to get a short clearing of the throat and read out of the lines in the packet out aloud after I had decided it would be better to ask now rather than after. “In conjunction with recent attacks the Armed forces has decided to-” I put down the packet in its entirety now.
“What in the stars could you possibly mean by “safeguarding” democracy? This just seems to be some type of justification for a military takeover. I mean, who's going to fall for this?”
The chairs of the small clique of officers seem to find themselves filled once more as they returned to their positions, most of them now gazing between me, some random crew member scurrying near me and the head honcho with the green beret.
The intensity of the stare of the Gaian at the opposite end of the table seemed to intensify, seemingly his gaze looking through me. “Mr. Rux, I can assure you any such speculation to that matter and that, frankly, justified if albeit imaginary fear is going to be the last thing people on Gaia are going to worry about. Alright?”
I anxiously nodded back, sighing. “L-look I'm just-”
The Bereted officer seemed to nod while holding up his paw, my line of reasoning and thought being stopped by the intrusion. “Worried, you ancestors are always worried. It's why we're here, yes? Anything too dangerous or otherwise unsafe we've always volunteered for so as to save our more cultured self from such. Think about this announcement like that. A warning and an update from our side of the Commonwealth about current affairs, nothing more, nothing less.”
With that it seemed settled for the time being, as the small clique once again rose, and this time was actually able to depart to the booth that overlooked the studio, keeping what I was sure to guess a keen pair of eyes to observe anything.
I settled into my seat more as I gave the small packet a read. It was general stuff as of this point when it came to announcements. Why it's happening, what happened in more details, what they planned to do in the upcoming future, all that juicy stuff. Overall a very plain, if very informative script to go by. Still, being the first to announce the death of a head of state via “Unnatural Causes” would make even some of the most resolved Gaians a bit jumpy, yes?
Once I finally gave the entirety of the packet a quick read over I sat it down giving a glance to my, by now, very familiar set that we used for “Predator Problems”, the entire reason for why I had started it had been to educate and warn people about what to do with predators and the like. Now I was going to have to educate them, apparently, about the fact that our “brothers” in species so to speak were having a bit of topsy-turvy time on their capital planet. Now I was kinda hoping I was one of the more conspiracy theorist nut jobs just so I didn't have to get contacted.
Resigning myself to fate, and the fact that apparently I of all Vens was the most level headed to announce this, I looked over the studio, eventually finding the small group of uniformed men again. I got up and out of the chair as I made my way over to them, flicking my tail into a questioning sign as I did so, my approaching presence quickly noticed.
“Seems like you've got some questions, you read the packet though yeah?” One of them said, I simply signaled a yes with my ears to respond.
“So, is this immediately being aired? Or is it being aired later on tomorrow-well, this paw? Should it be the first thing or the last thing or is it the only thing I'm doing for this one?” With these questions the small clique seemed to talk in-between themselves, small glances were made in my general direction, they seemed to come to some type of conclusion though as they turned back to me, the bereted one now taking center stage again once more.
“Yes. It's being immediately aired. You do realize you are a bit of a celebrity on Gaia, yes? A special breaking news from you would certainly draw the right eyes. Then it'll spread from there. We do have other stuff for you to read, but it'll appear on the prompter. Other than that though we'll take our leave once everything is said and done.”
I gave a small thanks to Solgalik, as that would mean I would be able to go back home and get at least a claw or two of rest. Speh, if I just slept here I could get an extra one easy. But I didn't have much time to dwell on that, instead I apparently had a job to do right now.
With that bit of information I decided to go around, talking to the crew, who as of this point has finally settled down and has stopped scattering from the Gaians. A small conversation with each helped us plan out the next few tantalizingly painful minutes that were about to unfold live on air.
With everything and everyone in place, I took my seat at the curved table in the middle of the cameras, getting my little tie ready. With a countdown from 3, I settled into my on screen persona as the red lights of the cameras went on.
“Good Paw to everyone tuning in! I'm your host as always, Rux Limpbut, and this is Predator problems. This time though, we do have some breaking news that we need to get to. So with that being said, I suppose it's time for me to get to it.”
I straightened my back, placing my paws firmly as I closed my eyes, breathing in and then opening my eyes again.
Alright. Just gotta break the news that the head of state of the other half of our Commonwealth is dead and their Army just decided to seize power for democracy's sake.
“I have some sad, and what some can and should be saying is unsettling, news. Sole Speaker Jikem of the Gaian Cooperative, has died earlier this paw. Details are scarce and hard to come by as of this point, but from preliminary reports and investigations, it seems as though he *may* have been assassinated while at a checkpoint. As many of you know he was elected on a lockstep ticket with the current governor of Venlil Prime, Veln. He oversaw the last closing years of the Dominion-Federation war, as well as the beginning of closer federation ties. Many people are bound to ask as of this point what is going to happen, and the easiest and most truthful answer is…we don't know.”
I shuffled some papers, discarding the packet to the side of the table before continuing on with the information I was to spout out.
“Already reports are coming in that the Armed Forces of Gaia have declared a state of emergency and already there are rumblings that they have formed… an emergency government?”
I gave a bit of a confused look before continuing, I could see the group of uniformed Gaians nodding as I did so, apparently that was good enough for them.
The rest of the news report was generally a bit unsettling, or at least info packed by many people's standards. Updates on the federation at large, some reports on the status of the Venian Commonwealth and what was the plan going forward and before I knew it the red blinking light on the cameras had vanished, and the lights overhead had dimmed.
“Alright, that's good for us. We'll have one of our guys stay over the paw to help your team edit it but other than that? You can head on home.” The bereted one informed me, before signalling to one of the clique, most likely the one to stay here and “help” us edit.
I rested back in my chair and closed my eyes, I think it was time for me to get some shuteye.
—----------
Smoke billows out from the mouth of the Uniformed figure, a lit cigar cradled in his claws. He takes a survey of the trio gathered in front of him.
“So.” The figure grunts out, leaning back into his chair.
“So, what?” One of the trio asks inquisitively, shifting in their seat.
“So now what? Not many paws you get to make a masterstroke of a situation like this. Sole speaker is dead, people are looking to any type of stability and we perfectly fill the slot.” The Uniformed figure takes the cigar up to his mouth, smoking it lightly.
“Well there are numerous concerns.” The most center of the trio speak.
“Like what to do with those brahking predators that apparently still exist.” To the right of the first speaker.
“I vote we integrate them posthaste!” And finally the one on the other end.
A thick billowing cloud of smoke escapes the lips of the Uniformed figure, fidgeting for a moment before rolling forward. His face now fully lit.
“Gentlemen. Calm down. We have plenty of problems with plenty of solutions. But that's why you put me in charge of this little emergency government anyhow right? Levelheaded, warhero, clean political record.”
The trio murmur for a moment before returning a nod, the middle one piping up as he did so.
“Yes, that is why we decided to throw our towel in with you Marshal.”
The Uniformed figure now places his elbows on the table, his paws bridging each other while the cigar is still in-between in his paws.
“That's Marshal-at-Arms Jyuvernik to you. Now where were we? Ah right. The Dark corner. I want you to send a diplomatic team to assess the cattle debacle.”

Brittany has sunk her disturbingly white teeth into the TTC/Mothering content lately and with that, your gracious Mod team would like to make some updates.

• No Gatekeeping Motherhood - This is a sensitive subject and it is rubbing a lot of people the wrong way. There are people in here who have had much wanted pregnancies end tragically and they still consider themselves a Mom. There's a lot of diversity in this community and a lot of shit to snark on. Brittany Dawn thinks having a baby will fix this void she feels that she has. It will not. Babies don't fix issues. Therapy does.
• Mark all TW/CW with Spoilers - This includes Posts AND comments! We will remove comments that contain sensitive subjects without having spoilers. Consider this your warning. If you wonder how to do this, please Google spoilers on Reddit. Use your brain and your resources. We all know Brittany sure as hell doesn't. Don't be like Brittany.
• Chemical Pregnancies ARE pregnancies - Full stop. However, they require a positive pregnancy test. We all know she didn't have one because she would be shoving it in our faces. Chemical miscarriages are not a thing though.
• No diagnosing or speculating about her Ultrasound - It's armchair. There may be a few sonographers or a radiologist in here but, she is not your patient. It's unethical. Yes she likely got an ultrasound early. Yeah she probably got it at a nonmedical boutique ultrasound place. Snark on that.
• Absolutely no comparing any body part to genitals - Seriously guys? Don't women get enough shit from men commenting on how "gross" and other abhorrent descriptions for a normal fucking part of our bodies? Why are we perpetuating that? Stop putting it in your flair. Stop commenting about it. It's body shaming plain and simple.

Brittany is treading into sensitive territory and she knows that. She knows that a portion of her fans will support her and her "haters" will get riled up and comment on her post, driving up her engagement. She's purposely using language to make it seem like she had a later and much more tragic outcome to her pregnancy. She's hoping new people will stumble onto her page and just assume she had a stillbirth. She wants the sympathy, valor, and attention that she attributes to a stillbirth. SNARK ON THAT.
Please take some time to consider the community surrounding you before you comment. Be sensitive to your fellow snarkers. Brittany Dawn has done some truly heinous things and we need to refocus our attention there.
I hope you all had the best Mother's Day. No matter how you celebrated, I hope you felt loved and cared for. I wish nothing but peace, love, and happiness for each and every one of you.
With Love,
Your BDong Snark Mod Team

This is an expansion of a recent post and also incorporates some ideas from this theory (by u/ndependent-Design17). Throughout the series the reader is repeatedly reminded that "only death can pay for life" — that magic, especially powerful magic, comes at great cost.

"Only death can pay for life, my lord. A great gift requires a great sacrifice.”

Davos, ASOS
This phrase or variations of this phrase are repeated by Melisandre, Mirri, etc. at various points throughout the series. That which follows is a highly speculative theory on the nature of the cost of magic in the series. Specifically, that souls are central to the exercise of magic and can be used as magic currency.

1. establishing the concept of the soul

Oh, to be sure, there is much we do not understand. The years pass in their hundreds and their thousands, and what does any man see of life but a few summers, a few winters? We look at mountains and call them eternal, and so they seem… but in the course of time, mountains rise and fall, rivers change their courses, stars fall from the sky, and great cities sink beneath the sea. Even gods die, we think. Everything changes.

Bran, AGOT
What happens after we die? Is there some part of us that lives on or do we simply cease to exist. These are fundamental questions that are essentially unanswerable in life but not in ASOIAF. The reader is given a point-of-view account of death in the prologue of ADWD. After unsuccessfully attempting to steal the body of Thistle, a wildling spearwife, Varamyr dies and briefly becomes a disembodied consciousness:

The white world turned and fell away. For a moment it was as if he were inside the weirwood, gazing out through carved red eyes as a dying man twitched feebly on the ground and a madwoman danced blind and bloody underneath the moon, weeping red tears and ripping at her clothes. Then both were gone and he was rising, melting, his spirit borne on some cold wind. He was in the snow and in the clouds, he was a sparrow, a squirrel, an oak. A horned owl flew silently between his trees, hunting a hare; Varamyr was inside the owl, inside the hare, inside the trees. Deep below the frozen ground, earthworms burrowed blindly in the dark, and he was them as well. I am the wood, and everything that’s in it, he thought, exulting.

Prologue, ADWD
Afterward his "spirit," or soul, is eventually transferred into a body of wolf and he begins his second life. This event, and the process of skin-changing more generally, appears to involve projection or transfer of a soul from one body into another. The process of projecting or transferring souls to either animal vessels or the weirwoods is central to the magic of the Children of the Forest.

“Someone else was in the raven,” he told Lord Brynden, once he had returned to his own skin. “Some girl. I felt her.”
“A woman, of those who sing the song of earth,” his teacher said. “Long dead, yet a part of her remains, just as a part of you would remain in Summer if your boy’s flesh were to die upon the morrow. A shadow on the soul. She will not harm you.”
"Do all the birds have singers in them?"
“All,” Lord Brynden said.

Bran, ADWD
After death a "shadow on the soul" of the Singers remain in the crows. The soul of Orell is also described as living on in the body of his eagle after his death.
This process appears to take two forms: the soul can be temporarily projected from one body into another (e.g., as happens when Bran skin-changes into Hodor) or can be permanently transferred as is described in the separate examples above.
These transferred souls merge with their recipient, at least to some degree, and may decay over time:

"The wolf is part of you from that day on, and you’re part of him. Both of you will change.”
Other beasts were best left alone, the hunter had declared. Cats were vain and cruel, always ready to turn on you. Elk and deer were prey; wear their skins too long, and even the bravest man became a coward. Bears, boars, badgers, weasels … Haggon did not hold with such. “Some skins you never want to wear, boy. You won’t like what you’d become.” Birds were the worst, to hear him tell it. “Men were not meant to leave the earth. Spend too much time in the clouds and you never want to come back down again.
...
"They say you forget," Haggon had told him, a few weeks before his own death.
"When the man's flesh dies, his spirit lives on inside the beast, but every day his memory fades, and the beast becomes a little less a warg, a little more a wolf, until nothing of the man is left and only the beast remains."

Prologue, ADWD
Bran is provided with similar warnings about the danger of spending too much time in Summer's skin by Jojen.

2. shadow magic requires souls

As above the reader is repeatedly reminded throughout the series that "only death can pay for life." What is specifically being sacrificed, though? Is the magic being fueled by the blood of the sacrificed or by something else?
To answer this let us examine one of the most concrete example of magic in the series, the use or exchange of Stannis Baratheon's "life-fire" in order for Melisandre to manifest the shadows used to kill Renly Baratheon and Courtney Penrose.

Shadows only live when given birth by light, and the king's fires burn so low I dare not draw off any more to make another son. It might well kill him."
Melisandre moved closer.
"With another man, though... a man whose flames still burn hot and high... if you truly wish to serve your king's cause, come to my chamber one night. I could give you pleasure such as you have never known, and with your life-fire I could make..."

Davos, ASOS
According to this explanation, the cost of producing these shadow appears to have been part of his "life-fire," or soul. The shadow is specifically described as having the shape Stannis supporting this. Whether this applies to other types of magic — specifically blood magic or fire magic — is less clear but shadow magic very much appears to require the use of souls.
This type of exchange is also directly referenced in the story of the Night's King provided by Old Nan:

A woman was his downfall; a woman glimpsed from atop the Wall, with skin as white as the moon and eyes like blue stars. Fearing nothing, he chased her and caught her and loved her, though her skin was cold as ice, and when he gave his seed to her he gave his soul as well. (Credit to u/DigLost5791 for this reference.)

Bran, ASOS
Stannis is described by Davos afterward as follows:

The look of him was a shock. He seemed ten years older than the man that Davos had left at Storm’s End when he set sail for the Blackwater and the battle that would be their undoing. The king’s close-cropped beard was spiderwebbed with grey hairs, and he had dropped two stone or more of weight. He had never been a fleshy man, but now the bones moved beneath his skin like spears, fighting to cut free. Even his crown seemed too large for his head. His eyes were blue pits lost in deep hollows, and the shape of a skull could be seen beneath his face.

Davos, ASOS
Asha later describes Stannis as appearing life a "man with one foot in the grave."

What little flesh he’d carried on his tall, spare frame at Deepwood Motte had melted away during the march. The shape of his skull could be seen under his skin, and his jaw was clenched so hard Asha feared his teeth might shatter.

Asha, ADWD
These descriptions seem appropriate for a character that has lost part of their "life-fire" or soul.
Throughout the series Stannis is forced to make a series of increasingly difficult decisions. The most significant of these decisions regards the fate of his nephew, Eric Storm. Melisandre repeatedly urges him to "give [her] the boy," presumably to be burned, but is rebuffed by Stannis.

“I know the cost! Last night, gazing into that hearth, I saw things in the flames as well. I saw a king, a crown of fire on his brows, burning… burning, Davos. His own crown consumed his flesh and turned him into ash. Do you think I need Melisandre to tell me what that means? Or you?” The king moved, so his shadow fell upon King’s Landing.
"…what is the life of one bastard boy against a kingdom?”
“Everything,” said Davos, softly.

Davos, ASOS
Is the life of this bastard boy worth the lives of millions that would die if the Others break through the Wall? Making a deal with the devil and literally selling his soul in pursuit of some greater good seems very appropriate for his character, thematically. The description of his flesh turning to ash in this vision is representative also supports this interpretation.

3. blood and fire magic

As opposed to the creation of the shadows described above, we are also provided an example of so-called blood magic in the leech burning ritual.

“Give me the boy, Your Grace. It is the surer way. The better way. Give me the boy and I shall wake the stone dragon.”
...
Melisandre bowed her head stiffly, and said, “As my king commands.” Reaching up her left sleeve with her right hand, she flung a handful of powder into the brazier. The coals roared. As pale flames writhed atop them, the red woman retrieved the silver dish and brought it to the king. Davos watched her lift the lid. Beneath were three large black leeches, fat with blood. The boy’s blood, Davos knew. A king’s blood. Stannis stretched forth a hand, and his fingers closed around one of the leeches.
“Say the name,” Melisandre commanded.

Davos, ASOS
Following this ritual all of the mentioned individuals do die but do so as the part of separate conspiracies (e.g., Robb Stark is betrayed by the Freys and Boltons, Joffrey Baratheon by Littlefinger and the Tyrells, etc.) which were already in place. It is left intentionally ambiguous by the author but it does not appear that the ritual meaningfully contributed to their deaths.
The creation of the shadows is said by Melisandre to have required part of Stannis' "life-fire" or soul. Could it be that the leech burning ritual was unsuccessful because blood alone is not sufficient as a sacrifice?
These forms of magic are frequently described in the community as "shadow magic" and "blood magic." These concepts — "fire and blood" and "flame and shadow" — are highly associated with one another in the text:

“Shadow?" Davos felt his flesh prickling. "A shadow is a thing of darkness."
”You are more ignorant than a child, ser knight. There are no shadows in the dark. Shadows are the servants of light, the children of fire. The brightest flame casts the darkest shadows."

Davos, ACOK
I speculate that these are different expressions of the same concept; that all of these fall under the general umbrella of fire magic and share common principles. "Fire consumes and in the end there's nothing left."

4. dancing shadows

The tent was aglow with the light of braziers within. Through the blood-spattered sandsilk, she glimpsed shadows moving.
Mirri Maz Duur was dancing, and not alone.
...
No, Dany wanted to say, no, not that, you mustn’t, but when she opened her mouth, a long wail of pain escaped, and the sweat broke over her skin. What was wrong with them, couldn’t they see?
Inside the tent the shapes were dancing, circling the brazier and the bloody bath, dark against the sandsilk, and some did not look human. She glimpsed the shadow of a great wolf, and another like a man wreathed in flames.
“The Lamb Woman knows the secrets of the birthing bed,” Irri said. “She said so, I heard her.”
“Yes,” Doreah agreed, “I heard her too.”
No, she shouted, or perhaps she only thought it, for no whisper of sound escaped her lips. She was being carried. Her eyes opened to gaze up at a flat dead sky, black and bleak and starless. Please, no. The sound of Mirri Maz Duur’s voice grew louder, until it filled the world. The shapes! She screamed. The dancers!
Ser Jorah carried her inside the tent.

Daenerys, AGOT
The introduction of shadow magic in the series is provided above with Mirri Max Duur. Following this ritual Drogo is described as a lifeless husk:

"He seems to like the warmth, Princess," Ser Jorah said. "His eyes follow the sun, though he does not see it. He can walk after a fashion. He will go where you lead him, but no farther. He will eat if you put food in his mouth, drink if you dribble water on his lips."

Daenerys, AGOT
It has previously been speculated that Mirri "reverse skin-changed" Drogo (e.g., "strength of the mount go into the rider, strength of the beast go into the man."). The description provided is less consistent with a horse soul inhabiting a human body than it is with the complete or near-complete absence of a soul. It appears more likely in retrospect that Mirri sacrificed part of Drogo's soul to summon the shadows and likely as a means to kill Daenerys' unborn child.

“The stallion who mounts the world will burn no cities now. His khalasar shall trample no nations into dust."

Daenerys, AGOT

5. reanimation

If "only death can pay for life" and souls are used as a form of magical currency how does one explain the reanimation or resurrection process?
There is a paucity of information on the reanimation of the dead in the series. The resurrection of Beric Dondarrion, for example, appears to be different in fundamental ways from that of the wights or Cold Hands. (We are potentially given a point-of-view account of this process if you accept that Victarion died in ADWD.)

“Thoros, how many times have you brought me back now?”
The red priest bowed his head. “It is R’hllor who brings you back, my lord. The Lord of Light. I am only his instrument.”
“How many times?” Lord Beric insisted.
“Six,” Thoros said reluctantly.
“And each time is harder. You have grown reckless, my lord. Is death so very sweet?”
Arya, ASOS

There is no immediately identifiable magical cost for these "kisses of life," at least at first glance. Thoros later tells us that he breathed part of his "flames" or soul into Beric:

“That first time, his lordship had a hole right through him and blood in his mouth, I knew there was no hope. So when his poor torn chest stopped moving, I gave him the good god's own kiss to send him on his way. I filled my mouth with fire and breathed the flames inside him, down his throat to lungs and heart and soul. The last kiss it is called, and many a time I saw the old priests bestow it on the Lord's servants as they died." (Credit to u/watchersontheweb for providing this quote in the initial thread.)

Arya, ASOS
Thoros is also described as appearing very different after performing this ritual several times in a way that is not entirely dissimilar to the changes in Stannis’ appearance referenced above.

“Here’s the wizard, skinny squirrel. You’ll get your answers now.”
He pointed toward the fire, where Tom Sevenstrings stood talking to a tall thin man with oddments of old armor buckled on over his ratty pink robes. That can’t be Thoros of Myr. Arya remembered the red priest as fat, with a smooth face and a shiny bald head. This man had a droopy face and a full head of shaggy grey hair.
...
“Thoros of Myr. You used to shave your head.”
“To betoken a humble heart, but in truth my heart was vain. Besides, I lost my razor in the woods.” The priest slapped his belly. “I am less than I was, but more. A year in the wild will melt the flesh off a man. Would that I could find a tailor to take in my skin. I might look young again, and pretty maids would shower me with kisses.”

Arya, ASOS
Thoros attributes these changes to his renewed devotion to the Red God and spending "a year in the wild" as above although he is not exactly forthcoming with Arya about the resurrection process. It is also likely that he does not entirely understand what specifically is being exchanged here.
Later he describes Beric giving the "kiss of life" to the corpse of Catelyn Stark:

“The Freys slashed her throat from ear to ear. When we found her by the river she was three days dead. Harwin begged me to give her the kiss of life, but it had been too long. I would not do it, so Lord Beric put his lips to hers instead, and the flame of life passed from him to her. And… she rose. May the Lord of Light protect us. She rose.”

Brienne, AFFC
Notably, this process produces a reanimated Catelyn (a.k.a. Lady Stoneheart). The soul of Beric, or at least whatever is left of his soul at this point in the series, is consumed in order to resurrect Catelyn and not transferred.

6. cold shadows (wild speculation)

The terms "white shadows," "pale shadows," and "cold shadows" are repeated used to describe the Others. The Others are also highly associated with ghosts — the spirits or souls of the dead bound to the earth. (The forrest in which they are introduced is literally called the Haunted Forrest.)

The Others made no sound.
Will saw movement from the corner of his eye. Pale shapes gliding through the wood. He turned his head, glimpsed a white shadow in the darkness. Then it was gone. Branches stirred gently in the wind, scratching at one another with wooden fingers. Will opened his mouth to call down a warning, and the words seemed to freeze in his throat. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps it had only been a bird, a reflection on the snow, some trick of the moonlight. What had he seen, after all?
“Will, where are you?” Ser Waymar called up. “Can you see anything?” He was turning in a slow circle, suddenly wary, his sword in hand. He must have felt them, as Will felt them. There was nothing to see. “Answer me! Why is it so cold?” It was cold.
Shivering, Will clung more tightly to his perch. His face pressed hard against the trunk of the sentinel. He could feel the sweet, sticky sap on his cheek. A shadow emerged from the dark of the wood. It stood in front of Royce. Tall, it was, and gaunt and hard as old bones, with flesh pale as milk. Its armor seemed to change color as it moved; here it was white as new-fallen snow, there black as shadow, everywhere dappled with the deep grey-green of the trees. The patterns ran like moonlight on water with every step it took. Will heard the breath go out of Ser Waymar Royce in a long hiss. ...
The Other slid forward on silent feet. In its hand was a longsword like none that Will had ever seen. No human metal had gone into the forging of that blade. It was alive with moonlight, translucent, a shard of crystal so thin that it seemed almost to vanish when seen edge-on. There was a faint blue shimmer to the thing, a ghost-light that played around its edges, and somehow Will knew it was sharper than any razor.

Prologue, AGOT
This is again highly speculative but it seems reasonable to consider that these cold shadows are not "ice demons" or "ice zombies" but are in fact ghosts, the spirits or souls of men that are bound to the earth through magic by the Children of the Forest. (The textual evidence of the creation of the Others by the Children has previously been discussed at length in the community in separate posts.) "Fire consumes, but cold preserves."
This would explain several of the unusual characteristics of the Others described by Tormund:

“Tormund,” Jon said, as they watched four old women pull a cartful of children toward the gate, “tell me of our foe. I would know all there is to know of the Others.”
The wildling rubbed his mouth. “Not here,” he mumbled, “not this side o’ your Wall.” The old man glanced uneasily toward the trees in their white mantles. “They’re never far, you know. They won’t come out by day, not when that old sun’s shining, but don’t think that means they went away. Shadows never go away. Might be you don’t see them, but they’re always clinging to your heels.”
...
Tormund turned back.
"You know nothing. You killed a dead man, aye, I heard. Mance killed a hundred. A man can fight the dead, but when their masters come, when the white mists rise up… how do you fight a mist, crow? Shadows with teeth … air so cold it hurts to breathe, like a knife inside your chest … you do not know, you cannot know … can your sword cut cold?"

Jon, ADWD
A reasonable interpretation of this information is that the Others are present during the day, at least in some capacity, and are only able to assume corporeal form at night.
The Others are also described as "going lightly upon the snow" which would also supports the idea that they are ghosts:

“The white walkers go lightly on the snow,” the ranger said. “You’ll find no prints to mark their passage.”

Samwell, ASOS

7. conclusions

This highly speculative theory attempts to reconcile several seemingly disparate concepts in the series related to magic, namely the actual nature of magical sacrifice ("only death can pay for life") and shadows or shadow magic. More specifically, I suggest that souls are the primary magical currency and can be consumed using fire magic to summon shadows, create glamours, etc. I also speculate that similar processes took place during Mirri Maz Duur's shadow-binding ritual in AGOT and during the repeated resurrections of Berric Dondarrion in ASOS. I further suggest that the Others are ghosts, the spirits or souls of the dead bound to the earth.
EDIT: edited several times to address formatting issues

This is an expansion of a recent post and also incorporates some ideas from this theory (by u/ndependent-Design17). Throughout the series the reader is repeatedly reminded that "only death can pay for life" — that magic, especially powerful magic, comes at great cost.

"Only death can pay for life, my lord. A great gift requires a great sacrifice.”

Davos, ASOS
This phrase or variations of this phrase are repeated by Melisandre, Mirri, etc. at various points throughout the series. That which follows is a highly speculative theory on the nature of the cost of magic in the series. Specifically, that souls are central to the exercise of magic and can be used as magic currency.

1. establishing the concept of the soul

Oh, to be sure, there is much we do not understand. The years pass in their hundreds and their thousands, and what does any man see of life but a few summers, a few winters? We look at mountains and call them eternal, and so they seem… but in the course of time, mountains rise and fall, rivers change their courses, stars fall from the sky, and great cities sink beneath the sea. Even gods die, we think. Everything changes.

Bran, AGOT
What happens after we die? Is there some part of us that lives on or do we simply cease to exist. These are fundamental questions that are essentially unanswerable in life but not in ASOIAF. The reader is given a point-of-view account of death in the prologue of ADWD. After unsuccessfully attempting to steal the body of Thistle, a wildling spearwife, Varamyr dies and briefly becomes a disembodied consciousness:

The white world turned and fell away. For a moment it was as if he were inside the weirwood, gazing out through carved red eyes as a dying man twitched feebly on the ground and a madwoman danced blind and bloody underneath the moon, weeping red tears and ripping at her clothes. Then both were gone and he was rising, melting, his spirit borne on some cold wind. He was in the snow and in the clouds, he was a sparrow, a squirrel, an oak. A horned owl flew silently between his trees, hunting a hare; Varamyr was inside the owl, inside the hare, inside the trees. Deep below the frozen ground, earthworms burrowed blindly in the dark, and he was them as well. I am the wood, and everything that’s in it, he thought, exulting.

Prologue, ADWD
Afterward his "spirit," or soul, is eventually transferred into a body of wolf and he begins his second life. This event, and the process of skin-changing more generally, appears to involve projection or transfer of a soul from one body into another. The process of projecting or transferring souls to either animal vessels or the weirwoods is central to the magic of the Children of the Forest.

“Someone else was in the raven,” he told Lord Brynden, once he had returned to his own skin. “Some girl. I felt her.”
“A woman, of those who sing the song of earth,” his teacher said. “Long dead, yet a part of her remains, just as a part of you would remain in Summer if your boy’s flesh were to die upon the morrow. A shadow on the soul. She will not harm you.”
"Do all the birds have singers in them?"
“All,” Lord Brynden said.

Bran, ADWD
After death a "shadow on the soul" of the Singers remain in the crows. The soul of Orell is also described as living on in the body of his eagle after his death.
This process appears to take two forms: the soul can be temporarily projected from one body into another (e.g., as happens when Bran skin-changes into Hodor) or can be permanently transferred as is described in the separate examples above.
These transferred souls merge with their recipient, at least to some degree, and may decay over time:

"The wolf is part of you from that day on, and you’re part of him. Both of you will change.”
Other beasts were best left alone, the hunter had declared. Cats were vain and cruel, always ready to turn on you. Elk and deer were prey; wear their skins too long, and even the bravest man became a coward. Bears, boars, badgers, weasels … Haggon did not hold with such. “Some skins you never want to wear, boy. You won’t like what you’d become.” Birds were the worst, to hear him tell it. “Men were not meant to leave the earth. Spend too much time in the clouds and you never want to come back down again.
...
"They say you forget," Haggon had told him, a few weeks before his own death.
"When the man's flesh dies, his spirit lives on inside the beast, but every day his memory fades, and the beast becomes a little less a warg, a little more a wolf, until nothing of the man is left and only the beast remains."

Prologue, ADWD
Bran is provided with similar warnings about the danger of spending too much time in Summer's skin by Jojen.

2. shadow magic requires souls

As above the reader is repeatedly reminded throughout the series that "only death can pay for life." What is specifically being sacrificed, though? Is the magic being fueled by the blood of the sacrificed or by something else?
To answer this let us examine one of the most concrete example of magic in the series, the use or exchange of Stannis Baratheon's "life-fire" in order for Melisandre to manifest the shadows used to kill Renly Baratheon and Courtney Penrose.

Shadows only live when given birth by light, and the king's fires burn so low I dare not draw off any more to make another son. It might well kill him."
Melisandre moved closer.
"With another man, though... a man whose flames still burn hot and high... if you truly wish to serve your king's cause, come to my chamber one night. I could give you pleasure such as you have never known, and with your life-fire I could make..."

Davos, ASOS
According to this explanation, the cost of producing these shadow appears to have been part of his "life-fire," or soul. The shadow is specifically described as having the shape Stannis supporting this. Whether this applies to other types of magic — specifically blood magic or fire magic — is less clear but shadow magic very much appears to require the use of souls.
This type of exchange is also directly referenced in the story of the Night's King provided by Old Nan:

A woman was his downfall; a woman glimpsed from atop the Wall, with skin as white as the moon and eyes like blue stars. Fearing nothing, he chased her and caught her and loved her, though her skin was cold as ice, and when he gave his seed to her he gave his soul as well. (Credit to u/DigLost5791 for this reference.)

Bran, ASOS
Stannis is described by Davos afterward as follows:

The look of him was a shock. He seemed ten years older than the man that Davos had left at Storm’s End when he set sail for the Blackwater and the battle that would be their undoing. The king’s close-cropped beard was spiderwebbed with grey hairs, and he had dropped two stone or more of weight. He had never been a fleshy man, but now the bones moved beneath his skin like spears, fighting to cut free. Even his crown seemed too large for his head. His eyes were blue pits lost in deep hollows, and the shape of a skull could be seen beneath his face.

Davos, ASOS
Asha later describes Stannis as appearing life a "man with one foot in the grave."

What little flesh he’d carried on his tall, spare frame at Deepwood Motte had melted away during the march. The shape of his skull could be seen under his skin, and his jaw was clenched so hard Asha feared his teeth might shatter.

Asha, ADWD
These descriptions seem appropriate for a character that has lost part of their "life-fire" or soul.
Throughout the series Stannis is forced to make a series of increasingly difficult decisions. The most significant of these decisions regards the fate of his nephew, Eric Storm. Melisandre repeatedly urges him to "give [her] the boy," presumably to be burned, but is rebuffed by Stannis.

“I know the cost! Last night, gazing into that hearth, I saw things in the flames as well. I saw a king, a crown of fire on his brows, burning… burning, Davos. His own crown consumed his flesh and turned him into ash. Do you think I need Melisandre to tell me what that means? Or you?” The king moved, so his shadow fell upon King’s Landing.
"…what is the life of one bastard boy against a kingdom?”
“Everything,” said Davos, softly.

Davos, ASOS
Is the life of this bastard boy worth the lives of millions that would die if the Others break through the Wall? Making a deal with the devil and literally selling his soul in pursuit of some greater good seems very appropriate for his character, thematically. The description of his flesh turning to ash in this vision is representative also supports this interpretation.

3. blood and fire magic

As opposed to the creation of the shadows described above, we are also provided an example of so-called blood magic in the leech burning ritual.

“Give me the boy, Your Grace. It is the surer way. The better way. Give me the boy and I shall wake the stone dragon.”
...
Melisandre bowed her head stiffly, and said, “As my king commands.” Reaching up her left sleeve with her right hand, she flung a handful of powder into the brazier. The coals roared. As pale flames writhed atop them, the red woman retrieved the silver dish and brought it to the king. Davos watched her lift the lid. Beneath were three large black leeches, fat with blood. The boy’s blood, Davos knew. A king’s blood. Stannis stretched forth a hand, and his fingers closed around one of the leeches.
“Say the name,” Melisandre commanded.

Davos, ASOS
Following this ritual all of the mentioned individuals do die but do so as the part of separate conspiracies (e.g., Robb Stark is betrayed by the Freys and Boltons, Joffrey Baratheon by Littlefinger and the Tyrells, etc.) which were already in place. It is left intentionally ambiguous by the author but it does not appear that the ritual meaningfully contributed to their deaths.
The creation of the shadows is said by Melisandre to have required part of Stannis' "life-fire" or soul. Could it be that the leech burning ritual was unsuccessful because blood alone is not sufficient as a sacrifice?
These forms of magic are frequently described in the community as "shadow magic" and "blood magic." These concepts — "fire and blood" and "flame and shadow" — are highly associated with one another in the text:

“Shadow?" Davos felt his flesh prickling. "A shadow is a thing of darkness."
”You are more ignorant than a child, ser knight. There are no shadows in the dark. Shadows are the servants of light, the children of fire. The brightest flame casts the darkest shadows."

Davos, ACOK
I speculate that these are different expressions of the same concept; that all of these fall under the general umbrella of fire magic and share common principles. "Fire consumes and in the end there's nothing left."

4. dancing shadows

The tent was aglow with the light of braziers within. Through the blood-spattered sandsilk, she glimpsed shadows moving.
Mirri Maz Duur was dancing, and not alone.
...
No, Dany wanted to say, no, not that, you mustn’t, but when she opened her mouth, a long wail of pain escaped, and the sweat broke over her skin. What was wrong with them, couldn’t they see?
Inside the tent the shapes were dancing, circling the brazier and the bloody bath, dark against the sandsilk, and some did not look human. She glimpsed the shadow of a great wolf, and another like a man wreathed in flames.
“The Lamb Woman knows the secrets of the birthing bed,” Irri said. “She said so, I heard her.”
“Yes,” Doreah agreed, “I heard her too.”
No, she shouted, or perhaps she only thought it, for no whisper of sound escaped her lips. She was being carried. Her eyes opened to gaze up at a flat dead sky, black and bleak and starless. Please, no. The sound of Mirri Maz Duur’s voice grew louder, until it filled the world. The shapes! She screamed. The dancers!
Ser Jorah carried her inside the tent.

Daenerys, AGOT
The introduction of shadow magic in the series is provided above with Mirri Max Duur. Following this ritual Drogo is described as a lifeless husk:

"He seems to like the warmth, Princess," Ser Jorah said. "His eyes follow the sun, though he does not see it. He can walk after a fashion. He will go where you lead him, but no farther. He will eat if you put food in his mouth, drink if you dribble water on his lips."

Daenerys, AGOT
It has previously been speculated that Mirri "reverse skin-changed" Drogo (e.g., "strength of the mount go into the rider, strength of the beast go into the man."). The description provided is less consistent with a horse soul inhabiting a human body than it is with the complete or near-complete absence of a soul. It appears more likely in retrospect that Mirri sacrificed part of Drogo's soul to summon the shadows and likely as a means to kill Daenerys' unborn child.

“The stallion who mounts the world will burn no cities now. His khalasar shall trample no nations into dust."

Daenerys, AGOT

5. reanimation

If "only death can pay for life" and souls are used as a form of magical currency how does one explain the reanimation or resurrection process?
There is a paucity of information on the reanimation of the dead in the series. The resurrection of Beric Dondarrion, for example, appears to be different in fundamental ways from that of the wights or Cold Hands. (We are potentially given a point-of-view account of this process if you accept that Victarion died in ADWD.)

“Thoros, how many times have you brought me back now?”
The red priest bowed his head. “It is R’hllor who brings you back, my lord. The Lord of Light. I am only his instrument.”
“How many times?” Lord Beric insisted.
“Six,” Thoros said reluctantly.
“And each time is harder. You have grown reckless, my lord. Is death so very sweet?”
Arya, ASOS

There is no immediately identifiable magical cost for these "kisses of life," at least at first glance. Thoros later tells us that he breathed part of his "flames" or soul into Beric:

“That first time, his lordship had a hole right through him and blood in his mouth, I knew there was no hope. So when his poor torn chest stopped moving, I gave him the good god's own kiss to send him on his way. I filled my mouth with fire and breathed the flames inside him, down his throat to lungs and heart and soul. The last kiss it is called, and many a time I saw the old priests bestow it on the Lord's servants as they died." (Credit to u/watchersontheweb for providing this quote in the initial thread.)

Arya, ASOS
Thoros is also described as appearing very different after performing this ritual several times in a way that is not entirely dissimilar to the changes in Stannis’ appearance referenced above.

“Here’s the wizard, skinny squirrel. You’ll get your answers now.”
He pointed toward the fire, where Tom Sevenstrings stood talking to a tall thin man with oddments of old armor buckled on over his ratty pink robes. That can’t be Thoros of Myr. Arya remembered the red priest as fat, with a smooth face and a shiny bald head. This man had a droopy face and a full head of shaggy grey hair.
...
“Thoros of Myr. You used to shave your head.”
“To betoken a humble heart, but in truth my heart was vain. Besides, I lost my razor in the woods.” The priest slapped his belly. “I am less than I was, but more. A year in the wild will melt the flesh off a man. Would that I could find a tailor to take in my skin. I might look young again, and pretty maids would shower me with kisses.”

Arya, ASOS
Thoros attributes these changes to his renewed devotion to the Red God and spending "a year in the wild" as above although he is not exactly forthcoming with Arya about the resurrection process. It is also likely that he does not entirely understand what specifically is being exchanged here.
Later he describes Beric giving the "kiss of life" to the corpse of Catelyn Stark:

“The Freys slashed her throat from ear to ear. When we found her by the river she was three days dead. Harwin begged me to give her the kiss of life, but it had been too long. I would not do it, so Lord Beric put his lips to hers instead, and the flame of life passed from him to her. And… she rose. May the Lord of Light protect us. She rose.”

Brienne, AFFC
Notably, this process produces a reanimated Catelyn (a.k.a. Lady Stoneheart). The soul of Beric, or at least whatever is left of his soul at this point in the series, is consumed in order to resurrect Catelyn and not transferred.

6. cold shadows (wild speculation)

The terms "white shadows," "pale shadows," and "cold shadows" are repeated used to describe the Others. The Others are also highly associated with ghosts — the spirits or souls of the dead bound to the earth. (The forrest in which they are introduced is literally called the Haunted Forrest.)

The Others made no sound.
Will saw movement from the corner of his eye. Pale shapes gliding through the wood. He turned his head, glimpsed a white shadow in the darkness. Then it was gone. Branches stirred gently in the wind, scratching at one another with wooden fingers. Will opened his mouth to call down a warning, and the words seemed to freeze in his throat. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps it had only been a bird, a reflection on the snow, some trick of the moonlight. What had he seen, after all?
“Will, where are you?” Ser Waymar called up. “Can you see anything?” He was turning in a slow circle, suddenly wary, his sword in hand. He must have felt them, as Will felt them. There was nothing to see. “Answer me! Why is it so cold?” It was cold.
Shivering, Will clung more tightly to his perch. His face pressed hard against the trunk of the sentinel. He could feel the sweet, sticky sap on his cheek. A shadow emerged from the dark of the wood. It stood in front of Royce. Tall, it was, and gaunt and hard as old bones, with flesh pale as milk. Its armor seemed to change color as it moved; here it was white as new-fallen snow, there black as shadow, everywhere dappled with the deep grey-green of the trees. The patterns ran like moonlight on water with every step it took. Will heard the breath go out of Ser Waymar Royce in a long hiss. ...
The Other slid forward on silent feet. In its hand was a longsword like none that Will had ever seen. No human metal had gone into the forging of that blade. It was alive with moonlight, translucent, a shard of crystal so thin that it seemed almost to vanish when seen edge-on. There was a faint blue shimmer to the thing, a ghost-light that played around its edges, and somehow Will knew it was sharper than any razor.

Prologue, AGOT
This is again highly speculative but it seems reasonable to consider that these cold shadows are not "ice demons" or "ice zombies" but are in fact ghosts, the spirits or souls of men that are bound to the earth through magic by the Children of the Forest. (The textual evidence of the creation of the Others by the Children is linked in a separate post here.) "Fire consumes, but cold preserves."
This would explain several of the unusual characteristics of the Others described by Tormund:

“Tormund,” Jon said, as they watched four old women pull a cartful of children toward the gate, “tell me of our foe. I would know all there is to know of the Others.”
The wildling rubbed his mouth. “Not here,” he mumbled, “not this side o’ your Wall.” The old man glanced uneasily toward the trees in their white mantles. “They’re never far, you know. They won’t come out by day, not when that old sun’s shining, but don’t think that means they went away. Shadows never go away. Might be you don’t see them, but they’re always clinging to your heels.”
...
Tormund turned back.
"You know nothing. You killed a dead man, aye, I heard. Mance killed a hundred. A man can fight the dead, but when their masters come, when the white mists rise up… how do you fight a mist, crow? Shadows with teeth … air so cold it hurts to breathe, like a knife inside your chest … you do not know, you cannot know … can your sword cut cold?"

Jon, ADWD
A reasonable interpretation of this information is that the Others are present during the day, at least in some capacity, and are only able to assume corporeal form at night.
The Others are also described as "going lightly upon the snow" which would also supports the idea that they are ghosts:

“The white walkers go lightly on the snow,” the ranger said. “You’ll find no prints to mark their passage.”

Samwell, ASOS

7. conclusions

This highly speculative theory attempts to reconcile several seemingly disparate concepts in the series related to magic, namely the actual nature of magical sacrifice ("only death can pay for life") and shadows or shadow magic. More specifically, I suggest that souls are the primary magical currency and can be consumed using fire magic to summon shadows, create glamours, etc. I also speculate that similar processes took place during Mirri Maz Duur's shadow-binding ritual in AGOT and during the repeated resurrections of Berric Dondarrion in ASOS. I further suggest that the Others are ghosts, the spirits or souls of the dead bound to the earth.
EDIT: edited several times to address formatting issues

“T-this! This is madness!” Count Harmswid, one of the very few Human nobles of the Seraphic Empire, bellowed as his hand slammed into the table, sending scrolls flying onto the floor of his luxurious tent. “You’d be leaving me defenseless! I already have a manpower shortage, and now you’d deprive me of not just Wyverns but all of my mana users!?”
Standing across from him, seemingly unphased and unbothered by the outburst, was Tharivol, the Duchesses Dark Elf spymaster. Tharivol remained stoic as Count Harmonswid's face turned a shade of deep red; the veins on his neck bulged with every word. As the tirade continued, spittle started to fly from the human’s mouth, landing on the polished surface of the table and even on Tharivol's dark cloak. Yet, the spymaster's demeanor did not change; there was no sign of disgust, no flinch, no reaction whatsoever.
“Do you truly expect me to comply with such an insane request!? You and that damned charlatan have both lost your minds!” The Count sneered before spitting on the floor. “I cannot, and I shall not!”
Count Harmswid's rage seemed to swell within him, growing more intense with each passing moment. "I'll drag both you and that insufferable wench before the Court of Houses!" he thundered, his voice echoing off the high walls of the chamber. "You think you can force a noble of my standing to forfeit his property and forces unjustly? The court will see you stripped of your titles, your lands confiscated, and the Duchess fined! Perhaps you would even find yourself exiled, you insufferable curr!"
The air in the room grew heavy, charged with the count's threats and the tension of the confrontation. Yet, through it all, Tharivol remained as impassive as ever, his expression never wavering from its cold neutrality.
Once, the count's rant had finally run its course, leaving him panting and glaring across the table. "Do you truly intend not to comply with the Duchess's order?" Tharivol's voice was so calm and devoid of emotion that it seemed as if he was simply discussing the weather.
"NO!" The count's response was a furious shout, his hands slamming down onto the table with such force that it splintered beneath them. "I will not bend the knee to such outrageous demands!"
Unphased by the outburst, Tharivol eyes scanned the room, looking at all the Count's personal guards in attendance. Two mages and six mana-capable knights stood uncomfortably against the wall of the tent, just behind the count. "Is there nothing that will convince you otherwise?" The Dark Elf asked, bringing his eyes back to the Count. “Coin? Concessions? Favors?”
The count's face twisted with hatred at the mere suggestion of compromise. "I'd sooner turn my blade towards the Duchess herself than comply with anything that whore demands!" he spat venomously, the words dripping with disdain and loathing.
Tharivol simply nodded as if the count's refusal and insults were nothing more than he had expected. "Very well," he said, his voice still calm and unbothered, before looking behind him to two of his own guards who accompanied him.
These individuals wore unassuming attire, their features obscured behind black mosaic masks that shifted and morphed in subtle ways. Anyone looking at the masks would find their gaze unfocused, slipping across them as if they were merely part of the background. Beneath their dark cloaks was sleek armor made of a substance unfamiliar to the count, a strange blend that was neither quite metal nor leather.
"Take the Count's head and slay any who resist," Tharivol commanded his guards and turned back to the Count.
But before his eyes could leave the two shadow-like figures, their forms surged forward like a wisping darkness, their movements far too fast for any being's eye to comfortably track. Each unsheathed, jagged, wicked-looking blades, as long as one's forearms. There were subtle differences between each weapon, but they all had one thing in common. And that was the fact that they seemed to be forged from a strange blood-red metal that made people’s blood run cold.
The Count and his guard's eyes widened as they flinched back and grabbed at their weapons. However, before they could properly react, these ghosts were faster. Not a single sword left their sheathe, and not a word was chanted before blood was drawn.
As Harmswid opened his mouth to scream, a terrifying silence took hold instead. The world spun into a vortex of chaos, colors blurring and shapes warping as if reality itself was unraveling around him. Orders died on his lips, replaced by a mute plea for his men to save him.
Then, he crashed to the ground, dizzy and disoriented. All sense of time and place dissolved while his mind struggled to comprehend the nightmare unfolding before him. He was trapped in a maelstrom of motion where his guards – his paragons of strength – were being ruthlessly dismembered.
The dark figures moved with a terrifying and unnatural speed. They were blurs of motion armed with those wicked, crimson-tinged blades felling season knights that were once symbols of power and protection as if they were pigs lambs brought to feasts. Their armor offered no resistance as it was pierced effortlessly, and their cries were cut short, transforming into wet gurgles and sickening thuds as they collapsed.
Blood splattered the interior of the tent, a gruesome crimson rain painting what had once been a place of noble authority into a scene of carnage. His loyal protectors, those who were supposed to be his shield, were now nothing but lifeless corpses strewn across the ground.
Through his terror, the Count saw Tharivol out of the corner of his eye. The dark elf stood unmoved, a cold spectator observing a symphony of violence orchestrated by his will. With one more attempted gasp, Harmswid’s world plunged into darkness.
With an air of nonchalant finality, Tharivol strolled forward. He bent down, not a hint of bother on his face, and retrieved the severed head of Count Harmswid. The dark elf held the head aloft, examining it with a clinical detachment as if it were merely a curious specimen and not the remnants of a once powerful man.
"Hopefully, this will deter others from such foolishness,” Tharivol remarked with a chilling yet humored voice. “I’m sure there will be a few more unwise enough to disobey our mistress, but let they and Count Harmswid serve as… palpable enough deterrent to insubordination.”
The Dark Elf spun on his heel and strode confidently towards the tent flap while his masked guards moved like shadows in his wake. What had transpired was as swift as it was horrifying, from start to finish. The once opulent pavilion, a symbol of the Count's authority, had become a macabre slaughterhouse in mere seconds, and the air hung thick with the metallic tang of blood.
Tharivol moved with the grace of a predator. He grasped a fistful of the Count's hair, casually swinging the severed head as he left the carnage behind. Stepping out of the tent, a scene of utter chaos greeted him.
A cataclysmic roar had ripped through the air, an earth-shattering crash rattled the bones of every being within earshot. Tents flailed wildly, torn from their moorings and scattered like scraps of paper by the force of the blast. Men were thrown off their feet, rolling across the dirt in a desperate bid for stable ground.
And the source of such devastation was the immense silhouette of a black dragon. A very old and very powerful black dragon of monstrous proportions. Its landing had been a display of raw power; the earth itself sundered from its weight, cracking and buckling as the beast settled into place, and smoke curled from its nostril as its massive wings slowly unfurled.
To Tharivol's left, a figure stood resolute against the swirling chaos. Clad in heavy plate armor, augmented by the bones and scales of vanquished wyverns. One of the Duchess's most powerful and he was a testament to the mistress’s influence and strength. The great warrior's hide cloak buffeted violently in the maelstrom, yet he remained steadfast, utterly unmoving. His massive sword was driven deep into the earth, his hands folded gently over the hilt, as he stared maliciously towards the soldiers and mages toppling head over heel.
Striding past the warrior, Tharivol moved effortlessly underneath the dragon's colossal wingspan until reached the other side, where a panicked crowd was already gathering. He held up the Count's head for all to see and amplified his cold voice with magic, causing it to reverberate across the encampment.
"YOUR TREACHEROUS LORD IS NO MORE!" Tharivol bellowed, "HE CHOSE DEFIANCE! HE CHOSE DEATH! AND THUS THE FATE OF ALL WHO CHOOSE SELF-INTEREST OVER THE IMPERIAL WAR EFFORT!”
The gathered soldiers gasped, their faces twisting into a mixture of shock, disbelief, and abject terror. This was a display of power unlike anything they had ever witnessed - the swift brutality, the utter disregard for a noble life, and now, the raw might embodied by the massive dragon that cast its imposing shadow over them all.
A wave of shock and outrage swept throughout the Count's retinue. They stood frozen for moments, hands clenching around sheathed weapons, before the reality of the situation sunk in. Their lord was dead, his head held aloft like a grotesque trophy a damned dark elf who stood before them. Yet, their fury was tempered by the sight of the colossal monstrosity looming above the foul man.
Not even the stoic knight captain, his battle-scarred face creased in anguish, dared break the uneasy silence that had descended upon them. His eyes flicked between the severed head and what he considered the largest and oldest dragon he’d ever seen in his damnable life. It was bad enough one of the Duchess’s hero showed up, but with this monster here, all thoughts of vengeance were crushed beneath the weight of gaping maw staring at him.
Tharivol lowered the head, allowing it swinging morbidly in his grip as he marched straight to the knight captain. Halting mere inches from the man, the Dark Elf looked down at him through his nose despite the fact that he was a head shorter than the gruff knight. But how tall one was mattered very little at the current moment. For the poor captain fought to maintain any semblance of calm as his entire body trembled, not from mere cold, but from a primal, instinctual terror.
"Gather your mana users. Assemble the wyverns, good captain." Tharivol commanded, his voice still magically amplified. "You will report to the Duchess in Aldenshore, and with haste. I trust," here Tharivol's gaze flicked meaningfully towards the dragon, "that you understand the urgency of this order?"
His tone carried not a hint of a question, but the chilling finality of an ultimatum. The Duchess' word was now law and the dragon was both enforcer and a grim reminder of the consequences of disobedience. Should the captain hesitate, should he choose to dally, the monstrous creature would likely make a far bloodier example than even the Count's brutal end.
The knight captain could only bow his head and utter a hoarse, "Aye, my lord." Compliance, however grudging, was the only path to survival. Defiance meant not just death for himself but the annihilation of his men. No amount of courage or pride could bridge the chasm of power that lay between them.
An expression like a viper's grin spread across Tharivol’s face. A macabre amusement flitted into his eyes as he raised Count Harmswid's head once more, slapping the lifeless cheek in a grotesque mockery of applause. "Very good!" he declared, his amplified voice carrying an undercurrent of cruel delight.
"You shall rest this day and prepare. But," his tone turned as sharp as a dagger, "do not keep us waiting. To delay the Duchess... well, that would be oh so very unwise."
With a final flourish, Tharivol spun on his heel and marched away, but just before the Dark Elf disappeared below the hulking mass of the Dragon, The Knight Captain attempted to rise to his feet. "Wait, my lord!" The man stammered out as his hand reached out.
However, the sudden movement had caught the dragon's attention. With a rumble that reverberated through the encampment, its massive head dipped low. Twin nostrils flared, expelling twin plumes of superheated plasma, as its eyes narrowed, burning with fury.
The knight captain let out a yelp, a terrified sound he hadn't made since childhood. His body recoiled as if struck, and his legs had given way beneath him as he fell on his rear.
Tharivol paused, turning back with feigned concern. His voice dripped with theatrical sympathy, "Oh dear, is there some problem, good captain?" He let the question hang in the air before bursting into a peal of chilling laughter.
With a dramatic gesture, he addressed the knight captain once more. "Well then, Captain, go on! What is it that troubles you so?" There was an odd playfulness in the dark elf's tone that sent chills down every man in the Count’s army’s spine.
Panic surged through the knight captain. Caught between the titanic dragon and the mocking presence of the dark elf, fear threatened to swallow him whole. Each raspy breath seemed to drag against his throat, the super-heated air of the dragon's breath filling his nostrils. It was an intoxicating mix of molten metal and sulfur, a scent that seemed to speak of fiery annihilation.
He scrambled back even further as the dragon's head moved closer. Desperation lent his words a frenzied edge. "W-what of the food stores, my lord? Our gathered supplies? And the men – the rest of the soldiers? Shall they march to Aldenshore with us, or... or remain?" The words tumbled out, laced with the fear of asking the wrong question, of drawing further ire.
Tharivol approached the man before halting a comfortable distance away. The knight captain flinched, averting his gaze from the dragon, and fixing it on the ground and started whispering prayers and reciting passages from the holy text of his god. Tharivol tilted his head, a curious, almost amused glint in his dark eyes.
For a tense moment, he simply observed the knight captain, letting the silence stretch between them before heaving a heavy sigh. “Do you speak of the mundane?" His tone was flippant, laced with a hint of disdain. "Take them, leave them – it is of no concern to me.” He answered, waving his hand dismissively. “Now that you have your answer… do not bother me with such trivial matters again. I have much more pressing concerns and so little time."
As Tharivol walked away, the knight captain scrambled to his feet. “Y-You heard ‘em! Git yer asses movin’ less ya want to be Dragon feed!” The man ordered with fear evident in his voice as the Dark Elf disappeared beneath the dragon. “And send word to the Wyvern camps of our new orders!”
Silence reigned at the order as everyone stood stock still, but everyone was kicked into overdrive with one last snort from the monster. Soldiers, mages, and workers of every type scramble about with panicked efficiency. Carts were hastily loaded, men and women ran to and fro with bundles of supplies, and the injured were loaded onto wagons with utmost care. Within minutes, the once serene camp was transformed into a whirlwind of purposeful chaos.
And as the madness unfolded, in a distant tree line, Coleman and his ODA team watched silently, peering through the optics of their weapons and purpose-built surveillance tools.
“Fuck… is that our target’s head?” Schwarz suddenly spoke up hushedly as he peered through the high-powered optic of his precision rifle. “I think that’s his head…”
Coleman released an exasperated sigh as he watched with a camouflaged high-powered surveillance device as the strange dark-skinned man walked away with the noble's head in hand. “Yep… Yep, that’s his head…” He nearly growled in annoyance. “Damnit…”
"Wait, isn't this a good thing? We don't gotta kill him," Bennett piped up, a note of confusion in his voice.
Elijah cut him off, the usual lighthearted tone gone from his voice. "No, dipshit, we wanted to bag 'em for questioning," he gestured at the chaotic camp with the barrel of his rifle, "and we can’t question a corpse."
“All units, this is Baron actual.” Coleman quietly spoke into his headphones as he informed the litany of multinational special operations forces that were positioned or prowling around in preparation for the assault on this camp. “Change of plans, our targets KIA from internal fighting.”
“Baron actual, this is Warlock actual.” An Australian Special Air Services Regiment (SASR) team came over the net. “That’s a BIG fackin’ cunt, mate... I’m not so sure about this one.”
No one could fault the assessment. That monstrosity of a dragon was well over 100 meters from snout to tail, and hefty enough to tank most of their firepower. "Baron actual, copy that Warlock. Standby, we’re trying to figure something out."
“This is Bravo actual. Yeah, I have agree with Warlock. This suddenly got a lot more dangerous. I don’t think the operation’s worth it with this thing hanging around." A new voice came over the net belonging to the Polish Commandos, the Jednostka Wojskowa Komandosów (JWK), and gave his opinion on the matter.
The chatter from other teams confirmed the general sentiment. They came in relatively light hoping to do a lightning raid and bug out. Engaging this creature felt like a suicide mission. Sure they could hit with every Javelin or Anti-Tank weapon they had, but no one was convinced they’d be able to land a killing blow and unless someone got lucky and domed the fucker.
“I can’t believe we’re blue balled by a big fackin’ lizard.” The Aussies voice echoed throughout everyone headphones. “What do ya think? Should we pull out?”
Coleman rubbed a weary hand across his eyes. The Aussie had put it crudely, but the sentiment was spot on. The mission was a bust. The tactical dilemma they faced had become far more complicated with the appearance of these newcomers and their dragon.
“Warlock, hold one.” Coleman responded before leanning back against a fallen tree.
A frustrated and heavy breath left the ODA team leader’s mouth as he popped off his helmet, exposing his hair to the hot summer air. As he contemplated his optins while his hand rubbed across his admittedly greasy hair. It had been quite some time since he had a proper shower and, the dirt was starting to build up.
As he thought of way to continue the mission, every scenario he spun out in his mind unraveled before it could take shape. Assault the camp now? With that dragon in the mix, it was madness. Their firepower was decent, but not against a beast of that size and unknown resilience. The thing would torch them before they knew what was going on.
Sneak in, grab what intel they could? Nah… that was stupider than whatever some private fresh out of bootcamp would think up. The goal was not to be decisively engaged.
The Poles and Aussies had a point. Maybe the best course of action was to just to bugger off and keep and element here to observe and mark the location for when the ground pounders came in. But that almost felt like it was a waste… Here they had a prime opportunity to turn a village into a clandestine staging point and letting go of that idea felt… wrong.
Just as another sigh left Colemans mouth, an earth-shattering roar split the air. The team leader whipped his head up, expecting the worst case scenario. The dragon had erupted into flury of motion, as the whirlwind of claws, wings, and raw power tookeof, blowing debris across the camp and scattering tents like leaves in a storm.
But it didn't attack.
The gargantuan creature circled for a moment, leaving a sinister shadow against the clear blue sky, before banking and soaring eastwards.
Coleman blinked, momentarily disoriented by the sudden shift in the situation. A hundred thoughts raced through his head. Where was it going? It didn’t notice us? Would it return? But Within seconds, the beast had vanished into the distance.
Then, a flicker of opportunity flashed across his eyes. “This Baron actual, let’s wait a bit and see what happens...” Coleman suggested with a predatory grin spreading across his face.
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Last week I went out with a guy. No not to a resturaunt or anything where he had to spend tons of money on me. We went for a cafe. I was clean didn't stink, wore a dress. Sat and wait for him bought my own milkshake. We talked .. he kinda kept talking on and on about himself but it was fine I still talked too. After that he asked me if I wanted to go for a walk. We walked and talked more. He asked to hold my hand. We kissed. I made a joke and said "we better stop people will think were filiming for a porn " He laughed I thought we were having a cute moment holding each other's hands and he rubbed mine and said my skin is so beautiful. My heart melted.
He asked if I wanted to go in his car and kiss for privacy. I said yeah. I enjoyed it . I enjoyed him . Mind you I'm 26 and he was no joke 45 because in my delusional mind I set the filters to older guys thinking they actually would want something serious and not a damn hookup and thought older men would have less higher standards. And woudktn care about little details like the younger guys do.
So one thing led to another afyer making out . I gave him a BJ. He came in not exaggerating maybe a minute and 30 seconds. He wiped himself with some napkins. We kissed some more We talked and then he drove me back to my car and we left. I did like sucking his dick it was a nice feeling to make a guy cum. But maybe I shouldn't feel too special about that I didn't want to have sex with him because I don't want to show my body to a man I barely know. I need a guy to like me on a deeper level but I'm okay with doing a bj no big deal. Thinking maybe it will keep him interested in me. And like me
I expected him to be attached and happy with me and would like me. I felt a connection I literally sucked his dick... so yes i did catch feelings. Yet days go by no texts finally he texts me hey. I text back. He takes hours to respond. Tells me im beautiful I say thanks he says have a nice night .
Next day I try and start more of a convo and he takes more hours to respond. Clearly he doesn't give a fuck . If a man cared he would text and want to have an actual convo. He would want to have an actual conversation with me . He hasn't said anything about us or even if he liked me. He hasn't asked or told me he wants to meet again. I think all I was to him was some kind of hookup which is fucking hilarious considering we met on a Christian dating app .
I thought if I sucked his dick he would like me. Answer ? No he doesn't.
I want to say this man was probably a 3/10 he was overweight and nothing special at all. Why am I saying this? I'm saying this because I am not going for a Chad player type . I'm purposely going after more uglish guys because I thought they would just be happy to Be around a woman since they probably get no attention . But then they wanna act like they are studs or some shit and not even text me or ask to hang out again . He even told me he hasn't been on a date in 5 years or had sex so you'd think .... but nah . Dating is truly fucked up. Not sure if porn has absolutely ruined men and now they think an average woman isn't good enough or if men just literally don't give a shit about being in love or having a relationship. So yes I am really down about this . If some ugly guy doesn't even want me then I don't even know if I'll ever find love.. hell even dating apps just suck soo soo much. It feels absolutely depressing how little effort men put in. I try to respond fast and make detailed answers and ask questions to keep the convo going but it's Just so difficult .
And before anyone thinks I'm ugly or fat or anything. Nope I'm not fat or ugly. People have said I look like Aubrey plaza . Of course she's prettier than me and I'm not her identical fucking twin but shittt... so yes I feel like absolutely shit right now.
And one more thing I wanna say if you've read this far. This wasn't a one time thing. I have been on 2 other dates with men and we seemingly have a good time and it leads fucking no where. No effort after from the men's side at all or even if I put in effort they don't care or ask to ever meet up. So this is why I feeling sad it just keeps happening. I just so happened on the 3rd date to suck his dick cus yolo I guess? And maybe a man couldn't actually be fucking interested but even after sucking a random guys dick hell he could of had aids or a disease for fucks sake and I did it because I'm lonely and truly am desperate.
And also no my personality isn't the problem. I am a listener nice and respectful. I give out compliments and stuff When I tell you I have no idea I really don't get why no men would ever care about me . M

Hi all, throwaway account because I have people I know on my main. I’m desperate for advice because I’m heartbroken.
My boyfriend and I have been together for 3.5 years, but have known each other for upwards of 8. Our relationship began very intensely, lots of incredible feelings that we both claimed we’d never really felt before. He mentioned several times during the honeymoon phase that he thought he’d loved his ex but didn’t believe that after experiencing what we’d experienced, and that in his mind, I was his “first love”.
Things changed very quickly but I don’t know when or how. He was showing me photos from waaaay back in his camera roll and stumbled across nude photos of his ex, which made me really uncomfortable. They’d been broken up for 2-3 years at this point. Suddenly, she became a big problem in the relationship.
He can no longer even bring himself to say that I’m his first love, and tells me that she was his first and he “never said that” to me. Obviously I understand that they had a relationship, but I don’t understand why he would say that and then backtrack. I have had two long-term relationships before him and one that I was very in love with, I never felt the need to lie to him about it. It made me feel like he didn’t love me as much anymore and he never meant it. Like it was just lovebombing almost.
Anyways, I became very insecure about her. She’s objectively much prettier than me and all of my exes thus far have told me to my face that they thought their exes (and other girls in general) were prettier than me, so I guess I have a lot of trauma there regardless. I’ve also heard the trope that men never really get over their “first love”, and so far it’s rung true in my life.
A couple weeks ago, he randomly brought up how he wants to run into her so he can rub in her face how “good” his life is now. He tells me almost every day his life is falling to pieces, so I was shocked to hear that for several reasons. I mentioned that he did see her a couple years ago, and he promptly told me that I “let him down” because I “wasn’t strong enough” and “cried when I saw her” (blatantly untrue and hurt me to hear that’s what he took away from that night).
I was extremely insulted and hurt by everything he said. I wasn’t good enough for him to show off to his ex and ruined the perception he wanted her to have of him is what it sounded like to me. He argues that the intention behind the comment was he wants to “show off how happy we are to the world” — then why only bring up it up in the context of rubbing it in the face of his ex?
Anyways, we saw her while shopping yesterday and I was prepared to ignore it but he stopped and said “Was that ___?” I just went quiet because all I could think about was what he said and I felt like I was letting him down because she was dressed up and I looked horrible.
He got so angry with me, said I’m making his ex about me, I’m selfish, I won’t let him move on with his life, etc. etc. He said he would break up with me right there because it’s a dealbreaker that I let it affect me so much. It was a really extreme and confusing reaction. I didn’t say a word and if he wants to move on so badly, why did he express how eager he was to run into her and flaunt how far he’s come without her?
I feel like he’s not over her and it’s really fucking with me. I’ve always felt that way, but after yesterday I can’t explain how disgusting I feel. I feel weak and ugly and worthless. I feel like he’s just settling for me and I will never be the one he really wants. I don’t think he is in contact with her, but I don’t know if it matters at this point. We aren’t on good terms right now and I don’t even know how to move forward. Am I overreacting or reading into it too much? What do I to either fix this or move on?
tl;dr my bf and I ran into his ex and he got extremely angry and threatened to break up with me because of my insecurities due to things he’s said and done throughout our relationship concerning her.

I'll do my best to recount this, but I admit it's tough to reach back and remember the surprise that came with youthful innocence as you meet your own sexual experiences, and nothing is ever as it was described to be, expected to be, some things are worse, some things are great despite seeming yucky at a glance, and some things just don't matter as much as others said.
Best to describe "virginal me" as someone dedicated to her family's devout Christian faith. Never really questioning the faith itself, I didn't totally get how this stuff would work in a practical way as I started having urges and desires towards boys. And I thought I was just a-waitin' to be some homemaking wife, a baby factory... basically everything that I was told I wanted. I believed that I must want these things too!
I'll say this much - I'd made it to high school around this time, and this was a fairly average age for many women to try sexual things. Won't get more specific than that, just in case. And I became very aware of the sort of 'fresh meat' mentality that makes young girls practically competitive with each other -- you know, the things we'll do to keep a boys interest.
So, sure. I had a few boyfriends. My first real kiss, I remember praying for most of the night because I was afraid I liked it too much, and certainly would become a whore overnight, and what's up with these hormones doin' witchcraft without my permission, anyways?
Anyways, in a tale as old as time, I assume, a new family moves in up the street, I'm immediately crushing on the son of this family, and he seemed older, but not by much. I was wrong on this one, he was 22, but I didn't know that, and it certainly wasn't love, but it was at least lust at first sight. I could fin the sin boling inside of me already. Tried to ignore him.
And by trying to ignore him, I mean I'd get as gussied up as possible to simply take a walk around the block while he played basketball alone and shirtless outside, daydreaming about what I might do if he said hello.
Let's try to speed up to get to the parts that probably matter more to you. Oddly, I don't quite remember how we got formally introduced to each other, but we started spending some time together. We were the only people on this whole block under 30 so it just worked out this way. He (and his family) drank, smoked cigarettes, and some other inhalable things. Before him (and we'll call him "Alan"), I thought those were the direct paths to hell. Watching him consume? It felt grown up, mature, like I was living a taboo just for being nearby and able to smell the smoke and beer breath on him.
Before too long he asked me about guys at my school, I did the bashful "no one really notices me" response which was ultimately true but I also had made many concerted decisions and efforts to not get noticed -- I was seen as a goody two shoes church girl and was the butt of many, many jokes. He asked what types of guys I like, and I told him I didn't know, and that was true. Listed off some virtues like honesty, being funny, attractive, and he gave me a "well, that's me". We talked about the difference in age, I laughed it off knowing he couldn't be serious, but asked him the same in return. I got a pretty different answer from him than mine. His list was quite a bit more shallow, but I figured it just covered the surface. He went on about not believing me, that high school boys were dumb (and they often are), that I'm too pretty to be single -- that one sent me over the moon.
Time blurs a lot of this. What felt like weeks of coming up with excuses to hang out with him between when I got home from school and before my parents came home was probably less than two weeks. I'll just get into some nitty gritty now, this is a bit forward in the story, but I don't see much reason to dwell on the priors.
Alan was almost a foot taller than me. Had longish blonde hair, and had that very nice athletic build from working off the alcohol playing basketball alone in the front yard. I loved watching his hips with each jump.
A specific day where I "accidentally" walked in front of his house on the way to mine, which meant I basically had to walk around the block backwards and undetected after getting off of the bus, he was outside smoking, beer in hand. Motioned me over, I don't recall all that was said, but he was talking about how much it sucked to be single. I told him again I'd never been in anything serious with a guy before. I was invited in, but this was the beginning of something different.
He lived in a converted carport/garage attached to his family's house. Just gray cinderblock walls surrounding the possessions of a man-child with very little ambition. Skull bongs with candle wax dripped all over them, a dusty loveseat, a mattress on the floor, no bedframe. No need for curtains as there were no windows. Just a door that would lead outside, and a door that would lead to the rest of the house, which I'd never seen before. But there we were, alone, and he asked if I wanted to see what he really looks for in a girl. Of course I did! And in no time flat, a few clicks of a remote control, and porn was playing on his dingy TV screen from a DVD player.
I'd seen some porn out of curiosity, and some other exposure, but not exactly a large amount of it. Had a general working knowledge of the most common things one might see, and a mental idea of what sets of genitalia looked like, as well as what they produce/excrete. Does that sound clinical? It should. At the time, most of my sexual knowledge was either general functionality, and a lot of "things women did to land a man but didn't really like doing". One of those things I'd heard even from my own mom was happening on the screen with precious little notice: an impossibly busty woman was blowing someone. Of course I pretended like this was no big deal and I watched porn allllll the time.
He went on to tell me that "any girl of his" would be really into doing that for him whenever he wanted. I'd asked if that had been common for him with ex's. He'd said something like "no, and that's why they are ex's. If I could get blowjobs anytime I wanted, I would literally never want anything else in bed", and there was a laugh, but a bit of seriousness to it as he looked at me and waited for my response. We talked a little more about the intricacies - sometimes it'd be fast like what was happening onscreen, sometimes it'd be really slow so he'd lay back and enjoy...then the money shot happened, conversation ceased as the random busty lady got her face coated. This is why I asked the million dollar question about if he expected to shellac his next girlfriends face with each blowjob. He told me, no. The rationale was that women only did that in porn so you could see that he really finished. HIS girls would swallow it.
Listen, I know how insane this probably sounds, but the idea that you'd ever consume that stuff was just like science fiction to me. Figured that if it tasted half okay, no one would ever have kids, really.
He used the remote, went to yet another POV blowjob scene, kind of groaning in happiness as he'd say things like "yeah, take it girl" or "yeah, you know you love being a dickeater". I hadn't heard him talk like this. Also, my hormones were somehow excited by it all.
I thought about things quickly; my understanding was that blowjobs were a pretty submissive act, but most of the women in my church seemed to submit to their husbands, and since I didn't recall anyone in the 'scare you out of premarital sex' sermons saying that blowjobs counted (because I really was this naive), I started wondering to myself if this was something I'd be okay with doing. Seemed like a direct line from giving Alan head to being his girlfriend.
But next to me, he started rubbing the bulge in his shorts. Over the cloth, but with a thumb tucked inside, like he'd planned to go exploring, but remembered I was in front of him. Even my naive ass knew he was hard. This seemed like a good time to ask him if he wanted me to leave, and he said I shouldn't since we were enjoying "the show" together. I won't pretend my hormones weren't twirling like crazy, but it was also pretty scary to me then. I'd try to stay on topic but ask other questions. One was along the lines of "If you had a girlfriend that did that for you whenever, what else would you expect out of her", and his answer was basically "do what I like in bed, the rest works itself out, and I probably wouldn't care past that". How many times a week? "You mean how many times a day", he'd say with a guffaw.
Mentally, I was weighing things, did I want to be his girlfriend so badly that I'd jump right into the unknown? Did I want to be a girlfriend at all? My hormones said yes to the latter, but weren't immediately sure of the former. I responded with something I don't quite recall, but measured up to "if all you want are blowjobs. I bet I'd be great at being your girlfriend"
He motioned towards his zipper and asked something like " do you mind if I...?", trailing off. I genuinely thought he wanted to excuse himself to rub one out, so I said I didn't mind. It was that fast that he had his dick out, stroking himself, and asked with all the gusto in the world: do I want to try it?
This, I remember like it was yesterday.
I said I'd have to be his girlfriend for that! "Want to be my girlfriend, then?" I'd mentioned I didn't know how to do it. "I'll show you how" That's all it takes? "If you swallow, you're definitely my girlfriend"
This girl didn't have a damn clue how relationships began, were handled, and every old adage I'd ever been told about sex acts that "keep men happy" came flooding into my mind. Maybe this was how you get a real boyfriend? Technically this "isn't sex"? It's like my life flashed before my eyes as he guided my head down. I looked down until I got too close to focus my eyes, seeing his blondish-brown pubic hair while he stroked his cock next to me. With a sigh and more butterflies in my stomach than most forests, I said "where do you want me?" and just that quickly, his hand went away from his cock and just guided my head riiiiiight down to it.
As soon as his cock, damp with precum, touched my lips, I instinctively opened my mouth and let him slide right in. "Showing me how to do it" meant "putting his hand on the back of my head and using my mouth in place of his hand". Beyond the obvious, he actually wasn't too pushy. It felt like a lot at the time. I marveled at how much bigger the head of his cock seemed in my mouth than just looking at it. No idea if he was looking at the screen or looking at me, I heard him cheering me on, quietly: "good girl", "just like that", "move your tongue more... JUST like that" while he kept my head going at a steady pace.
When he said "it always takes me longer to finish when I drink, sorry", I was pretty confused - I realized I didn't know how long these even took on average. He paused at one point to swig from his beer can, letting go of my head, saying "keep going baby". I'd never been called baby. I'd never been called a good girl. My brain and heart loved it, and I started mentally assuming this was now my fiance because I genuinely was that naive.
He was good with direction, yes, but no real moans. I didn't know I was to expect them, but for this reason, I had no metric to decide how long I'd been doing this, how long I should expect to be doing it, or anything. Just... swallow when he's done. I got more into it as my heart got more involved, and showed some initiative by choosing to bob my head faster (I really didn't know my way around a penis back then, so I assumed speed was the key), which got him to say something like "damn baby, you really like this!", when I was thinking "I don't know about that, I just really like YOU", but it instead came out as a muffled "mmhmm" -- because I didn't want him to think I was having a bad time.
In the moment, I didn't know if I was "having a good time". Looking back, I'm fairly sure that I was thinking "I really want him to be my boyfriend and this is how to make that happen", and my faith wasn't really entering my mind much once I felt him push my head. He never went so far as to gag me, but did keep steadily guiding me. Also, in looking back, I'm not sure why I wanted a boyfriend so badly -- the inexplicable desires of a teenage girl, I'd guess?
Back to the situation?
His grip on my head tightened, and I only had a second to think to myself "I must be doing something right" before he shot spurt after spurt after spurt of cum into my unsuspecting mouth. He grunted with each shot, and it was only really as his orgasm subsided that I really started getting anxious about what I'm supposed to be doing. Was I supposed to swallow it and leave? Do I take his dick out of my mouth first and then swallow, or try to do it with him shoved against my tonsils?
That was mostly answered with him pulling my head up, telling me it got really sensitive. He looked happy and almost sleepy. And then... "you going to swallow?"
This might be hard to believe, but I wasn't even thinking about if I liked the taste or not. It was all so new, especially this texture. I nodded that I would, and had to fight making a face as I choked it back, it hit my bitter tastebuds, and I shuddered a bit, and the aftertaste hit me of the saltiest and most bitter concoction I could have ever imagined.
Until I went home, everything that happened for the next few minutes is there in my memory as a blur, but I do recall some very specific things. Most of all, the main question on my mind was "... well, what happens now?" - I'd just done something I'd been told I was supposed to hate doing, but I didn't hate it. I swallowed, which I was told was the worst and it made you a total ho, but I'd only done it the one time, and didn't feel like a total ho. Overall, I was shocked at how much I didn't mind it. Not only did I not mind it, I wasn't opposed to doing it again, and I felt that way immediately. Wasn't sure if this was me weighing if I was ready to do this again, but that's getting way ahead of the story.
When I gulped it down, I sat straight up and looked directly at him, assuredly waiting for some kind of cue about what the hell people do after a blowjob, you've swallowed his cum -- literally everything I knew told me he was supposed to be falling asleep now, and he very much wasn't asleep while he shoved his cock back into his shorts.
What came next was a negotiation that I didn't realize was a negotiation. After I said "how did I do", and he'd told me I did really well, but I'd learn more over time, and the best thing I did was "swallow like a champ". Asking him if most girls did that for him, he'd said "no, and that's why I'm single". Knowing what I know years later, that's arguably true! Just a creative way to put it.
But those questions started pouring out of him as the afterglow subsided, all of which I greeted with the same answer: "If you were my girlfriend you'd do that whenever I said?", "You're gonna swallow every time?", "Would you do it first thing in the morning if I said so?", "You're okay with me not doing that for you, I hate doing that for girls?", "Wow, you really liked that cum, didn't you?" is the last one he asked with a huge grin. I answered yes to all of it -- I didn't see a problem with those things, really. It was only when he talked about me "liking cum" that I was fibbing. I didn't hate it, but I didn't know what to make of it, and again, was mostly surprised that it was nowhere near as bad as I was led to believe it'd be. Besides, I'm getting a boyfriend!
He peck-kissed me after a hug, and led me to his door. Told me to not worry about knocking, to just come in whenever -- that kind of trust bowled me over, I must say. And of course, leaned in and whispered in my ear "but you know we got to keep this secret for now, a lot could happen, you're young..." and in the moment, I agreed. I had my own reasons for thinking that, but they hit me like a sledgehammer as I walked out the door and made my way home.
I wondered exactly why I was so hellbent on him. He had no job. No car. No license. If he had friends, I hadn't seen any of them (but he did, and that's a story for later). Breathed a sigh of relief that I wasn't going to have to explain my brand new dating situation to my parents because we were going to keep it quiet. Also, I panicked that it'd somehow be very obvious to my parents when I got home that I was still a virgin, but had done something sexual. That was silly, and sure, I hid it, but probably because I started hiding myself away from them.
That was a Friday. I was in my bedroom just about to go to sleep, when an inebriated Alan tapped on my window; he wanted me to know that he wanted to be up around 10 AM, so I should probably make plans to go over and "get used to waking" him up that way. I smiled with wild ideas about the fun we'd have together after I woke him up and we got the blowjob situation out of the way. Oh, I was so naïve.
SO naïve. But I agreed, and he told me he was excited to see his good girl in the morning, and I melted.
I'll pick up from here next time.

Vote on a match featuring the detective teams allied against a masked vigilante having gone berserk!

(Shoutouts to u/ShimoDragon and Heart of the Rose for the match!)
Scenario: The Kamala Rose International, Vasitanagarh — 2:06PM
Weeks ago, in the very center of The Kamala Rose International lay the fantastical garden known as the Heart of the Rose, in the center of that garden stood a gazebo, and in the center of that gazebo was a table surrounded by four individuals in a heated discussion.
“That was sloppy work, Margherita!” Sulka slammed their fist against the table in an uncharacteristically loud fit of rage, “I told you to get rid of that man last week! Now because of your pointless delays he was able to leak that scandal to the news!”
“Hey hey, levati dai coglioni! I don’t appreciate the blame being thrown onto me here,” Margo threw up his arms in response, looking more annoyed than upset, “You never told me there was any urgency. Besides, it takes a bit of time to frame an accidental death. What, do you think you can just shoot a guy in the head and call it a suicide? You watch too many movies if you think that kind of thing can just happen overnight, mammalucco.”
“Do you even care that our operation here is in jeopardy now that that video is drawing prying eyes our way?!” Sulka almost spat at the italian man, “Your nonchalance is insulting!”
“Easy, Sulka,” Jim Peckle interjected, “Margo did his best. No way for him to know that things would turn this way.”
“You’re both right, actually,” Margo sneered, “I did my best, as I do with every job, but I honestly couldn’t care less if this little crime ring collapses. You lot are nothing more than a side hustle to me, my allegiances lie back in Italy. In other words, stop pestering me and vai a cagare.”
With a swish of his apron Margo left, leaving Sulka to smolder in a more recognizable quiet anger.
“That’s the last time we give him a time sensitive job, if you ask me,” Pluto spoke up for the first time since arriving (late), “The unwanted attention is a problem, don’t get me wrong, but I’m more concerned with how we even got to this in the first place, hey? That guy in the video was talking about missing people, Kiisseli. Just what the hell have you been up to?”
“Need I remind you, Hendrix,” Sulka’s cold gaze turned to meet Pluto’s, “that part of our arrangement involves the right to privacy. I do not intend to pry about what you use our resources for so I expect that you will do me the same decency.”
“Excuse me…?” Pluto straightened up from his relaxed position, “You don’t get to just shrug this off after bringing the feds to our damn doorste-”
“To be curt,” Sulka cut him off, “It’s none of your damn business, Pluto. So drop it.”
Behind Sulka’s back, Jim quietly scoped his nearest emergency exit.
Pluto’s vein bulged visibly at Sulka’s words, “You’ve got people paying attention to the airport cuz you’ve been pulling some shady bullshit and you just managed to get your ass handed to you by a cat and some whackjob in a mask, hey. Obviously this is my fucking business!”
“I may have been beaten by a “whackjob” as you put it,” Sulka slowly rose from their chair, “but I could certainly beat you if you’re going to keep acting like a thorn in my side.”
“You could beat who?” Pluto’s voice raised an octave in sheer frustration and confusion, “Trust me, you don’t want this smoke, Kiisseli.”
“What’s this about smoke?” Dark Disquiet shimmered into view and lit a fire in its palm behind Sulka as they spoke, “Because from where I stand you’re the only one who should fear getting burned, Hendrix.”
“This isn’t the time or place for a fight,” Jim stepped in between the two, holding up his hands. Behind his dark sunglasses, his eyes flicked cautiously over to Sulka. “Everything just goes up in flames. Nobody wins… Best cool things down and make peace.”
An uneasy silence hung over the gazebo until Pluto clicked his tongue in frustration, “Yeah. Fine. Better an ally than an enemy, I suppose. But let it be known that next time I have to deal with problems caused by your actions I’ll be expecting a damn good explanation, hey? Now I’m getting out of here before your self important face pisses me off any more than it already has.”
Once Pluto had left earshot, Sulka let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of their nose, “I hate to admit it but I too am in a state where I still need to rely on Hendrix’s assistance. Oh how I despise co-leadership…”
“I like having him around,” Jim replied, shrugging minutely, “He brings a lot to the Heart. He’s easygoing, and a lot more dedicated than he seems on the surface. It would be a shame to drive him away.”
“You’ve already deescalated the situation, Jim Peckle. Any further arbitration would be pointless, unless you mean to crawl your way back onto my good side. In which case you have a long way to go,” Sulka made a dispassionate gesture towards the exit, “You may leave as well, but don’t assume that this means you’re off the hook. You’ve not yet been forgiven for leaving me in the dirt and running off with that costumed clown after our fight.”
Jim hesitated for a moment before deciding to swallow his pride and take his own advice. Instead, he simply gave a light nod in response and scurried out of the gazebo.
For a time Sulka sat in silence, partially to gather their thoughts and partially to make sure their team members had cleared out. “Marko, Olli, come here now.”
Barely missing a beat, the Runoilija brothers ran in to greet Sulka, “Right here boss!” Marko, the bigger of the two, responded, “Sorry we weren’t here for the meeting–that kid you hired a while back was break dancing in the halls outside the garden and we were entranced by the little guy!”
“Enough!” Sulka was all too familiar with how the brothers could prattle on if left unchecked, “I didn’t call you over to have you discuss your simplistic entertainment. I have a job for the two of you.”
“Lay it on us boss, we’ll get it done in no time,” Olli rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
“To be more accurate it’s closer to a reassignment than a job,” Sulka tucked their hands behind their back, beginning to pace across the raised dais. “Thanks to this mess we’re in, I’ll be forced to decrease, if not totally halt, my… cultivation, we’ll call it, her at the Rose. In order to make up for the drop-off in offerings we will need to expand operations outside of the airport. I’ve already made the arrangements. Starting tomorrow, you two will be stationed at Club Naraka over in Port Konwar. You will remain vigilant for any and all stand users that enter the building. I don’t care how you do it but make sure you check every guest. Once you find a stand user you are to restrain them and call for me. This is by far the most promising location I’ve managed to get a hold of, so I am expecting big things. Are there any questions?”
“Uh, it’s a club, yeah?” Marko cocked his head, “That means there’ll be booze, right?”
“...Yes Marko,” Sulka sighed, “There will be drinks of all kinds.”
“Alright! We won’t let you down boss! You can count on us!” Olli beamed—and promptly tripped on Marko’s heels in his haste as the two of them rushed for the door.
Sulka sighed again, if that pair of fools weren’t so loyal they would’ve discarded them long ago.
Scenario: ???, ??? — 1:20 AM
THUMP
THUMP
THUMP
Reese’s eyes slowly opened, his vision hazy. His head stung—that was the first thing he noticed, the dull throbbing pain in his temple. He couldn’t think straight. Where was he? Why was he here? What was-
God, his head.
“Ghhh...” He massaged his temples, blearily trying to force some sense into his brain. He was... Where was he...
Memories came back to him slowly, filtered through heavy bass and the scraping of a rusty fan overhead. He was looking for leads on something... His father was looking into Nightblooms... There were rumors of knowledgeable Stand users here... His teammates had told him not to go, but he-
The door creaked open, slamming against a dingy, degraded concrete wall. Reese lifted his head, slowly. His head felt like a ten ton weight on his shoulders. He could hardly see. What the fuck happened?
Through the now open door a stream of light poured in highlighting the silhouettes of two men. The bigger man on the right spoke first, “So this kid is the fresh meat, huh? And you’re sure he’s one of us this time?”
“Oh definitely,” The skinny man on the left replied, “This guy’s a stand user, no doubt about it.”
Reese could hear what the men were saying but his mind was covered in a fog and it was difficult to comprehend the words. Fresh meat? Stand user? Did these two bring him here? What did they want?
The skinny man kneeled down to bring himself face to face with Reese. Even in the darkness of the room he was close enough that Reese could make out his distinctly crooked nose , “I’m gonna make this real simple for you, pal. You see our boss is a very important person. They are the type with big plans that some people might not agree with. Because of that, they like to make powerful friends whenever possible. Friends like you, for example. For that very reason the boss is on their way here right now to meet you! I’m sure the two of you will get along great but I thought I should give you a bit of a warning. The boss doesn’t like it when their offer of friendship gets turned down, you see. There’s only one thing they hate more than that. Unnecessary risk. If they can’t have you as a friend… Well, I’m sure you’ll make the right choice once you meet them.”
“Uhhh, Olli?” The bigger one tapped the skinny man on the shoulder, “I don’t think this kid is hearing you. Look at his eyes, it’s like he’s still asleep.”
“Wha-?” Olli aggressively grabbed Reese’s head and forcefully opened his eyelids all the way to stare into the boy’s pupils, “Goddamnit, the drugs still haven’t worn off! Urgh, just put him back to sleep Marko. I’ll give him the speech again once he wakes up.”
Reese wanted to run or fight or something but he could barely move as the skinny man- Olli let go of his head. Drugs? Had these two drugged him? His mind was swimming with Olli’s monologue creating a whirlpool of words and phrases that he recognized but could not focus on. With every ounce of his available strength he lifted his body onto his elbows and looked up to his captors.
“W-wait a se-” He couldn’t even form a full sentence before the bigger man- Marko reeled back and threw out a punch.
There was a violent shake.
A loud thud.
And then black.
Scenario: Club Naraka, Port Konwar — 1:22 AM
Club Naraka was, if nothing else, accurately named.
When you first stepped into the subterranean hell pit of human desire, you were greeted with the thick smell of booze and cigarettes and other far less legal things. It had a way of overwhelming every sense, actually. Harsh lights strobed against the otherwise dim chambers of each floor, and the bass thumped hard enough to feel in your ribs. When you eventually found yourself in a place where it didn’t smell so harshly of booze, it was because it smelled like vomit instead, or some other thing you didn’t really want to figure out the source of.
Emile Gulati, 27 years old, stared with half lidded eyes at the air freshener she’d hung behind the bar, wishing with all of her heart that it actually worked. It was her last little rebellion against this place. She tried wearing earbuds, but she couldn’t hear her own music over the stuff they played in the club. She tried normal earplugs, but those hardly worked, and just made it harder to bartend. She considered nose plugs, but that’d just make her look weird - customers gave her enough shit already.
“Evening, bartender~.” A sleazy looking man had somehow wandered over to the bar without her noticing, splaying himself over the counter. Emile tried her best to hide her immediate disdain. “You, uh, wow, huh, eheh.” He pointed at her. “Nnnn~ice outfit. Eheh.”
She scowled.
“You gonna order something or what?” Emile made sure to step back a few feet. Best not to stand too close to guys like this - she’d learned that the hard way just a week ago. “I don’t work here as a fucking model. Get a drink.”
“Bitch.” The man sneered. “You people should be more agreeable. Tsch.” He wandered off, having seemingly forgotten what he came for in the first place. Emile sighed in relief. She idly looked back at the little bottle under the counter, and winced. She’d made a routine of reminding herself it was there and feeling like shit about it.
Being a bartender here was bad enough, but every now and then she’d get a lovely text from a higher up on the burner phone they’d given her to slip a few drops of that into their drink. Within moments a security guard would drag them away, leaving Emile with no explanation. Not that she was expecting one, granted. But she would’ve liked to know what exactly she was doing here. For closure, or something. Maybe.
Couldn’t pay rent in Mist City without a job, she reminded herself for the fourth time that night. The latest one really got to her - some bright eyed youngster filled with determination who was trying so hard not to look like he was there on some sort of mission. She had hope that whatever job it was would succeed, but that hope seemed to evaporate like a fine mist when she watched him disappear behind the elevator doors.
She rubbed her temples.
“...”
And exhaled. This place got in the way of her reason, the music keeping her from thinking. Was next month’s rent worth the people she’d screwed over? Hell if she knew.
“I’m taking my fifteen,” said Emile, to no one in particular. She marched away from the bar, stalking towards the elevator. When the doors closed behind her, she found herself blessed by something close to peace and quiet. It reassured her.
Equally reassuring was the golden coin beneath her feet, glinting in harsh LED light.
“...Lucky coin, huh?” She picked it up, admiring it for a moment before pressing down on the lowest button on the elevator keypad. She didn’t know what she was actually going to do - but it’d probably be better than doing nothing.
When the doors opened, Emile found the floor was completely barren. No one wandered through the dusty concrete halls; the only thing that gave her company was the thick, noxious smell that clung to the air. Preferring not to investigate its source, Emile began walking through the halls…until her eye caught on an open door. Unsure where else to go, she peeked inside.
Curled on the cold floor was a body. Emile’s stomach dropped–until she saw movement in the person’s chest. Still alive. That she could work with. Rushing over, Emile knelt next to the unconscious person, as she had with countless blackout drunks. She made sure he was on his side, and then gently stirred him until he woke. All the while, dread tangled her organs in knots. Who would do such a thing? Why? Still, the answers didn’t matter. What mattered is that something was very wrong with this place, and they needed to leave as fast as possible.
Yet, when the young man opened his eyes, he didn’t look at her with shock or fear, but anger. A righteous fury that had him just about jumping to his feet.
“Woah! Woah, settle down, you were unconscious, your body needs time-” Emile began, before the man shook his head. That alone seemed to dizzy him, as he braced himself against the wall.
“I don’t have time. I need to- I can’t have been the only one. I need to-”
Emile stepped closer, trying to put a hand on his shoulder, but he immediately bristled at the touch, as if on reflex.
“You’re hurt- look, man… something’s up with this place. We need to get out of here.”
But he just shrugged her off, moving towards the nearest unlocked door. Without hesitation, he flung it open, frantically looking for other survivors. Yet, what he and Emile found…were rows of bathtubs. That horrid, sharpened smell was even stronger now, nearly overwhelming. It was all Reese could do to not keel over. Instead, Emile moved to support him, and the two crept closer, peering over the edge.
Inside the tub, something boiled, bubbled, churned.
The thing inside could barely be called human. The acid gnawed at the corpse like a desperate, starving animal, stripping the charred flesh off of its bones. Unable to support itself, it collapsed further, head sinking under the liquid. Soon, its blank, lifeless expression was stripped down to its gleaming bone. Gone. All gone.
Reese felt like he was standing in a tunnel. Lightless. Empty. Infinite. The feeling of Emile letting go, the sound of sharp retching, something splattering against the tile, all of it was muffled.
What cruel animal is man.
It was the twin jolts of fear and rage that hit him like an IED. Pounding adrenaline restarted his heart, clicking the world into focus. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Emile heaving, shuddering, pulling at her hair. All the unconscious drunkards, for all the rowdy bar fights, none of it could have prepared her for these horrors. That adrenaline pumped through her in turn, she could feel that fear grow sharp and jagged-
She could feel something take that fear, guiding it towards a sound. Footsteps. Reese didn’t seem to hear them, only her. She tried to speak- nothing. No sound could escape her lips. The fear that gripped her chest was unlike anything she had ever felt before. She couldn’t make a whisper but with the full force of her adrenaline she could still move.
The next few moments were a blur. A bottle on a shelf, shouting from the previous room, a desperate lunge, and the distinct sound of rending flesh. Suddenly everything was vivid and clear again. She felt the guards blood trickle through her fingers as Emile looked down and witnessed what she had done. The bottle had become a knife, and she had stabbed someone.
The guard fell to the ground as Emile stared at her shaking, blood stained hands, “I- that wasn’t- I didn’t mean-” She was stammering all while Reese watched on in silent shock.
“He’s not dead Emile,” a feminine voice echoed through her skull, “You have to finish it. You have to make sure.”
Her eyes darted from one end of the room to the other, trying desperately to find the source, but the longer she delayed the louder it got.
“Kill him. Kill Him. KILL HIM. KILL HIM.”
What happens when an animal is backed into a corner?
It attacks.
Suddenly, something in Emile snapped- no, it shattered like a broken bottle. A low scream escaped her throat betwixt clenched jaws as she savaged upon the barely breathing man.The knife became her teeth, raised into the air and plunged into red flesh. A wet schlllrk rang as she pulled it back out, only to bury it down again and again and again.
Reese moved quickly, instinctually- tackling her to the ground. A desperate move- to break this haze that she was in, end whatever vile urge had overcome her.
His eyes widened as they tumbled onto the floor, spotting several pairs of feet. Guards. He had tackled them into the direct view of more guards.
”Shit.”
A snapping noise split the air. An ethereal crocodile came from the ether, ready to defend its user.
A cornered animal attacked.
Meanwhile in the upper floors of the club the Runoilija brothers sat at a bar. Olli casually nursed an elaborate cocktail as he criticized his larger brother, “I think you hit that guy a little too hard, he should be awake again by now but there’s no news from the guards… You better not have killed him by accident like that last guy, Sulka’s already pissed enough at us as is.”
“That was not my fault!” Marko slammed his beer mug on the counter, “That last one wouldn’t stay down, so I just kept hitting him until he did. How was I supposed to know that he’d die so easily!”
“You literally just gave a textbook description of negligence, you moron. Of course it was your fault!” Olli smacked Marko on the side of his head to emphasize his point.
“Why’d you always gotta hit me…” Marko grumbled as he rubbed his head, “If you’re so sure that I’m the moron then let's bet on whether the fresh meat has gone cold or not. Whoever loses pays for the other’s drinks for the rest of the night.”
“Alright deal,” Olli snickered as they shook hands, “I’ll go take a look.”
Olli’s hand restlessly gripped the switchblade in his pocket as he descended through the floors of the nightclub. He fully intended to finish off the drugged up kid in the basement, assuming he refused to work for the boss like most did. He would pin the blame on his dumbass brother and have him pay for his drinks for the whole night. A win-win scenario.
Suddenly, a vibration from his phone. An update from the guards:
The prisoner got out. There are two of them now.
Marko received the same message back at the bar above. In a fit of rage he chucked his mug of beer at the wall with his full strength, just barely missing the skull of the bartender who was serving him. Before he had a chance to cause any more senseless damage another message addressed to himself and all the other guards came through, this time from his brother.
Find them both, NOW! Kill them if you have to, just make sure they don’t leave! If they’re gone when Sulka gets here we’ll all be fucked!
Marko stood up from the bar and began to push through the flirting couples and stumbling drunkards of the nightclub as his Ultraviolet materialized. The fresh meat had a helper and the two were trying to scurry away like rats? That was fine by him. Marko specialized in hunting down rats.

The music seemed to distort more intensely the longer Reese listened. Maybe it was the dull ache of the base, punctuated by a hundred frenzied footfalls, a rhythm that toppled over itself. Maybe it was the rage that sent his own heart racing. He could feel it pound against ｢Magenta Mountain｣ as he held the hourglass close to his chest. Still, there was no time to rest.
Finally, the two of them found the source of the noise. A dark, dingy dancefloor. It stunk of sweat and mildew, and the dancing bodies seemed to twist in the low light. Even as the two entered, splattered in blood, no one took notice. They were too caught up in dance, alcohol, god knows what else. In this moment of respite, Reese turned to Emile. Her gaze was as vacant as his own, she seemed to look right past him.
“Hey, focus.” Impatience had made his voice sharp. There wasn’t time for niceties, not for her. Emile’s eyes readjusted, finding him. In the dark, he could not see that was shone in her expression wasn’t malice, but fear.
“What the hell was that!?” he pressed. She shrunk away in turn.
“...I had to get out.”
“I know that,” Reese frowned, “We’re in the same boat. But that’s not an excuse- I could have helped! You didn’t have to-”
“I have to get out,” Emile continued. Her gaze went past him yet again. Her body shuddered. “Please, please just let me out. I’ll do anything, anything you want, I can’t stand this hell- just let me out!”
“I…” Reese swallowed, hugging his Stand tight. “What?”
His mind reeled, trying to process his next steps. This woman was unstable, that was clear. Unstable, violent, dangerous—not just to others, but herself. If Reese allowed her to simply leave, without understanding what was happening, who knew how many would suffer? Yet, the crowd shifted in strange ways, the beat becoming frantic, the music growing warped and mutilated. Should he stop the woman? Should he protect her from these maddening halls? What should he do? What should he do?
The moment Reese looked up, trying to make a call–Emile was gone. She had vanished deep into the crowd, following that horrid, golden voice. The music reminded Reese of the howl of coyotes in the night. The raucous celebrations of beasts who found their meal.
Against his beating heart, he felt ｢Magenta Mountain｣. Inside those grains lay the vast expanse of evolution, and its uniting link: the will to survive at any cost. His beasts had all failed, each one had faced death, and lost. At this moment, Reese understood them. He knew what it was to be a cornered animal. He would deal with the moral quandaries of man once he escaped. But first, he had to escape. The grains of sand were slipping through the hourglass. He knew he would not die like all those beasts that came before him. He would escape. He would survive. He had to.
Nothing else mattered.
Lost in the crowd, he and Emile reached that same conclusion.
Nothing else mattered.
Open the Game.
Location: Club Naraka, with the players currently on the second basement floor. Throughout the stage, the brown sections of the map are doors, furniture, lockers, crates, and whatever makes sense for the location. The players may interpret the map to read furniture as what would make sense for the location and may find any items that would be reasonable to find in that area of a club; if these ever would conflict in strategies, treat both readings as, somehow, correct.
Green circles are guards, each of which have 333 physicals, Guard: 3, and Basic Weapon Use: 3. These are overall competent operatives who aren’t going to be utterly trivial to get past, and each is armed with a handgun loaded with 9mm bullets and a baton.
The 2nd basement floor has MARKOV on one side in the bar, and Reese on the other in the boiler room. A few guards are already on the map; neither has immediate line of sight on either player.
North of MARKOV is a storage closet, which opens into a bathroom. North of this is the backrooms of the club, with the currently full dance floor in the middle. North of the boiler rooms is the security guard room, and at the far northeast of the map is the office of the club’s owner, filled with various trophies.
Of note for Reese, there are a few dead rats (purple triangles) in the boiler room, and a piece of coral (purple circle) in the office. This chunk of coral is 8 kg, and when reanimated by ｢Magenta Mountain｣ forms as a sort of hemisphere 2m across and 1.5m high.
The 1st basement floor is mostly for club business, with speakers and various technical material spread around. Of note, the many, many guards on the south of the first level will, if the players choose not to fight through the closest stairways, slowly fill into the lowest level, chasing the players. In essence, there will be significantly less guards around the stairs to the ground floor if the players take the longer path.
Finally, the Ground Floor is an open warehouse space with no traditional obstacles- as everything in this room is currently floating airborne, with a gloating Sulka armed with a fire extinguisher acting as the final obstacle. Between Sulka’s mobility, their guards acting as easier targets, and the needs of the match, they may not be RETIRED, but attacks launched at them will temporarily distract them and force them to block or avoid them. Otherwise, Sulka will alternate between launching single massive crates and flurries of small objects at the players as they fight their way through the ground floor, up to the doors at the north.
Goal: Fight your way out of Club Naraka! In particular, leave the club in better shape than your opponent.
While combat is allowed and expected, for the most part guards won’t leave too far from their base location; they can be snuck past. The winner of the match is who gets out of the club in the overall best condition.
Combat between players with the intent or foreseeable result of RETIREMENT is not recommended, though other types of interference are.
Additional Information: MARKOV’s current user is Emile Gulati, who has 233 physicals and 3 Bartending; Bartending gives Emile a thorough understanding of the layout of the club as well as preternatural skill in being able to throw around glass bottles or other similarly hefty items.
As for other NPCs besides the guards, the clubgoers have 222 physicals, Ignoring Any Chaos Around Them 5, and Mostly Irrelevant To The Match 4. Essentially they can act as a sort of cover in the dance floor, but besides hiding among them, don’t worry about anyone besides guards too much.

Team	Combatant	JoJolity
Gallery of Wayward Reverie	Markov	“Come on, what are you doing anyway? Calm down—got up on the wrong side of the bed or something?” Use a variety of tools, items, and tactics during your escape!
I.M.P.A.C.T.	Reese McGuffin	“What I have to do is look for the bone using my strings…” Use a variety of tools, items, and tactics during your escape!

Link to Official Player Spreadsheet
Link to Match Schedule
As always, if you would like to interact with the tournament community and be among the first to get updates for the tournament, please feel free to PM a member of our Judge staff for an invite to our Official Discord Server!

~First~
(Lord save me, this headache won’t go away.)
HHH/Herbert’s Hundred Harem
“You know there is the possibility of bi-locating with Axiom effects right?” Jahlassi asks him. The ‘interrogation’ had gone perfectly and had ended with a happy Gina heading home with a belly full of pastry and warm cider, an assurance that her life was soon to get better and the smug satisfaction that she had done everything in her power to hit back against the people that had conned her so long ago.
“Yes, but such ability is either so obvious that even the average citizen will know something is up, or the sign of an extremely potent adept. Which is very rare and would narrow our suspect list to roughly a hundred thousand individuals across Centris. Not including the ones directly in the employ of The Undaunted.” Herbert replies. The information of the specific times, no less than eight very specific times Gina clearly remembers due to the events surrounding them, meant they just had to narrow things down in a society where cameras were everywhere. Where the only place and time you could be sure you weren’t being recorded was if you swept the area yourself and turned off or destroyed any camera you could find. And even then, some could see through some kinds of walls and didn’t need a clear line of sight.
The problem wasn’t figuring out where everyone was, it was narrowing down the sheer number of people. Which numerous powerful computers, synths and data crunchers, or some who were all three, were working on even now.
“And if it IS a potent adept?” Jahlassi asks.
“Well... this is a very serious situation. Which means that it likely wouldn’t take much persuasion for one of the most potent adepts on the planet to take a break from her current duties and press down on such a possible threat?”
“You’re considering asking Lady Bazalash to interfere personally?”
“Again? Yes.”
“She interfered because billions of lives were on the line.”
“And if we find and spook an Adept skilled enough to be in two places at once without cluing in the people around them that they’re using Axiom, who has access to and knowledge of how to use Blood Metal on a scale never before seen in the galaxy in one of it’s most densely overpopulated planets. I dare say billions or trillions will be a conservative casualty estimation.” Herbert says.
“Right that... that is a very good point.”
“I’m glad you agree.” Hebert says as he cracks his neck. “What about the question I posed to the our team when I left to aid in investigations? What are our solutions for the disposal of the Blood Metal?”
“We do not understand Blood Metal sufficiently to dispose of it without a guarantee of no negative side effects. It’s just too rare and unknown. We have determined it would be best if we were to divide up the metal and have the pieces researched at different facilities that only sporadically have contact with each other.”
“That would slow research if there’s only a minimum of collaboration.” Herbert muses. “But that’s the downside of security. We know blood metal can actively pull apart Axiom Constructs and create them like a combination of much more vicious trytite and khutha. But it doesn’t stop there, it actively takes the Axiom it disrupts into itself to further empower it’s own effects. It eats it.” Herbert says.
“A bit over-dramatic, but that is a good summation. That fear effect though, that’s new.”
“It is. Beyond what it does to Axiom and the newly discovered fear effect it is also known to make people uneasy to look at it. But not in any way that’s easily explained. Could that simply be a lesser version of the fear effect? Or rather perhaps the fear effect is the uneasiness temporarily taken to an extreme?” Herbert asks as he rubs the side of his head. Everything is happening at once and more is coming. He has been trained for this, but training for it and being in the fire are entirely different.
He then straightens up and focuses his gaze. He will meet this challenge. For he is Undaunted. He will live up to the code as best he can. He can take it. This is just training for next time, and next time this will be easy.
He then mentally deflates a little as he’s hyping himself up at entirely the wrong moment. This isn’t the action, lead the troops through the trenches time. This is the waiting time. No matter how infuriating that waiting may be.
He needs to grow up. Possibly literally as he has too much energy right when he needs to be calm.
“Urgh... it’s like hearing the whistle...” He mutters to himself in frustration.
“The whistle?” Jahlassi asks.
“It’s an effect in old shows to show something is falling. A declining whistle.” He says before mimicking the whistle. “Often used to show a bomb is coming in a comedy show. Right now I can practically hear the bomb falling, but I can’t do anything but wait for it to impact. And with how much energy my younger body has it’s driving me to distraction.”
“You’re not comfortable being so small?”
“I’m rolling with a bad situation. If it were my choice, if I could truly choose I would be in my late twenties at least. The size and strength I had at that age was nice. Also this?” He gestures to his face. Jahlassi cannot find any flaw, the young man looks immaculate and seems to have walked out of a woman’s dream about younger men. “This is a problem. It’s too distracting, too much an attention getter. When puberty hits the good looks are thankfully lost.”
“You don’t like looking good?”
“Too much attention. If I need to charm someone that’s what talking to them and being charming is about. But if people are charmed at the first sight of me then I get far, far too much attention. Men already stand out a lot. An incredibly good looking little boy just at the edge of becoming a man? That’s dangerous.” He says. “Not only am I borderline hyper, but I’m as literal as jail-bait can be without someone leaving a trail of candy into a cell.”
“You ARE the candy that leads into the cell with that sweet voice my friend.”
“That’s the point! I’m supposed to be subtle and composed! But I’m obvious and hyper! I hate being a kid!” He exclaims before huffing. Sharing an obvious frustration with her ought to open her up a little more.
“And no one’s looked into ways of quickly aging as by our perspective it happens soon enough anyways.” Jahlissa remarks in a distinctly amused tone. And it worked.
“Right, I’m going to do something while we wait for results. I’m going to vibrate through the floor plating and down to the bottom of the spire if I don’t.” Herbert says before starting to head out of the room.
“I’m under orders to be near you when you’re not performing field duties.” Jahlassi says and Herbert freezes and looks back.
“Surely The Trytite Lady has experienced situations like this before.”
“The exact details are of course different, but yes. The real concern is humanity. You’ve been in the galaxy for just shy of a year. As in a few more days and it will have been a single year. Lady Bazalash is concerned about so young, so vibrant and so reckless a people shattering themselves like prop glass.”
“Prop glass?”
“A special easily broken glass that is used for props in movies and plays. It even breaks in a rounded manner so that if it lands on someone or is stepped upon it doesn’t lacerate.” She explains and he considers.
“That’s kind of her, by why me in specific?”
“You’re one of the most unusual humans there are. You’re not some prodigy adept but you have tasted one of the greatest gifts of the galaxy in excess. You have excelled, proven yourself and been knocked down again and again. Literally. There are concerns.” She says and he considers that.
“I see. Well then, I was planning on changing into more exercise appropriate clothing then entering a holo-chamber to exercise and burn off my excess energy. Nothing to be concerned about.”
“I see. Do you mind if you’re watched?”
“I do, but if you were to join me instead lady Nagasha and...” Herbert begins before his communicator starts going off. “Oh thank god there’s physical work to do. Excuse me.”
“I’ll pass your thanks to My Lady.”
“Not that God.”
“Which one then?” She asks in a cheeky tone.
“The all loving creator who was there before a single light in the sky was formed?”
“Oh her? Okay.” She teases.
“You know what I mean you cheeky, cheeky woman.” Herbert says back in a cheery tone. “Now if you’ll excuse me I need to...”
His communicator goes off again and he looks at it before his eyes widen. “Oh.”
“Oh what?”
“They’re here, slightly ahead of schedule.” Herbert says. “Excuse me.”
•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•
“Primary communications package sent, awaiting response.” The Communications Officer says on the bridge.
“Sir, Intelligence Operative Jameson present and accounted for.” Herbert says as he rushes onto the bridge without looking like he’s rushing. He takes up his position beside Admiral Cistern before holding up a mug of coffee on a platter. “Need this sir?”
“I’ve got so much in me that I need to let my blood water it down a little.” Admiral Cistern states.
“That wasn’t a no.” Herbert says before Admiral Cistern takes it.
“No, I just want it noted that I’m more coffee than human at this point.” He states.
“A new type of Erumenta Sir? Congratulations for siring a species.” Herbert jokes and gets a huff of amusement.
“Perhaps not. The odds are going every which way about this. Where do you place your own odds?”
“My bet is on us sir. I’m ready, I’ve been ready for a month. Sir Philip’s last true assignment to me before departing was to come up with all possible scenarios of The Inevitable’s Mission and proper responses to each. We have this sir. No matter what they’re bringing, we have the legal right, the monetary, military and numbers advantage in every way. They cannot defeat us.”
“It’s not victory or defeat that has me concerned Herbert. What has me concerned is the aftermath. The consequences. The further reaching effects.”
“I know. I just need you to know that I’m guarantying you will be there to make those choices.” Herbert says.
“Thank you, how are your investigations going?”
“We’ve reached the hurry up and wait part. We’re narrowing our suspect list significantly. But this is a system where having a list hundreds of trillions long is considered small. Thankfully it shouldn’t take more than a few hours.” Herbert says.
“Good, and the active combat going on?” Admiral Cistern inquires.
“Light, mostly skirmishes and distractions until police can swoop in and saturate the area with stun cannons.” Herbert says. “I was about to join a relatively close hot zone that just flared up when I received news of The Inevitable’s Data Package. It seems that the spell Lady Bazalash and Rikaxza spun is starting to fray ever so slightly.”
“Well it bought us precious time and we got a good grip on things.” Admiral Cistern notes.
“Sir, the package is decompressed and has accepted all codes. Text files only, on screen now...” The Communications Officer says before a screen full of gibberish appears. “Hang on, running it through our decryption...”
“Why are they so paranoid about this?” Herbert wonders out loud before the message decodes. “Ah.”
“So. They’re coming to render judgment.” Admiral Cistern notes. “Hmm... send them the return package and also inform them that a political firestorm is currently active on this world. Proper greetings shall be coming soon once we have established a stable video and audio link.”
“Well things are ominous to begin with. Their main communications array must be having some difficulties, or they’re currently speaking with the nearby cordon fleet that stops people from blundering into Cruel Space from the big laneways that lead into it as they converge.” Herbert remarks.
“Sir we have a text response from The Inevitable.” The Communications Officer says.
“Read it out Officer.” Admiral Cistern states.
“It’s a... well it’s from Madam Anastasia Stepanova Sir. She is on The Inevitable with several other ‘distinguished individuals’ and looks forward to working with us. Distinguished Individuals has quotation marks around it Sir.” The Officer says.
“Well that’s not ominous, not at all.” Herbert notes.
“Thankfully she’s going to be most concerned with YOUR department over any other. Which means I get my hands clean.” Admiral Cistern teases him.
“Sir! You betray me!” Herbert says dramatically.
“Poppycock. I’m merely saving myself from a witch by pointing out her favourite prey. An innocent child.”
“As innocent as a Fox in a henhouse sir.” Herbert dismisses.
“Sir, we have open contact with The Inevitable.”
“On Screen.” Admiral Cistern states and he comes face to face with his opposite.
~First~ Last Next

I've just come across this fantastic article from Sports Illustrated, 1956. Aside from some wonderful 1950s prose, I think it also has quite a bit of interest to anyone interested not just in Patterson but in that era of boxing, its expectations and its place in society.
Do read it all, but for those who don't have time here's a few highlights:
On Patterson's Professional Position Prior to Winning the Title

• "it is now as clear as anything can be in the future books of boxing that a lithe young Brooklyn Negro named Floyd Patterson—who celebrated his 21st birthday this month by challenging Rocky Marciano—will be the next heavyweight champion of the world."
  
• recently "outclassed" the #5 heavyweight in the world to the point where the referee stopped the fight (a rarer thing back then!)
  
• had 9 fights in 1955, all of the KO or TKO wins
  
• Ray Arcel calls him "best young fighter of any weight in the world", and will "outclass" all heavyweights within a year
  
• Patterson's own trainer (who also trained Jersey Joe Walcott) speculates about a Moore fight (which of course ended up happening, after Marciano retired in part to avoid fighting Patterson): "It'd be no contest" (which was true!)
  
• Same trainer, about how older fighters get tired in the ring: "if you get tired in there against Patterson, then God help you... I've trained 500-600 fighters and I've never seen anything like this boy."
  
• "There is still a gangling, faintly schoolboyish air about him, but he fights with the expressionless eye and violent gracefulness of a large cat hunting its dinner."
  
• points out that Patterson's only loss was a close decision to former world champion Joey Maxim, when Patterson was only 19. Maxim says "he had my tail dragging after the fourth round".
  
• the biggest problem for Patterson is his weight. His handlers were "tormented" by the fear that he might stop growing too soon - "the awful struggle" for more poundage, requiring a diet of yams. By 1956 he was nearly 180lbs.
  
• Constantine D'Amato is cited as only his "manager", not his "trainer" (who is someone else, the guy who also trained Walcott). Given the mystique around Cus as this genius of boxing who personally devised and taught every facet of peekaboo technique to Floyd, Jose and Mike, I thought that was interesting!
  

On Patterson's Character and Private Life

• Patterson is "a fellow who sleeps a lot", according to D'Amato (which he approves of). He sleeps in the dressing room before fights (partly to deal with nerves) - something the writer says was also true of Louis and Tunney. He also sleeps every morning after his run.
  
• Patterson keeps in shape by running 2-5 miles in "heavy army shoes" in Prospect Park in Brooklyn (followed by a cup of tea and sleeping until noon). He then watches a movie every day, before training at D'Amato's gym.
  
• he also studies fights by use of "kinescopes" he replays on his home projector in his flat. He also has a film splicer, allowing him to study himself frame-by-frame.
  
• however, despite having been given free entry at will to Madison Square Garden, he doesn't watch live boxing, because he feels the crowd gets emotional and distracts him from the details of the technique on display
  
• "occasionally" he invites his girlfriend to a film on a saturday night. She's 3 years younger than him, and they've known each other for several years, having been "introduced". [spoiler: they married a month after this article, but divorced ten years later when Floyd refused to stop boxing; she took their four children with her. Floyd remarried and stayed married for another 40 years, with 3 more children by his second wife and one adopted. Fun fact: his first child, Seneca, was born the night he became world champion]
  
• "a shy and sensitive youth"
  
• not just few friends - few acquaintances. "You get an acquaintance and, the first thing, they start doing things for you—favors for you—and the next thing they want to borrow."
  
• he lives in "a lackadaisically furnished bachelor den in Brooklyn's rugged Bedford-Stuyvesant section, just a few hazy dreams away from riches and world fame, and just a few blocks from a crumbling Old Law tenement where his father, a hard-working garbage truck driver, and his mother live with nine of their 11 children."
  
• attends late mass on Sunday mornings. Otherwise "keeps to himself", mostly "holed up" in his flat
  
• "enjoys a heady solvency", and "contributes heavily to the support of his family"
  
• despite reclusiveness, he's "a youth with a secret inclination toward dudishness; he cultivates sideburns and treats himself to good clothes"
  
• owns a pet monkey called Connie, a "lively beast" that lives with his girlfriend, where it "runs up and down the curtains, takes the telephone off its cradle, turns on the family television set and, if not restrained, dabs itself with lipstick"
  
• occasionally attends a "rock-and-roll session" at the Apollo Theater in Harlem
  

On Patterson's Upbringing

• As a boy in the asphalt jungle, Patterson was a lonely, disturbed and defiant being—the third in a family of 11 children, whom his parents, for all their toil, could barely feed.
  
• broke into a store with a gang, truant from school, ran away from home
  
• "virtually refused to talk"
  
• "refused to learn"
  
• at 12, could not read or write (despite attempts of school). Something he had in common with Liston, who never went to school and never learnt to read.
  
• once stole a truck - he used to start the trucks parked opposite the school and sometimes move them back and forth a bit, but on one occasion a man started chasing him so he drove it all the way home
  
• liked to skip school to go to Coney Island. Not to go on the rides, but "to watch people going on the rides"
  
• his mother believed in early intervention: "the twig is bent early".
  
• his mother committed him to "an institution for problem children" (others say it was usually used as an alternative to jail for young offenders, but apparently they also took 'voluntary' students)
  
• Patterson thought the school would have bars on the windows, but instead he was allowed to "roam the woods" in an atmosphere of "kindness and understanding". This had a miraculous effect on him; he returned to New York two years later, by which point he had become a model student, a "star pupil and the school hero". At 21 he was still regularly phoning his teachers, and had donated a silver cup as a trophy for the students.
  
• fascinating that this sort of "enlightened", "modern" intervention was already being practiced by semi-penitential schools in the late 1940s. And Patterson, who went from criminal miscreant to pillar of the community, seems like a brilliant demonstration of how it can succeed. Fascinating to compare the lives of Patterson and Liston - both were introverted loners who felt marginalised, didn't want to attend school and got involved in petty crime. Patterson had that moment where he was put back on a positive track... and Liston didn't.
  
• D'Amato's gym happened to be a few blocks from his school. "There is a hole in the entrance door, patched by chicken netting, and when the gym is locked a vicious dog peers through, growling horribly at all callers. Only four people—D'Amato, two trainers and Patterson—are privileged to "know the dog" and the place cannot be entered until one of them arrives and ties the beast up in a back room. The space inside is bare except for a ring, two heavy bags, a light bag, a shelf with an opened jar of vaseline, a rubbing table, some cracked mirrors (for shadow boxing) a few folding chairs, a shower and some steel lockers. The grimy windows are kept tightly closed, the air is close and hot and the stench of sweat overpowering."
  
• ""I let any boy come in here and train," says D'Amato. "It costs them nothing. We teach them. They don't have to fight. But if they do, then they're my fighters. I'm like a prospector and here is where I look for gold—for a fellow like Floyd."
  
• Patterson boxed in the Golden Gloves (as a welterweight!) and was in for a shock: "I was surprised," he says. "I hit him and he fell down. I thought it was a lot harder to knock somebody out. I used to see lots of shoot-'em-up movies and those cowboys used to hit each other with their fists and break chairs over each other's heads and fall over the table and never seemed to get hurt. But it was easy."
  

-"This fellow had me on the ropes and he was hitting me and the lights started to go dim and I couldn't hear the crowd any more. Then I remembered that if a fellow's hitting you in the head you must throw a flurry to his belly. I did and he backed up and I knocked him out."

• At the Olympics: "One boxer, a Frenchman of excessive caution, stayed upright for three rounds, but he all but decapitated a Rumanian, a Dutchman and a Russian. He was fully as sensational when he mounted a dais to receive the victory award—he put one hand on his stomach, the other against his back, and gave the crowd a deep dancing-school bow."
  
• So, it seems D'Amato trained him as an amateur, but after he turned pro he got a new trainer for "advanced instruction", Dan Florio. Florio is implicitly not impressed by D'Amato's training, as Patterson "had to learn everything". Aside from not keeping his hands up, he "hopped around all the time. He bounced like a kangaroo".
  
• Patterson recalls a nasty experience against a tough, bigger fighter (175lbs). The man bullied him in the clinch, physically and mentally, repeating "why don't you punch me?" every time they were close. Patterson narrowly won a decision, but immediately began training infighting for the first time. In the rematch, Patterson insisted on infighting the entire match, while D'Amato yelled at him to box. "In the tenth round I said something to him. I said, 'Why don't you punch me?' He didn't say anything. Then I knocked him out."
  
• D'Amato: "Floyd is learning—he went to a lunch with the Mayor of New York a few weeks ago and I was proud of him. I try to make him independent of me. He decides how much work to do now, when he is training, and I accept his ideas about how to fight, unless I know he is absolutely wrong. Floyd is usually right."
  
• Talks about the importance of Charles Schwefel, owner of the Gramercy Park Hote. Schwefel had helped set up the schools for "backward boys" that Floyd attended after he made it back from the semi-penitential school, and was so impressed by Floyd that he "all but adopted him". He pressured Floyd into working at his hotel between fights until he was financially stable, and in 1956 was still employing all Floyd's sparring partners so that they would always be available for him. He was also Floyd's PR guy - he pressured the borough presidents of Brooklyn and Manhattan to attend Floyd's 21st birthday party, along with other politicians, journalists and "telecasters".
  

On Boxing in 1956

• "Fighters, like most other athletes, do not reach their peak of physical efficiency until they are mature, grown men (an Irish fighter, according to ring legend, may not develop fully until 25, 26 or even 27—Latins and Negroes are generally expected to mature at around 23)."
  
• it is generally agreed that the "big men" of the heavyweight division at at their "most efficient" at around 185lbs
  

On Boxing in Society

• when attending the Apollo Theater, he is given free tickets and always introduced to the (presumably Black) crowd, "which cheers vociferously".
  
• "professional boxing, for all its seamy background, its haremlike jealousies and its pitiful human flotsam, can be a power for good in shaping the character of young males—not all of whom are born for the ministry, atomic science or Wall Street" ["haremlike jealousies and pitiful human flotsam" seems like a great description of a lot of modern boxing social media...]
  

On the Patterson-Marciano match that never happened

• ""He looks sloppy in the ring. But he is a good fighter, a real good fighter. There are lots of ways you could fight him. I could make him miss—but Joe Walcott made him miss for almost 13 rounds. I think there is only one way. They say Marciano is the fighter who can't be hurt. But if you want to beat him you have to fight him and make him back up."
  
• *"I think of Rocky Marciano a lot." He smiled, faintly. "Maybe," he said, "Rocky Marciano thinks of me." [Marciano retired three months later, leaving Patterson to demolish Moore for the title]
  

On Patterson's Ambitions

• He hopes to buy his father and mother a house in the suburbs and to get his younger brothers and sisters out of the slums; he also hopes to make a million dollars and buy a farm. "I want to raise horses," he says. "I'd like to have a farm and animals." [spoiler: he did all those things]

Anyway, do read the whole thing - it's really well written and a great insight into the man and the era.