https://www.ign.com/articles/assassins-creed-shadows-40-details-you-need-to-know

The Setting

Assassin’s Creed Shadows takes place in the Azuchi-Momoyama period of Japanese history. The story begins in 1579 and will continue into the early 1580s. The time period means this is the first game in the series to feature the Assassins and Templars in their ‘classic’ forms since 2015’s Assassin’s Creed Syndicate.
A number of historical figures play prominent roles in the campaign. These include Oda Nobunaga, the “great unifier” of Japan, and Fujibayashi Nagato, a master ninja of the Iga clan.
Much like Assassin’s Creed Syndicate, Shadows features two protagonists and you can switch between them as you play through the campaign. The first of these dual leads is Naoe, the fictional daughter of Fujibayashi Nagato. She is trained by her father to be a skilled shinobi.
The second protagonist is Yasuke, a real historical figure. Originally from Africa, Yasuke came to Japan with the Portuguese in 1579 and soon became a samurai in the employ of Lord Oda Nobunaga. Shadows is the first Assassin’s Creed game to ever let you play as a real person from the past.

Stealth and Parkour

As the title suggests, light and dark is a major part of Assassin’s Creed Shadows’ stealth systems. A new global illumination system creates dynamic light and shadows that affect enemy vision. You can now hide in shadows and even create darkness by destroying lanterns or killing torch carriers. A light meter on the UI shows how well concealed you are, from fully visible to completely hidden.
Servants are a new type of NPC, ranking between civilians and enemies. While they cannot fight, they are able to call in reinforcements and raise alarms. They have their own patrol routes, and carry lanterns at night.
There is now the option to knock out foes when performing a stealth takedown, allowing for a more pacifist playthrough.
You can now crawl along the ground in a prone position, allowing you to maintain a lower profile as well as get through small openings.
Naoe has a grappling hook that can be attached to every roof edge, as well as a number of other anchor points. Unlike the zipline-like grappling hook from Assassin’s Creed Syndicate, this rope uses physics simulation to allow dynamic swinging.
The grappling hook can be used to quickly climb into the ceiling space above corridors, allowing you to lay in wait for enemies patrolling beneath you.
Eagle vision returns, allowing you to spot silhouettes of NPCs through walls. Enemies are marked in red, while the new servants are coloured orange.
The drone-like bird, used in Origins, Odyssey, and Valhalla to scout out areas and mark targets, is not available in Shadows. You’ll need to do your own reconnaissance work.
As a shinobi, Naoe is the most skilled at stealth. Yasuke can use stealth, but his size and armour plating means he’s better at using those skills to get the drop on targets rather than perform a fully silent infiltration.

Combat and RPG Systems

This era of Japanese warfare did not make use of shields, so your gear does not include any defensive options aside from your armour. Dodges and positioning is paramount.
As a samurai, Yasuke is able to use his weapon to block incoming attacks and perform parries. Naoe is able to engage in combat, but she is unable to block or parry – instead she can ‘deflect’ enemy blows. Ubisoft didn’t clarify the difference between paries and deflects, but it may be that parries enable counter attacks while deflects are a more evasive tactic.
Enemy armour has a durability system and can be broken during combat.
Pretty much every prop in the game is able to be dynamically damaged by your weapons. Katanas will slice through bushes and baskets Fruit Ninja-style, leaving accurate blade marks. Arrows will leave precise puncture marks, while blunt weapons will smash pots into tiny pieces.
Many period accurate weapons are available to use, including katanas, the kanabō war club, yari spears, shuriken, kunai, and the kusarigama (a sickle on a chain).
Yasuke is able to use arquebus rifles, providing him with a powerful long-range option.
Each weapon has its own skill tree. Investing time into using a particular weapon will improve your proficiency with it.
You can craft your own katana from gathered components and personalise it. A transmog system will also allow you to tailor your gear to look exactly how you want it.
Active combat skills return and are unlocked by finding Ninja Scrolls in the world.
Yasuke and Naoe have individual skill trees and gear, but share XP, collected weapons, and resources.

Dynamic World and Seasons

Assassin’s Creed Shadows is built upon a newly updated version of the Anvil game engine. The new tech allows for better lighting through global illumination, the new breakable props, more detailed asset meshes, and much less pop-in.
The new Anvil upgrade has allowed for a season system that sees the world progress through spring, summer, autumn, and winter. The current season is dictated by your progress through the campaign in order to maintain historical accuracy, but there are ‘steps’ that each period goes through to create a sense of authenticity.
Each season comes with unique features that link to gameplay. For example, in the spring and summer when plants bloom and flower, there will be bushes and long grass to hide in. Later, in autumn and winter, those plants will die and thus remove hiding spots. Water also freezes in winter, which prevents you from entering pools and ponds. Icicles will form on rooftop edges and can fall if disturbed, potentially giving away your position.
Seasons also affect NPC behaviours. In the summer, enemy samurai cut through bushes in search of you. In the winter, foes stay close to fires and warm places, potentially opening up new, colder paths for you to take.
A fully dynamic weather system provides appropriate climate conditions based on both the region and season. Severe weather, like deep fog, howling winds, and snow impacts enemy sight and sound. A storm is an opportunity to mask your footsteps.
The world features a surprisingly detailed ecology system. In spring, for instance, wind will blow gusts of pollen that have been spawned by trees, replicating a real ecosystem.
The map is similar in size to that featured in Assassin's Creed Origins, and replicates the central region of Japan.
The map is divided into regions based on Japan’s real historical provinces, including Iga (the home of the shinobi), Arima (the location of a major battle), and Omi (an agriculture “bread basket” region.)
The iconic synchronisation points return, but in a reimagined way. Climbing to the top no longer plots a multitude of icons on your map, nor does it trigger the spinning ‘drone’ shot of the area. Instead, from this vantage point you’re able to survey the area for highlighted points of interest, which you can then seek out when back on the ground. Ubisoft expressed a wish for there to be less icons this time around, and so this appears to be one way of fulfilling that. Thankfully, despite this slight change, synchronisation points still act as fast travel locations.
Shadows is set during a time of flourishing urbanisation, trade, and warfare. This allows for a wide range of locations, including towns, trading posts, farm land, and colossal castles that have been rendered at near 1:1 scale. Beyond these settled areas are mountains and forests.

Assassinations and Quests

Shadows features a non-linear campaign largely focused on targets. Ubisoft says that you will be free to track these targets in any order.
Some targets simply exist in the world and you may stumble upon them organically, without having researched and hunted them first. Others have more structured infiltration-style gameplay attached to them.
Ubisoft aims to create a more rewarding journey by being a little more hands-off. While the campaign is still objective-focused, the studio hopes to enable more player autonomy by using hints to push players in the right direction rather than outright telling them where to go next.
Most main quests can be completed as either Yasuke or Naoe, allowing for freedom of approach. However, both characters also have their own specific missions playable only by them, as well as bespoke introduction quests.
Side quests and world activities are available beyond the main campaign. Notable things to find in the world include castles, temples, shrines, and art.
You can build up a spy network, with agents who can be sent on missions to gather intelligence on your targets.
There is a hideout where you and your allies can gather.

Hello friends of reddit. My husband (30M) and I (30F) have been married for 6 months and it is not going as expected. In the beginning, he made it clear that due to his religious beliefs that he did not to have sex before marriage. I agreed as I had horrible judgement in men and was not looking to get taken for another ride again.
Background on him: He comes from an extremely religious family (Baptist). Worked his own business with the family since he graduated high school. He has also lived with his parents and has never lived on his own other than a year in his parents other home before his accident (he fell 27ft and had to relearn to walk). No drinking no smoking, only spend time with family and outdoor activities. Background on me: While I come from an abusive traumatic family I am currently 5 years therapy strong working on myself as it is my responsibility not my partners. I went to college and lived on my own until covid lay offs and I had to move back home with my father, which wasnt ideal. I work full time and have my own business; I am very motivated.
As time progressed he changed his mind and we ended up sleeping together. I asked for us to move in together for a lil while before we got married. My parents (divorced) were not okay with that but I did not care. He told me that we would need to sit down and discuss the idea of moving in together with his parents. I said; "Why would we need to ask permission we are 30?" and he said that we would have to in order to save face. I said "I am not comfortable with discussing this with your family as it is not their business." He said we were not to move in together until we do. I told him if he forced me to meet with his parents then I was going to tell his mother that we have already had sex so there was no reason not to move in together. He never set up the meeting. We never moved in together. He is very close to his parents in my opinion to the point it is unhealthy. I watch as his dad undermines, belittles, and ignores his mother with a smile and charming laugh on his face until she is in complete submission. She admitted to me that while she was clipping coupons for the family, he was out spending all the money on machines / equipment that they did not need. She has cried to me in front of my husband about how she still needs to voice her opinion even though it is never listen to or goes the way she suggests. That was a red flag to me.
My now husband of mine and I started to plan out life together. He told me that he owns his own business and has 60 acres of property and wanted to build a life there. He promised me that we were going to work together and build a home that we can make a guest house and eventually build a bigger home. He wants it to be similar to a Lowcountry plantation. I was all for it, finally excited that I had someone I could create a life with that we both wanted and deserved.
That is when things turned. He started to move forward on building a home for us without a permit nor engineer drawings. Before he started, I told him that made me very uncomfortable and I need security to know this home is done correctly since he will be out of town a lot and I will be left alone in a town I know no one. That made him insulted and said this is how his father and family did their home and he just moved forward on building it himself. I begged, cried, and pleaded with him to please let's get the water and septic out there first and work on a budget of plans / permits to break ground. That I was not comfortable living that way, my father was a GC and taught me a lot of what needs to be done for a home to be an asset. He waved me off, told me that my father was just a carpenter. I cried for months over it and almost moved the wedding back a year. His father was behind the scenes telling him and motivating him to continue to do whatever he wanted to do regardless of how I felt. He finally heard me after I threaten to postpone the wedding and stopped construction and told me he would get a permit on the home and drawings before he did anything else.
The closer the wedding got, the difficult it became. I gave him my pay stubs, W2, and showed my assets to him up front. I showed all of my cards and asked to see his in return. He said he would and he never did. When I asked him more than once he would get annoyed with me. I started to get suspicious. I felt as if he was hiding something. So I did my own investigation. It turns out that his father and him own the property together in a way that if one passes the other gets it and he only owns 20% of the business he claimed was his. I was stunned. Everything he told me was half truths. I brought it to his attention many times and he acted like he told me already. I told him I knew the truth and he said it wasn't a big deal and I am making something out of it that it isnt. If his father had more respect for his wife and for women, I would not be this concerned. His father throws trash on the ground and ignores rules and regulations while having a problem with authority at his own home. Now everything he doesnt want at his house is being thrown over to my husband's property (which is his too and he has a right to do what he wants). Being in that type of chaotic environment along with the sense of having someone stomp on my boundaries for me would be extremely triggering and something that I will not be able to do. He is already throwing trash and leaving debris and junk all over the property. I communicated my feelings and got met with resentment, anger, and denial from my husband. He told me that it was not going to be that way. He also called me controlling bc instead of spending 25,000 on permits / our home, he spend it on a brand new truck (he has two other trucks). I was so upset and said how could he spend that much money on a toy when he hasn't even provided a home for our family. He was texting his dad about the truck behind my back and he was motivated to do whatever he wanted to do regardless of what I thought bc I am "controlling".
I told him from day one that I am a career woman, that I am not going to be solely responsible for the household and I am not his mother and I will not pick up after him. I expect things to be 50/50 in finances and in house work until we figure out what works best for us. He said he agreed and was very happy with that. I then told him in order for me to feel comfortable moving out to his 60 acres of land, that it would need to be solely in his name and he would need to get a permit and engineer drawings. He told me as soon as we were married that he would move forward with that.
With all these red flags, I continued to move forward with the wedding as he promised me the world. He kept dragging his feet on the home construction and it was failing to be completed before our wedding. His dad was telling him to take his time it is not that big of a deal. 4 months before our wedding, his family and him expected me to live in an unpermited non CO having shed like house, with no power, water, septic, nor appliances, an empty shell, no sheetrock (his father made his mother live like that). In complete distress I begged my father to do a lease to own with one of his rental properties for me so that my husband and I would have a place to live after we got married since the home was in no condition to live in. My father begrudgingly agreed and then told me to not Marry him. I did always. My family ended up ruining the wedding for me and causing our special day to not be as special.
Fast forward a few months when it was time for us to pay our lease to own payment. He was late every month, got angry at me for asking for his part of the money, I asked him to help with the chores and he would get annoyed with me, he has not mowed the grass once (my father and I have). I can count on my hand the times hes raked the yard and done dishes. He makes double the amount of money I made but I am writing the checks for the bills. I am just asking for his portion and he told me that I am treating him like a roommate not like a husband / wife. I asked him to explain and he couldn't. I finally got fed up and told me to give me 4 checks signed so when he is out of town for work and I need to pay the bills I can. He handed me the checks and they had him and HIS MOTHER on the account. Admitted, I lost my cool. I was overwhelmed with the amount of involvement his parents had in his assets and life. He has made me feel like he has lied to me. I told him as long as my boundaries are disrespected and I have no say in our home and our life that I do not want anything to do with their property. He would get mad and say it was his and id remind him, no it is not. It belongs to him and his father. He said it is his home and he is going to build it the way he wanted.
A few weeks after that argument he completely distant himself from me. He was out till 8pm every night for weeks and I kept asking him where he was. All he said was "working". A few weeks later, I finally go out to the property to see a full blown house. Behind my back he was working on that home putting roofing, plumbing, tile, siding, everything! He told me we were going to work on this together. I was so upset, everything is half ass done. He let me pick out nothing. I called him on it and he denied it. Come to find out him and his father had been working on it behind my back. While I was struggling to pay our bills he was using his money to continue on building on the home without drawings, permits, engineering, nothing. He couldn't give me money for our house hold bills, but he could spend thousands and thousands on something he promised me he was not going to do. Then he proceeded to tell me what "we" were going to give his father a $2,000.00 fish finder for a present. I told him is he out of his mind we can not afford that (mind you he gave me nothing for my birthday though he did bake me a cake and it was sweet). I said you are going to spend that much money on a gift and you didnt even get your wife anything for her birthday? he said "you got an engagement ring, that was expensive enough" I said "so bc you gave me an engagement ring, that means you do not have to purchase anything else for me as a gift?" he just waved me away. I said you never discussed this transaction with me and you are saying "we" are getting it. He said "well when I said 'we' I meant me and my mother."
I just stared at him. He considers WE as him and his parents. Finally got him into marriage counseling and it does not seem to be helping. He has missed 4 sessions already bc he chose work over me. He is pulling away from me completely, no affection, no sex (I did not know he had an issue brushing his teeth so now I cringe in fear of getting dumpster breath anytime we are intimate). This was NOT like this during our dating time.
I feel like I am drowning and I have made a HUGE mistake. Typing this out makes me feel guilty for telling the truth and maybe I am being controlling and overbearing like his parents are saying? This is why I am coming to you people of reddit.
I feel like I am in a polyamorous relationship. I feel like I have escaped the control of my family only to end up in a place where I am controlled by another man that I am not even MARRIED TO. I feel like I am a ship with two anchors that are my parents, when I got married I thought he was going to help captain my ship, not be another anchor on my vessel to weigh me down. All my friends have noticed that I have changed and I am not my normal self.
How can I get my husband self reflect on how he is treating me and be dedicated to me and not his parents?
Am I out of line? is this weird? Am I expecting too much?
Thank you so much for taking the time to read this post. I love my husband very much but I am stuck.

This one right here... https://www.reddit.com/martialarts/comments/1cm05tl/what_do_you_think_of_the_statement_bad_people_are/
It was fun so here's the long follow up. That bad advice that random older dudes kept giving me was the least worrying thing in those three hours of analyzing that church's security measures. I hit up a friend of mine that has a whole lot more security-specific training than I do just to see if I was overthinking things. Bro has taught me a lot, and I still try to make the trip once or twice a year to train with him. Between emails and a phone call I think I did a pretty good job of compiling our conversation. Most of the convo is also here but I'm not a shameless self-promoter on Tuesdays.
This isn't so much about martial arts or fighting or self-defense, but it probably is helpful and good discussion because a lot of you would hopefully give a crap about these same issues.
DC (Me): When I arrived I drove around the building and no one was posted at any of the 3 front entrances, at least not outside and visible. There was always someone at either of the 2 back entrances and the 1 north end entrance.
TF (The Friend): If someone is truly invested in safety they would have all doors covered, including the main entrance(s). Now maybe their thinking is the main entrance is where people come and go and it might be “uncomfortable” for visitors however we are talking about KEEPING PEOPLE ALIVE. To me that is worth the slight discomfort. And one way they could accomplish it without having to make it an uncomfortable experience is put “greeters” at the main entrance dressed in their Sunday best but they are actually part of the security response team. Those greeters need training in profiling, body language, situational awareness and of course the surface level expected things (firearm, hand to hand, situation specific training such as an active threat). Also does this place have security cameras? Security cameras need to monitor the entire property. And keep in mind people stake out places, plant things at places, etc during off hours. Cameras are a must. Want to make some money? Offer to install a system for them. I’ll help you.
DC: There was no mention to me of where first aid kits and AEDs are located in the building. I know where one AED is on the lower floor but it’s a 4-story building. Considering that I was outside the most heavily-traveled door, it would seem prudent for me to know where those are if I see someone get hit by a car or grab their chest and fall down.
TF: An emergency doesn’t always mean a violent situation. It could be someone suffering a heart attack, a child getting run over by a car driven by an 80 yr blind church goer or just a simple amputation of a finger because they are making sandwiches in the church kitchen. Every single floor needs to have multiple AEDs and COMPLETE first aid kits (that’s a whole class in itself – how to stock a first aid kit). I say multiples because you want quick easy access to one of those item no matter where you are at in the building. I don’t know how big the place is but even starting just by putting a complete first aid kit and AED at the N and S ends of the building is a good start along with training the congregation on CPR. You don’t need the piece of paper from a class, just get someone who knows how to come teach.
DC: Along the same line, no emergency action plans were provided. What to do if part of the building has to be evacuated for a fire or smoke? In case of severe weather or tornado threats what parts of the building should be evacuated and what are the safest areas to move people to until the danger passes? They might have these plans somewhere, but what’s the point if you don’t share them with the ones who would have to execute them.
TF: This is a mistake. There has to be an evacuation plan to remove as many people as possible from the building should something occur (fire, active threat, etc). If there are tornado shelters obviously that’s the safe spot for that specific situation. Many times the evacuation plan put in place can be used for multiple threats (active threat, fire, chemical spill, etc) because it’s about removing the people AWAY from the danger. And YES you are 1000% right those plans/routes need to be shared with EVERYONE in the congregation. When people do not know what to do or where to go there will be chaos, always. The people in charge might THINK they are going to be the go to person to provide guidance and manage the crowd but I will tell you when shit hits the fan no one is listening to them. People will be stepping on their own just to get out. With that being said, any evacuation plans that are created need to be drilled by the entire congregation. It could be done 10m before church for the next 6 Sundays to make sure EVERYONE knows the plan.
DC: It gets worse. There actually is no active shooter plan in place. Apparently some Lt. with the local police department will be doing an active shooter training in the future. I'll be in attendance with the lowest hopes in the room.
TF: This should be interesting and disappointing. My first question to him would be “What are your qualifications/experience to teach this? Have you experienced it first hand?”. Or is everyone looking at him because of his “label” which really means nothing other than that is his occupation that allows him to pay his electric bill. I have yet to see (other than myself) anyone put on a close to reality active shooter training session. Most people (law enforcement included) do powerpoint presentations. Unfortunately many “experts” teaching how to survive an active shooter situation think 4 hour Powerpoint presentations, statistics and cute acronyms are properly training people to survive one of the worst experiences a person could face. Powerpoint presentations do not save lives… ACTION saves lives! You know that though.
DC: Same with an active stabber, no plans there. Or at least no one could show me a plan.
TF: Same as the active shooter.
DC: Here's one you'll love. In the event of a person being violent, the directions I was given were to stay away, make a call over the radio, and let someone else come deal with it. They're also bringing in another security consultant (a former Navy SEAL, just like those three guys who all claim they killed bin Laden) to do de-escalation training at some point. I'm skipping that shit.
TF: I’ve always said if you can remove yourself from a situation that is the best way to increase your odds of staying alive. HOWEVER – there are some situations where immediate action is needed NOW! Especially if you are responsible for the safety of others the goal is to not only eliminate the threat but also minimize damage (limit the casualties). The other night we worked full blown knife attacks. I asked someone to demo with me. I slaughtered him with 20+ stabs/slashes in about 5 seconds and that was before he hit the ground and I mounted and continued. My point – the longer an event goes on the more damage innocents will experience. If you have time to go make a phone call then you have time to take effective action that works towards eliminating the threat and minimizing damage. Their suggestion to call someone else is so typical of people who have no concept of how violence really works (let someone else handle your problem…lol). No one cares for your life more than you do. It’s your responsibility. And regardless of what someone’s propaganda says about their label it still takes time to make a phone call, it takes time for someone to arrive and even when they arrive there is no guarantee they will even engage the threat. The overall goal for ALL VIOLENT ENCOUNTERS is to make the even AS SHORT AS POSSIBLE. The longer a violent event continues the odds of you leaving lessen and the odds increased causalities goes through the roof.
Poster's note: When he and I say we're going to train someone in knife attacks rather than knife defenses. The partner (the attacker) is going to be training on how to freaking stab you just as hard as you're training to resist being stabbed.. Rubber knife, protective gear and 100% stabbing vs 100% resistance, for advanced students, is a fun time. If you're wearing the pads you're going to get your ass kicked. He wasn't actually training his class how to go on stabbing sprees.
DC: This was one that’s not even related to fight skills or ability to engage a threat. There was not even a quick introductory rant on recognizing suspicious people or behavior. The more I talked to other volunteers the more I realized none of them had a clue.
TF: This is touched on in my answer to your first question. People who are determined to execute violent activity do not walk around with signs or flashing lights. It’s not always obvious like in the movies. They blend in and lay low until the moment to take action. These church people have no clue what they are doing. It’s all what I call “surface level thinking” meaning the basic stuff your average person who is inexperienced in the subject thinks of – “Get a police officer officer in our group to teach us something.” Teach you what? How to hand out traffic citations? “We have retired military this or that and retired law enforcement and a former rodeo clown who are packing heat during church.” Ok have they ever dealt with using their weapon when there is mass chaos and people screaming/running everywhere? Bullets only travel in a straight line and do not go around innocents if they are in the way. But just because someone has a firearm doesn’t mean they have the mindset to use it.
DC: You’ll love this one. 5 minutes before the church service let out we were told to call it quits for the day, before everyone in the building started filing out to the parking lot at one time.
TF: Do you mean the response team was training, etc and the church had you guys leave 5 minutes before the congregation got out? That ties exactly into my comment in question #1 about appearance/comfort level. Why hide it? Is there anyone in the church (or the world for that matter) that would disagree the world is getting more violent? Everyone knows it is… they’ve either experienced it or seen/heard news stories so why not put it out there that the church takes the safety and well being of their members SERIOUSLY? I have a saying I came up with once when I was talking to a place about active shooter training and they said it couldn’t be hands ons and they were hoping more for like a speaking engagement because their policy doesn’t allow physical contact. My response – “Until you put people before your policies, your people will continue to die.” And that’s just plain truth. Everyone is so worried about policy/comfort level they are putting that before the actual goal of saving people’s lives. If you are getting ready for a championship basketball game what should you do in practice? Play some damn basketball. Well if you are wanting to learn how to save your life/others in a violent situation what should you practice? VIOLENCE. Why would you do ANYTHING ELSE in practice than what you are preparing for? It’s not logical. I think the congregation would approve and love the idea that “their church cares”.
DC: On a scale of 1-10, how would you rate the building’s security measures? Is it fucked, or am I crazy and overthinking it because I am oddly OCD about details sometimes?
TF: I would give them a grade of 2 (at best) out of 10. You are 1000% on point on everything. You have training. You understand violent situations but you’ve been trained by someone and a group that has experienced it and knows how violence REALLY unfolds. The people who are in charge with this “security” policy at your church have ZERO experience and ZERO training. Imagine this - would you want a surgeon who has no education in operation and no experience to attempt to perform a life saving surgery on you? A question I would ask them is - "How SERIOUS are you about saving lives?"

I wanted to give back a bit after receiving some great information from folks on this sub before a (very short notice and sparsely planned) solo trip to Panama in late April/early May of 2024. I'm subtitling this post "I did a lot in Panama so you don't (necessarily) have to". Truth be told, I started the trip with 4 nights and one in-country flight booked and built the rest of my itinerary on the fly. I definitely could have used an extra week or so before the trip to do some itinerary planning, deeper research on where I chose to stay, etc. but I really enjoyed most of the trip and would absolutely recommend Panama as a solo trip destination.
Rough pre-departure itinerary:

Panama City: Arrive at about 2 PM on a Thursday, stay three nights at Selina Casco Viejo, depart at 8 AM on Sunday via plane to David (Copa Airlines)
Boquete: Arrive at about noon Sunday (after transit to town from airport), stay two nights at the Bambuda Castle
Bocas for unknown amount of time/other stuff in the west off the country
Return to Panama City from David via plane (Copa) Sunday Morning
Return to USA on a redeye flight Tuesday night

I arrived in Panama City on time and took an Uber straight to Selina (cost $28). The Selina there is in a decent location, kind of on the edge of Casco Viejo but walkable to everything. I checked in and was told there was a welcome happy hour with a free drink and a free walking tour every day at 10. The 6-person dorm had a dedicated bathroom, but wasn't much for the price ($30/night) and I'm just now realizing I booked a 4-person dorm then was put in the wrong lodging... There is a bar and allegedly a pool on the roof of the property, but the pool was not open when I was there. The welcome drink was an underwhelming event, though I did meet a few cool people I ended up doing more with later. There really isn't much in the way of common space at Selina Casco Viejo and I found it to be overpriced, underwhelming, and not a great place to meet people. I ended up booking the canal tour ($60ish) with them (which was via the personal vehicle of the guide, a small sedan cramming 4 of us in plus the driver), but I did a different free walking tour after hearing poor reviews of the one provided by Selina. While Selina felt like a huge waste (would not recommend this location), I really liked Casco Viejo. The food was surprisingly good, especially ceviche at Marea https://maps.app.goo.gl/MdWBJ1uw4mWLB7r2A and a nice stop for middle eastern at Estambul Casco https://maps.app.goo.gl/qFq8wAm5NEzJw84F8 . I also made a quick stop with some people from the hostel at La Fabrica https://maps.app.goo.gl/WdAG1KAhwmkj1TbS8 which had a decent tap list and cool vibe and the Pedro Mandinga Rum bar (highly recommend) for some beers and a rum flight https://maps.app.goo.gl/seXCnetthN18BbUB9 . I also, as a cigar smoker, made a stop at the official La Casa del Habano store https://maps.app.goo.gl/uhswvnFPe1Y1Uzbu9 where the staff was chill and the cigarum selection was good. I finished out my cigar and partook in a bit of happy hour across the street at Finca del Mar which had a decent outdoor area for a drink https://maps.app.goo.gl/kPSiTHdd2mJmtakGA but the food was not recommended so I didn't try it.
I was up early to get to David on Sunday morning, so I figured I'd just grab food and coffee at the airport lounge (mistake). It turns out the Copa flight to David departs from the "domestic" gate, which is a standalone area on the ground floor of the airport. There are no amenities, just a single vending machine, and you get bussed to the plane. Do not go early for a David flight, security was very easy and I ended up waiting in the small seating area for way too long. The flight was fine, but don't expect to access a lounge or coffee shop after security.
I got to David pretty early and hadn't done my research on transit, but knew there was public bus service to Boquete. I was trying to figure out how to get to the bus terminal when a taxi offered to drive me all the way to Boquete for $40 which seemed like a decent deal so I went for it. Boquete is pretty small, a little mountain town with a relaxed vibe. I spent quite a bit of time at the brewery which, if you know craft beer pretty well, wasn't the best on beer quality but had good live music and a fun atmosphere https://maps.app.goo.gl/EJFiRiwQsbJ89UPa9 . I worked from here a little bit too, definitely where I spent the most time. I got a delicious dinner at RetroGusto which was really reasonable https://maps.app.goo.gl/8gcU1GHqXrfbTCoX9 and a good lunch at Donde Giselle which was a little more expensive, but also delicious https://maps.app.goo.gl/uNsz1EqCDfnSpYfk8 . I did a coffee finca tour through Bambuda ($35) at Don Pepe. It was pretty cool, not a lot of walking but the guide was knowledgeable and we got to see the full operation in a small footprint. I bought one bag and was happy I did, they were 3 times the price in the airport on the way home. The Tres Cascadas (three waterfall) trail was a must, it does have a steep section that has ropes affixed to help but was otherwise a pretty straightforward trail. It did cost a few dollars to hike as it's on private property. I took a taxi there ($20) but took the bus back ($2.25). The bus comes by every 30-40 minutes and they generally wait a bit at the entrance to the trail from the road to see if people come down. We did end up picking up a whole bunch of kids leaving school, but it was pretty funny and we managed to fit everyone. I did do the Volcan Baru hike, which cost $18 for a taxi to the trailhead but was otherwise free. It is a grueling hike, it took a little over 5 hours for me to get to the top and I was not having fun. I was very lucky to encounter a couple who was dropped off at the same time at the trailhead and, while we did not hike together, we did take a few breaks together and it was nice to be within sight of their headlamps. It was COLD at the top and I was happy I had a light down jacket and a fleece. I did a good job of timing up my climb with the sunrise, only needing to wait at the top for maybe 30 minutes before the sun came up. You can go up in a jeep, and I was very lucky to beat the offroad vehicles up as they were very loud coming up the mountain. It did get pretty crowded at the top by the time all of the jeeps had emptied out and their clients climbed the last bit to the summit. The view was phenomenal, you can see both the Caribbean and the Pacific on a clear day and the sunrise was beautiful. It was a little annoying that the 6 of us who climbed it had to share with the 25 or so who rode up in cars, but worth it. One spot I wish I had visited, but it just didn't work out, was a wood fire pizza spot that came recommended by our coffee guide and by several travelers https://maps.app.goo.gl/T93KKqHxXoQ7AFhf6 . I got lucky at the Bambuda Castle as I booked a 3 bed room but had it to myself. It had a nice restaurant and common space within the castle itself that was a good working space and had a fantastic view. The food was pretty good, with a few vegetarian options and smoothies. It's a pretty decent walk from the center of town, and about $4-5 taxi ride from the Boquete center. If I went again, I would probably look to stay somewhere in the center of town but I don't regret giving the Castle a shot.
I traveled out of Boquete to Bocas del Toro the same day I did the Baru hike, leaving via shuttle at 1 PM ($37) which I arranged through Bambuda. I ended up using a discount QR code at Bambuda Castle to book their Bocas town Hostel for three nights. The shuttle was fine, but it's a quick trip through winding mountain roads so be prepared if you get carsick. A big bonus, that I would recommend you ask about, was that this shuttle did not go all the way to Almirante, but instead stopped at Chiriqui Grande and proceeded via small boat (lancha) from there. The longer boat trip was fantastic, much better than the long/boring road which runs the rest of the way. I got stopped right off the boat in by several people trying to sell tours and got one person's number for a potential $35 Cayo Zapatilla tour but didn't commit, choosing to get to Bambuda Bocas Town first and settle in before making decisions. While I wish I had spent some more time at either red frog beach or another island, with only 3 nights and having booked late my options were limited. For Bocas Town, Bambuda was great. The front desk folks were pretty helpful and the restaurant was good for breakfast (the vegetarian burrito option is better than the sandwich). The hostel deck goes right out to the lagoon, and it's always busy with people hanging out in the sun or jumping into the lagoon. It was a great spot to do some work over coffee and, frankly, I wish I had spent more time here or at the Bambuda Lodge. I ended up doing the Caya Zapatilla tour (highly recommend, if only for the stop at Caya Zapatilla) for $35 with the operator I met right off the boat. This included pick up and drop off from Bambuda, and they had a cooler that I threw a few Balboas of my own in for the trip. We did stop mid-way for lunch which was not included and was a little expensive. This was the only actual tour I did during my time there, I spent my other full day just kind of hanging out and went to Starfish Beach (not as nice as Caya Zapatilla, but worth an afternoon) with a group from the hostel. I also did salsa night at Selina (fun, but a bad instructor) and karaoke at Aqua Lounge (get there in time to get a round of the happy hour special, the screen is behind the stage so not ideal for karaoke but it's easy to get on the list). I did not do Filthy Friday, I ended up departing Bocas that day but I would have been on the fence about it anyway. I guess it's a "when in Bocas" thing, so I probably would have gone for it. I really wish I had spent another night in Bocas, I regretted not having another day out there as soon as I left. It turned out to be the best place on my trip to meet people, it's definitely a general party vibe, and actually the best place to get work done of the hostels I stayed at. I did dinner at Pier 19 which was pretty nice, if not a little expensive and probably not a good solo traveler vibe https://maps.app.goo.gl/6vJG1rdUPCqEf9W3A . I did brunch one day away from Bambuda at Casa Papaya, their typical Panamanian breakfast and it was a great deal/meal https://maps.app.goo.gl/9CPFCxu6woWwKuwM7 . I did hear from some people that the bird island was a fun tour, and worth the day/cost. I did some bonus late night, unofficial stuff like swimming after midnight at Selina and an impromptu midnight trip out to see the bioluminescence and the stars with a random lancha taxi from the Selina dock. Not sure how I'd direct someone to arrange that, but say yes if it's an option.
I took off from Bocas via shuttle for the Lost and Found Hostel on Friday around noon ($20) which I arranged at the main lancha dock. This shuttle did not include a boat all the way to Chiriqui Grande, it was the short boat with the long road segment. A few people did get car sick during the first leg of the trip, the road is in pretty rough shape so lots of speeding up, slowing down, and swerving potholes. Lost and Found really caught my eye because of how much I enjoyed Secret Garden Cotopaxi in Ecuador. In the end, it didn't live up to that lofty expectation and I should not have squeezed it in. The allure is that it's isolated in the jungle, you have to walk about 15 minutes up the trail from the road to reach the hostel property. There are several buildings, with one primary common area with a few tables and hammocks. A big downside is that everything is outdoors, under cover of roofs but open still, which wasn't ideal in the evening during the season I went where it rained in the afternoons. There is a community kitchen if you bring your own food along, or there is an option to get breakfast/lunch/dinner from the hostel. I had a few meals there: the smoothie bowl was good, the lentil curry was a little on the salty side. The hiking is pretty cool and I ended up going up over the mountain to the big tree, the lookout, and the river. I didn't bring water, but definitely should have brought a liter along. In the end, with only about half a dozen other people staying there and 2/3 of the staff being pretty insular and not really socializing with the guests, it just wasn't a great addition to my trip. It might be a better option for a group or during a different season, but it provided a logistical challenge to make my flight back from David to Panama City and it wasn't really worth the risk of making it work, so I hired a car ($30) to take me to David and just ate the price of my second night at Lost and Found. It was beautiful, but it just wasn't on the same level as Secret Garden Cotopaxi which inspired me to give this a shot. I think, all in, my stop at Lost and Found cost me about $76.
The combination of having scheduled a flight on election day (oops) and the lack of help from lost and found staff meant that my best bet was a night in David. I used Hilton points to book a night at the Hampton and had myself a recovery night. I got a hot and ready pizza from the Little Caesar's next door and two Sam Adam's Boston Lagers from the bar. Fantastic recovery night, vey nice Hampton, and a pretty nice little breakfast. It refreshed me at a point where I was not really enjoying the trip and pushed me to go for one more stop rather than laying low in Panama City.
After my flight back to Panama City, I took the metro all the way to the Avenida Terminal (less than $1 total, it is very easy to purchase a card and load it at the station) to grab the bus to Valle de Anton. It was fairly easy to find the window to buy the bus ticket ($4.25). It's important to buy for El Valle and not just Anton, a town which is not where you want to end up. There was a confusing bit of business related to a transit card (not the same transit card as the metro. I couldn't seem to find a machine to buy one from, and eventually the guy at the turnstile took pity and just used his own to let me in. I paid him back, but it was very confusing that you needed to buy the ticket then a card with which to pay an additional 10 cents to get to the bus at Gate 53. I can't really offer advice other than you should try to figure out how to get this card, or if you can just pay with a dime, right when you buy your ticket. I let the bus (not a very big bus, somewhere between a van and a bus) driver know where I was headed on the way and they dropped me right at Bohdi in Valle de Anton. The whole trip is about 3 hours, with lots of local stops the whole way. Bohdi was a pretty cool spot, with a great yoga space with a guided lesson on a TV every morning. It has a kitchen if you want to cook for yourself and free coffee plus breakfast every day from 7:30-10:00. Both breakfasts were pancakes, but it was free and they were pretty good. There are some cool lounge spots out back, a few cafe tables out front, and a loft space as well. It was a decent, but not perfect spot, to do work if that's what you're looking for. The dorm does have 3 levels of beds, and they aren't all that comfy, but I'd recommend Bohdi. The first night I was in town I went to the Golden Frog Inn on a recommendation and it turned out to be a great spot to watch the sunset and have some pretty good (although a small) vegetarian tacos https://maps.app.goo.gl/pzRuyYuwHZvMVnAo8 . One afternoon I chose to do the India Dormida hike, I left and walked all the way back to Bohdi, it was a few hours total. It's a quick climb up to the top and you can walk the whole ridge that forms the edge of the caldera. It was a beautiful view and you can really see the old crater rim formations from the top. It's clear up there, no trees and wide open, and the breeze was very refreshing. I ended up coming down about halfway across the ridge, starting from the north. I grabbed a vegetarian dinner at El Rincon Colombiano which I'd recommend https://maps.app.goo.gl/tRcAAnAm9fYni7Nv8 and some guacamole and a beer at La Ranita which was pretty good https://maps.app.goo.gl/BcdB8uCqaSRv1RyE8 . Overall, I really liked Valle de Anton and I'm happy I made it happen. It's a little drier and warmer than Boquete, with a lot less coffee influence, but I liked the vibe and wish I had done more hiking around the area.
For my last evening in Panama, I grabbed a room just to have a place to put bags and clean up before my flight at Hotel Caracas, a recommendation from someone I met in my first stop in Casco Viejo. I did not plan to work from here, nor did I spend a night, but for $35 it was a perfect spot to leave things as I went to knock out a few more items before my flight home. I popped into Tantalo for a quick bite to eat https://maps.app.goo.gl/9pA9Dmw8AE9doabT7 which I don't know if I'd recommend for food, but the view was good. I think I meant to go to CasaCasco, which was recommended for ceviche and sushi, but ended up in the wrong spot. I then went over to Element to get some cocktails https://maps.app.goo.gl/mwYt2D7X43ua4jGu6 . Element has an interesting vibe, kind of a steampunk theme to the décor. The two guys behind the bar, who I believe own it, were fantastic. They don't have a set menu but instead try to match a drink to what you're feeling at the time. I had a classic daquiri and an old fashioned, which both came with a little bit of a twist on the classic recipe. They also pulled down a few different spirits which we tasted together, overall I'd highly recommend a stop and it was especially fun as the only patron there. After two cocktails, I cleaned up and called an Uber and headed to the airport. Just a heads up, the Copa Club is pretty nice, has limited food, but tragically closes at 9 PM. I had a flight that left at nearly 11 PM, so this was a little disappointing.
Overall, I loved Panama. The people were friendly, even if the service in many places was pretty lackluster. It's more expensive than Colombia or Ecuador, but several people told me it's slightly cheaper than Costa Rica. It's a good stop if you're not sure about central or south America as it's extremely safe, if you use common sense, and it's not too hard to get around using shuttles/taxis/ubers if you don't want to brave public transit. It offers very good food options in Panama City, and it's easy to find a Hampton Inn/Hooters/McDonald's/Little Caesar's/Wendy's if you need a break from being adventurous. The Spanish isn't difficult, and most people speak at least some English. I would have dropped lost and found hostel from my itinerary if I planned it again, but did not regret any of the other stops. I do kind of wish I had focused on Bocas and Boquete, saving Valle de Anton and maybe San Blas together for a future trip, but I had already painted myself into a bit of a corner with my David-Panama flights by the time I realized this. I hope this helps someone as they plan their Panama trip, or helps them decide Panama is a worthwhile visit! Please do not make as many changes as I did, I absolutely did at least one too many stops and wish I had spent more time in Bocas and probably Valle de Anton. Anyway, feel free to ask questions in the comments and I'll try to address them as they come in!
Final Itinerary:

3 nights at Selina Casco Viejo (meh, not recommended)
2 nights at Bambuda Castle Boquete
3 nights at Bambuda Bocas Town (recommend)
1 night at Lost & Found Hostel (not my jam, would not do again)
1 night at Hampton Inn David (saved my trip, loved it, would recommend)
2 nights at Bohdi Valle de Anton (solid, would recommend)
1 kind of night at Hotel Caracas (did exactly what I needed)

Link to AO3
chapters 1&2
chapter 3
chapter 4
chapter 5
chapter 6
chapter 7
chapter 8
chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
The Academy looked normal enough from the distance but blew Gentry’s mind when she finally entered it. First of all, the way in lay through a massive winter garden full of the most luxurious botanical collection she’s ever seen. Not only that, but it seemed to be arranged in a way that offered spaces for hanging out as well as paths in and out. Here and there, G noticed little nooks with people’s voices coming from them and small murmuring streams gleamed in the sun that blazed through the transparent walls and roof. This place looked magical and invited to stay, enjoy the refreshing coolness and peace of mind. But Gentry had a good enough rest in her communal room the night before and was eager to start working on her first assignment that the System had spat out with a congratulating letter. Figuring out the controls of her new wristcomm was simple enough.
DEAR GENTRY!
WE ARE DELIGHTED TO INFORM YOU THAT YOU ARE THE FIRST CONTESTANT TO CLEAR ALL CHALLENGES AND OBTAIN THE STATUS OF AN ASHTAPADAN NEWCOMER! YOUR MEDICAL DATA HAS BEEN ANALYSED AND FOUND ACCEPTABLE.
IN THE ATTACHMENT TO THIS LETTER YOU WILL FIND A LIST OF RULES, RECOMMENDATIONS AND IDEAS THAT WILL DEFINITELY HELP YOU IN THE FIRST WEEKS IN OUR BEAUTIFUL CITY BUT WE STRONGLY RECOMMEND FINDING A BUDDY THAT WOULD BE YOUR MAIN GUIDE AND POTENTIALLY A NEW GREAT FRIEND! IT CAN BE ANY CITIZEN OR A MORE EXPERIENCED NEWCOMER.
YOUR CURRENT POINTS: 0
WHY NOT START EARNING SOME WITH YOUR FIRST ASSIGNMENT?
START ANY BEGINNER COURSE AT THE ACADEMY AND KEEP YOUR ATTENDANCE RATE OVER 80% — WORTH 50 POINTS
(OPTIONAL) FIND SOMEBODY WHO IS WILLING TO BECOME YOUR BUDDY — WORTH 20 POINTS
Without stopping to check if the vending machines offered anything good, G made her way through the dreamy garden and entered the inner yard that looked just like everything here: nothing too eye-catching at first glance but secrets hidden everywhere.
One thing she had already noticed was that most of the people had another piece of technology on their bodies besides the comm on their wrists: a sort of extendable visor that some of them kept engaged at all times. Those who were focused on the screen had a comical look on their faces, a thousand-mile stare, eyes wide even as they were talking to each other or going about their business. It was unclear yet why they would engage the screen for so long though. No one needed this much time to read a notification or check a map.
Take a group of young students by the fountain, for example. They seemed deep in conversation with each other yet their pupils didn’t focus on the person in front, but on the translucent screen over the top part of their faces. Was it some kind of virtual reality helmet?
If so, G needed one, too.
Perhaps she’d be able to make new friends this way.
There was something else that caught Gentry’s eye. Despite her initial disappointment about the severe lack of male hotness in the streets, people of both sexes seemed to really care about their appearance. Even those who probably weren’t naturally stunning were very interesting to look at not least because of the crazy fashion sense everyone here had. Never before had G seen so much variety in what everyone wore: countless variations on different national garments, some looking very traditional, like something one could see in a theatre, some — futuristic uniforms straight out of a sci-fi movie. It didn’t seem like anyone was concerned with gender norms here, too. At least in when it came to the outfits.
G hoped she didn’t look like a creepy stalker when her gaze lingered on a pair of very nicely shaped legs stretching from underneath a plaid skirt that belonged to a young man in the group sat by the edge of the water. A pair of snow-white knee-highs, flat loafers and neat raven hair with some blue streaks completed the image. His clothes fit him very well and weren’t inappropriate in the least: something an old money university student would wear.
A female student that is.
And he wasn’t alone. Here and there, among more conventionally dressed people, there were people wearing all sorts of things: a crazy mix of goth-like apparel but barefoot, men and women with heads covered with scarves, people in strange jewelery that looked like it weighed a ton and so on. Most importantly, no one seemed to care what the others looked like.
Was it paradise? Looks like the demo didn’t lie: it was heaven on earth.
The young man in the middle of the student gaggle caught her staring after all. With a dazzling smile, he waved in her direction as if they were great friends, and G waved back, face heating, hoping there wasn’t anyone behind her this tease was actually waving at. Thank god his shoes weren’t heeled, otherwise she would definitely have a heart attack right here, in the middle of the common area, on her first day.
Did he notice her ogling his legs? Judging by the giggles of his friend's entourage, they all did. The young flirt covered his mouth, eyes wide in mock indignation and pulled his knees in, as if hiding them from the improper attention, getting even more laughter from the rest of the company. G averted her eyes and tried to calm her breathing as she was on her way through the yard again, but before they all disappeared from her field of view, she noticed the coquette stretch his legs again and fall back on a friend of his, embracing the lucky man’s neck in an affectionate gesture, already forgetting G existed.
There was no way she wasn’t going to make some pretty boy do the same for her. Forget the assignment, put that in the list of her top priorities!
At first, Gentry was lost when she failed to find any kind of class schedule and there was no one to ask at the reception desk.
Why have a reception desk if nobody’s on duty?
Soon, however, it occurred to her that there was no schedule: each room within the wide marble corridors had a small display with a handwritten message scribbled on it.
Bachata for beginners
Product engineering (Tuesday class cancelled)
Colloidal chemistry (revision today)
None of these were the Communications course that Jey was talking about, but the variety definitely made G’s eyebrows go up.
Was she just supposed to barge into any class and sign up? Did she have to sign up later if she liked the subject? Was it ok to choose any?
After some wandering around, too scared to just walk in uninvited or ask others for directions, she finally stumbled across the door saying:
Communication & decision making course (Newcomers welcome)
With the desks arranged in a horseshoe and the people of various ages that were also apparently Newcomers, it all seemed comfortably casual. Everyone was chatting as she walked in, paying G no mind so she busied herself with the wristcomm that dinged at exactly the right time to save her the embarrassment of looking for a desk.
Would you like to enroll in this course? Scroll down to read the description.
Was this damn thing a spying device? Did it just know which room she was in? Jey didn’t joke when she said the little thing was going to be her primary aid!
“Are you looking for somewhere to sit?” called a young red-haired woman at one of the paired desks. “Here, this one is free.” She had the auglasses on, like everyone else, but they were off, showing her lively face and a pair of sharp green eyes.
“Thanks,” G said, gratefully taking the offer. “I’m new here, don’t know how things work yet.”
“It’s alright, the course is very engaging, you’ll love it.” — the woman held out a hand — “I’m Sereen, what’s your name?”
G shook the warm palm. “It’s Gentry. And by new I mean I’m new to Ashtapada, not just the course. Literally arrived yesterday.”
“Really?” — S looked surprised — “Everything must be very confusing!”
“You have no idea,” G smiled. “I’m glad someone understands. Everyone’s friendly but acts as if giant mechanical dogs in the streets and a moss garden in the lobby are the most normal things ever.”
“Don’t worry, I was just like you when I first arrived, you’ll get the hang of it soon.”
“Hope so! Is that the lecturer?”
“Shhh...”
Just like everything else in Ashtapada, the lecture started out normal enough only to unfold into something completely alien to how things were normally done.
Apparently, the Communications course involved learning rationality, debating, logic, etiquette and god knew what else. It was supposed to give the future citizens tools to, well, communicate. G was given a booklet with some ground rules for beginners that included entries that sounded like something Sun Tzu would say if he studied debating instead of warcraft.
“The purpose of any argument is not to win it and not to change the other disputant’s mind. It’s to find the truth.”
“Always argue in good faith.”
“Don’t attack your opponent.”
“If attacked, dismiss the attack as if it didn’t happen.”
Well, hopefully, it only meant verbal attacks! G knew too well that when it came to physical violence, it was hard to ignore it.
Most of the rules looked straightforward enough, some were confusing.
“Seek challenge to your convictions. Avoid echo chambers.”
“Don’t seek being right.”
“Be mindful of your audience including yourself.”
“Avoid “Empty arguments” that don’t bring everyone closer to the goal of finding the truth.”
The lecturer, a willowy man of about sixty that drowned in his tweed jacket, started the class with a bit of small talk with the regulars after distributing the booklets to all first-timers. He made sure to give it to G face down so that his photo under the “About the author” title didn’t go unnoticed. He also made most of the “talk” part himself.
“I never took part in a debate,” G told Sereen, who was patiently waiting for the class to begin. “And never seen anything like these rules. Is it actually useful?”
“Oh, believe me, professor Poe will be ecstatic to talk to you about them. He can’t not start discussing his subject at the slightest provocation. Look.” — she raised her hand — “Professor, how was your weekend?”
The man wearily smiled. “That might seem like a meaningless question, Sereen, but it’s actually very much related to the topic we are going to cover today.”
“See?” — S raised her eyebrows with a suppressed smile. G giggled. This promised to be interesting.
“Our friend Sereen is a very polite person, isn’t she?” — Poe smiled at the class but his eyes glided over everyone’s faces, gaze turned inwards like he was reading an invisible text written on the walls. “But as kind as she is, I don’t think she’s actually interested in how my weekend went. Small talk is just a social custom we engage in to strengthen our social relations. Why don’t we just start a day by saying “Hi! I value our relationship and would like to fulfill my societal role!” to everyone we know? I would definitely prefer THAT over the small talk! He-he!”
The audience laughed politely. The guy seemed alright.
“However, just as we use different tools to fulfill this role in different contexts, so can the context of a logical problem steer our thinking towards a rational, that is, right, and an irrational, that is, wrong, answer.”
“Well, that’s not a given,” Gentry mumbled under her breath but it went unnoticed by S, who was already immersed in the lecture.
“Consider the famous René Descartes’s quote "Cogito, ergo sum". Who can translate it from Latin?” — the board behind the thin, almost transparent man glowed, displaying the words.
“Is it really a Beginner’s course?” G asked Sereen in a low voice but her companion was already raising her hand, together with a dozen other students.
“I think, therefore I am,” she said after a curt nod of the lecturer’s permission.
“Very good,” he continued, pleased. “I taught you well. Those of you who attend my lectures regularly are familiar with the notion of solipsism, which states that the only thing we can be sure about is our own thoughts.”
Gentry looked at S with raised eyebrows.
If this is an introductory course, what was the advanced like?
Sereen didn’t seem to perplexed. She was fully following the thread.
“However,” professor Poe said. “I am going to challenge that notion by demonstrating that we can’t trust our own mind when it comes to perceiving reality.”
He looked at the audience with a quizzical eye, and pointed at Gentry with a long bony finger “You, new girl. I want you to close your eyes.”
Why her?
Gentry was only happy to hide behind her eyelids. No doubt the whole room was now staring at her.
Through the blood rushing in her ears, she heard the old man’s voice, “Who was sitting beside you before you closed your eyes?”
“My new friend Sereen,” G answered and heard a little gasp of appreciation from the woman.
“So you know she existed as long as you two were whispering behind my back. However, now that you can’t see or hear her. How do you know she exists?”
“Well, I can reach with my hand and touch her,” Gentry said, demonstrating.
“Yes, this is what most people answer,” Poe said. “You can open your eyes now. But let me ask you this: how would you know it was her, an not some other person that took her place?”
Gentry’s intuition was right: everyone was staring, as if waiting for her answer.
“Well, I suppose— ”
“Hush, it was a rhetorical question,” the professor cut her off. “The correct answer is that you can’t know that. We think we can trust our senses or at least our thoughts, but this is also false. Everyone, look out of the window.”
Everyone did.
The day was as fine as Gentry was annoyed.
What did this pops think of himself?
“I’d ask what you see, but I already know the answer,” he went on. “All of you would say “the sky”. And all of you would be wrong, because sky doesn’t exist. We only see the endless emptiness of the outer space, but perceive it as a blue dome. It’s an illusion, a phantom, born out of our collective unconscious.”
Sereen whispered, lost in the lecture, “Ah, yes, Carl Jung.”
What?
Was it supposed to be obvious?
“But listen to this,” he continued, voice booming like a demiurge’s in the completely silent room. “Listen to this. How many words is it? Listentothis. Our common sense says it’s three words while in reality it’s just a string of sounds I an producing with my mouth. I am literally making you hallucinate the spaces between the words I’m saying. With knowing that our perception is so flawed, how can we know that we even know how to think?”
“I’m sorry, professor, I disagr...” G started but got struck down by his serrated gaze.
“I’ll invite questions at the end, young miss,” he chopped out.
Sereen’s eyes were sympathetic. It looked like most if not all of professor Poe’s students had learned not to interrupt him.
He went on, “Anyway, the fact that you even understand what I am saying is in itself incredible and shouldn’t be possible.”
“But it IS possible, right?” G whispered to Sereen. “I mean, aren’t we understanding this as he speaks?”
“PLEASE refrain from talking unless asked!” professor Poe roared.
Impressive lung capacity for such a frail human being!
G begrudgingly did as she was told. The guy seemed to be enjoying this power trip a bit too much to her taste.
“Now, since most of you,” he put some emphasis on the word to shut up another pair of whispering students. “Most of you think you comprehend my words, you must know that there is a way to tell that something is real, even though we can’t rely on our senses for perception. I’m giving you a minute to discuss with your partners what it might be.”
G considered it. She and Sereen exchanged equally confused glances.
Like a dutiful student, S started summarising Poe’s arguments but Gentry listened with only half an ear. She felt that behind all this over-thinking was a clear and simple answer.
She watched the professor walk along the aisles, tuning into one or another conversation before leaving each with a smug head shake of disapproval.
What was there to think about? Even if they didn’t see the world precisely as it was, something was definitely real, right? The chair she felt under her buttocks, the air around, the low murmur of the students. The annoying professor that… looked a little too translucent.
Gentry waited for the man to approach their desks and tune into Sereen’s musings. As he came so near they could reach out and touch him, Gentry did just that.
To her utter shock, her hand went through the old jacket and sent a wave of static over the professor’s figure, his whole form glitching and flickering.
Professor Poe was a hologram!
Unable to help herself, Gentry said, “No wonder you don’t think anything is real, Professor, you are hardly real yourself!”
The whole roomful of people stared, transfixed, at the surreal scene of a student’s arm disappearing into the teacher’s abdomen.
Gentry looked back at Sereen in search of support.
Was it laughter in her eyes?
Poe’s blood drained from his face, the mouth slacked open, twitching as if trying to form some words, but none came out.
Sereen chimed in, “You never told us you were a simulation, Professor.”
“Out!” Poe gritted lowly so that no one really heard him.
“I’m sorry?” G asked, innocently.
“Out of my class!” he exploded, jumping out of Gentry’s reach with an enraged grimace. “I am as real as you are!”
G stood up and looked at her hand then back at Professor Poe.
How much rage could storm in those watery eyes?
Then, she winked at her new friend.
“Let’s go then, shall we?” she said.
Sereen looked lost for a second, her eyes darting pack and forth between Gentry and Poe. Then, her gaze seemed to cloud a little, as if she retreated into her own head, but when she resurfaced, she nodded with a mischievous smile.
Both young women left the room, the classmates’ sympathetic silence and Poe’s angry seething seeing them off.
***
“What a way to start my first day,” Gentry said. “My hands are still trembling a bit.”
She and S were calming their nerves in the green winter garden, the soothing sound of the little running streamlet at their feet a welcome distraction.
“Believe it or not, his course is actually quite useful,” Sereen laughed. “Who would have thought the old Poe is actually not human? I guess we never thought of poking him in the stomach before. This is going to be the talk of the Academy for the next month or so!”
“Is it? I feel bad now. I guess I’m not getting any points for attending this lecture, right?” — Gentry checked her wristcomm — “It says “zero progress” and something else… ad.. Honi… adhonim…”
Sereen laughed, “Yeah, you adhominem’ed good old Poe, no wonder you got zero credit!”
“What does it mean?”
“You’ve seen the rules of learning and discourse, right?” S said. “There are no-nos, things that aren’t allowed, especially when it comes to Rationality classes and the like. Ad Hominem means an attack on the speaker, not their argument. It isn’t exactly what you did, but I guess it’s the closest thing!”
“Ad Hominem, huh,” G said. “Well, I guess I deserve it then. Thanks for standing by me.”
If it wasn’t for Sereen, G wasn’t sure she would be going to return to the Academy any time soon!
“You just chose a wrong course as your first class, G,” — no doubt about that! — “But another lecturer who works here is much more open-minded and he also teaches Rationality. I think you’ll enjoy him more than our old Poe. His next class is in a couple of days. Wanna come?”
***
DEAR GENTRY!
CONGRATULATIONS ON COMPLETING AN OPTIONAL ASSIGNMENT! 20 POINTS HAVE BEEN ADDED TO YOUR STATUS COUNTER.

Would you leave your spouse if they had a toxic relationship with their parent
Do you think it would ultimately affect you and cause you to leave the marriage if your wife has a bad relationship with her mother?
I grew up alone with my mom who was always very controlling of me and quite strict. I was always compared to others no matter how good or obedient I was. Don’t get me wrong it wasn’t always hell but I would say maybe around 60 percent of it was. She had some good days where she would treat me very lovingly as a normal caring mother. But yeah overall our relationship hasn’t been that good when you see the overall picture.
Since I got married, our relationship has gotten worse. And unfortunately my husband has had to witness the dysfunctional and abusive nature of my mothers relationship towards me: her calling me bad /foul words/ swearing at me, not respecting me, always calling me useless or just trying to control every aspect of my life.
She has been staying with us under the same roof (in mine and my husbands home) for a while due to some unfortunate circumstances - I was hospitalised for a long while due to a threatening illness (that I am still battling at the moment and may relapse any moment). I have 3 very young children, a toddler and infant twins. Im still only a few months post-partum. It was the complications in my labour and delivery that led to my health condition / illness worsening. April last month, my family were told that I might not survive. For weeks I was on a ventilator in the intensive care unit at the hospital. Miraculously (and alhamdulilah) I managed to pull through it. I was eventually allowed to come home after weeks of therapy & treatment. So my mom had to care for all my babies while I was hospitalised. I thought coming home, this would all change and my mom would be more caring towards me and not seem so upset all the time but it seems like our relationship is still the same and probably even worse. I sometimes don’t blame her bc I know how depressed she is but it’s no excuse to dogpile on me her problems & her anger.
Background: Before my dad left us when I was 6, he was physically abusive towards my mom and as a child Ive witnessed all the domestic abuse that went on at home. He then abandoned us eventually and till this day I don’t really have much contact with him. I still have unpleasant memories of him doing inappropriate things to me as a child yet it’s something I’ve tried to block out and my mom won’t fully acknowledge the SA that I may have endured from him. I know all this would affect my mother a lot. Especially when her second marriage didn’t work out either. Feels like she is unhappy how I am married to a man and her hatred for men is affecting her judgement on my husband. No matter how well he treats her, she still holds this grudge against him. They have had a lot of disagreements, and have recently had a massive fight (i did a previous post about this) but they are on civil terms now. However, as of recently me and my mom had a big fight, this all happened whilst my husband was away on a trip with his friends and cousin. This fight ended up with me physically attacking my own mother. Which I am very sad that it had to resort to that. I was driven to insanity from her remarks and bad words that I just suddenly lashed out at her to shut her up and just kept hitting her. She then said to me that’s what she wanted for me to do so she can be the one in the right. And she started telling me how I’m going to go to hell for a laying a hand on my own mother. I lashed out again and then she threw a metalic object in my face which has bruised my left eye and just above it where the temple is. That area is still blue and purple right now, which my husband will visibly see when he comes back home. I deserve it I know. I regret submitting to that fit of rage so much. It’s like a jinn had taken over me and I can’t stop crying but I don’t know how else to control my rage and anger in that moment. I literally feel insane. I’m already suffering from postnatal depression and an illness that has affected my whole life AND past memories of a trauma that I do not want to remember AND a difficult mother who is suffering from depression, OCD and a lot of hatred towards my little family. I called my husband and told him what happened whilst I was crying and sobbing but he told me to try dealing with it, as she’s my mother and he doesn’t ever want to get involved again. I don’t know why I called him I guess it was just the heat of the moment, I needed to talk to someone.
My mother heard me on the phone to him and decided to talk to him herself and told him that we fought and that I physically attacked her and that I am an embarrassment & all of that. She said “what daughter do you know physically lashes out at their own mother” My husband messaged me and asked me if that was true. I told him it was true. He messaged me saying he’s disappointed in my reaction and didn’t realise how crazy me and my mom both were. He wishes he never met me and married me.
I cried myself to sleep that night. I never wanted my marriage to be ruined or for my husband to look at me like this. I never asked for any of this, it’s made me even question my self as a Muslim and why all this is happening to me. I know it’s all tests from God but I’m not strong enough for these tests I’m really really weak and I feel like I’m losing my mind. I just don’t know why my mom seems to always find ways to fight and argue with me. I’ve done everything I can growing up to be a good daughter, I pray 5 times a day, I fast, I’m modest/wear hijab, I never had any relationships, I remained chaste until marriage, married someone from my ethnicity as my mom requested, obeyed it all (ofcourse not for her, but for the sake of God), graduated with high grades, got my dream job alhamdulilah, saved up so much money from previous work and bought my home with my husband but yet I’m still someone who is lacking in her eyes. Why??? I’ve been tested with my health, my mother and now it seems like my marriage is on the line.
I keep wishing everyday I wish I just died when I was in hospital why did the healthcare team even try so hard to save me. Both my physical and mental health is deteriorating and I can’t even focus on being a mother to my very young children. Is there any coming back from this?
I felt really bad and asked for my mother’s forgiveness the next day and we have squashed the argument and she has also apologised to me but I fear it’s too late. I forgive her and she forgives me. She has agreed to leave soon but she is attached to my children and doesn’t want to leave them with us as she believes my husband won’t be able to care for them well as he is working and he is a man that goes out often. And ofcourse I’m incapable due to my physical and mental health state. I hope god forgives me. I have nothing left but my faith right now and my children. Any advice on how I can communicate with my husband about this? I love him very much and I don’t want to lose him. Can he still love me despite all of these issues between my mother and I?
Sorry for the long post. I’ve never told anyone in real life about all of this.. so I guess writing all this down and what has happened is somewhat helping me absorb it all and to see if there is anyone out there experiencing anything similar.
Update: my mother has said she will never do this to me ever again and that she forgives me, she just didn’t realise I would lose my mind & get angry like that.

Genocide looked to the sky. He thought of his mentor. The one who had saved him. He remembered his childhood. How powerless he was. He remembered the anger. He never wanted to hurt anybody. He thought of all the times he showed compassion. How much they hurt him for it. He saw the world before him, a graveyard. Humans. People that were supposed to be made in the image of some divine creator. They were but maggots feasting upon his remains. They ate away at his very being until nothing human remained. His thoughts were no longer his own. He had no joys in life that mattered. He hated humanity more than he could love anything about himself. He remember his first killing spree. Being gunned down by police. Left for dead. He remembered a hooded figure moving towards him. Getting closer the more he neared his death. He saw its pale face. Its impossibly black eyes. It was a man. This figure in question appeared to be of Japanese nationality with long, straight, loose hair. It emanated extreme malice. It offered him a choice. A purpose. Power. He thought the figure a reaper but it identified itself as Amakusa Masataka. Masataka guided him on how to kill and gave him specific locations to kill people in. In a sense, he became a hitman for quotas of people. He inquired what Masataka was. The presence of evil, his ability to appear and disappear at will, how he could control what people could see him and what people couldn't. While vague, years of killing for this being offered some insight. Amakusa Masataka belonged to a group of people not of this world. His people had been corrupted by a dark force long ago and had aligned themselves with the warlord who had subjugated their version of Japan. Their dark high priest assisted the warlord along with two others. These four rulers in turn served a larger order. The four were tasked with bringing about the end of the current world as an act of retribution for some fallen deity. Masataka's people acted as covert operatives for this empire. They were feared across the land and were collectively referred to as "Shinigami". An agent of the coming apocalypse, a servant of evil possessed by the will of those gods of death, Genocide would walk the earth.
Genocide stepped toward the station. A police cruiser rammed into him. He pulled out a knife and stabbed the hood of the car. The inhuman force of the knife created sparks which burst the engine into flames. The car crashed into a streetlight and exploded. A second cruiser neared the scene. No way a man could have done this. Yet still, out of the fires Genocide strode forth. It set upon the second vehicle, shooting out it's tires while jumping 9 feet into the air. The car tries to reverse but crashes into a wall. Genocide lands on the hood and kicks through the front window. Glass shatters under its boot, blinding the two officers inside. Genocide shoots one of the officers with a shotgun, killing him. The second officer in the passenger seat readies his pistol and takes aim. Only two shots fired, both directed at Genocide's head. It casually cocks its neck to avoid them. Then it grabs the officer's arm, breaking it. Genocide uses its free hand to grab the officer's head and bangs it into the dashboard no less than 5 times. The skull is shattered on the final impact. Genocide jumps off the car and continues on his mission.
Detective Evans speaks through a megaphone," This is your first and final warning. Stand down or we will use any and all means at our disposal to put you down." Genocide dropped its shotgun and raised its hands. A group of five SWAT team members rushed out the station, surrounding Genocide with riot shields. An officer accompanies them, edging behind the figure to apply handcuffs. Suddenly, Genocide springs to life , grabbing the officer behind him. He flips the officer over his head, slamming him into the pavement at his feet. Then Genocide stomps his head causing it to burst. Genocide drops a flash bomb from his coat sleeve, blinding the SWAT team as he draws his knife. He drives it into one SWAT member, the knife puncturing the shield and piercing his chest. Genocide kicks the corpse away withdrawing his knife. He goes to another, this time using the end of his boot toe in a rising kick to disarm their shield. He grabs them by the throat and drives the knife slowly into their eye socket. Another is tackled to the ground and beaten to death despite still being under the shield. Another is picked up and thrown into the fires still burning from the first auto incident. In no time, Genocide stood before an indistinguishable mass of gore, blood streaking across his black leather outfit. He laughed" So this is all you can give me. I'm not entertained." Officers took aim from the station windows, and snipers did so from other rooftops. Genocide laughed maniacally as he was rained down upon from all sides by a hailstorm of bullets. His body convulsed, but he did not fall. Moments more and he was on his knees. Still though, their efforts were futile. Gracia looked out and saw a black mist coalescing around the man in black. His blood. Blood erupted from his body only to transform into this dark mist that reentered his wounds. Genocide screamed. No. It was just an elevated pitch in his laughter. Optimism failed everyone yet again. Gracia saw Genocide holding something in his right hand. She could only make out a beeping red light. Genocide pushed the button triggering the carefully concealed explosives he laid in preparation for this event. C4 explosives went off in all the places he saw fit. The sniping posts he couldn't reach. The assault of lead lightened. Then Genocide drew an RPG from...somewhere. He collected himself and fired at the station's entrance. The explosion shook the station. From inside, the lights began to flicker. Communications were down on all fronts. Had he modified the rocket with some type of EMP? Not good. Amisdst the confusion Genocide entered using smoke bombs to mask his presence. Moving like a shadow, he killed everyone in the lobby silently with his knife. He made his way to the holding cells. Still they chanted. Still they praised. Still they raved for the arrival of genocide. Genocide shot the lock opening the cell. Jim Jimenez walked out and bowed before his master. Genocide smiled. He couldn't have imagined how proficient he had gotten with possession. Well, not quite possession. He had known of the Shinigami's ability to share their thoughts and emotions with humans. Shinigami like his mentor were ancient. They had so many years of memories, such strong a hatred for life that they overwhelmed the personality of the victim. The victim sees themselves as one of them. Shinigami can't force the will of the victim, so they find those who are already similar to them in some way. Genocide found the collective universal distrust of police to be a prime sentiment to capitalize on. He armed the inmates, infecting them with samples of his own dark essence.One particular inmate caught Genocide's eye. He knew the man's work. An arsonist. The one whom he recalls was responsible for blowing up his first car way back in high school. Rather than a standard firearm, Genocide gave the man a random assortment of grenades containing a special surprise. Genocide showed them visions of anarchy, of sending a message to a society that used and disregarded them. While this was also true of how he felt, years of living in darkness had changed him. He needed no purpose. No end goal. No justification. He just wanted to watch the world burn.
Genocide's small army broke off to engage several different wings of the station. Genocide went to the security room. He found Wayne, his informant, playing some FPS on one of the monitors. Wayne took of his headphones and asked," You kill everyone yet?" Genocide responded," No. You should get going before that happens. Your life becomes fair game if I run out of pigs to cook." Wayne clapped his hands, "Aight, GC my man, say less." He packed his things and left. Genocide drew a twin pair of handguns and laid waste to the station. He followed a group that took cover in the men's restroom. Kicking open multiple stalls he was surprised to find...nothing. Where had they gone? He turned around and saw his mentor, Masataka, smiling at him. It looked like him. Long, dark hair, black clothing, and soulless, empty eyes. But it wasn't. It was Genocide's own reflection in the mirror. Genocide smiled. He didn't notice the changes at first. They must have happened gradually. Subconsciously. From the final stall, an officer sprung into action, rushing Genocide, hitting him point blank with a shockgun round. Genocide felt the tingling sensation electrifying his body and grew numb. In spite of the pain, he took a single step. Then, another. He came within striking range of the officer and snatched the shockgun. Two more officers erupted from another stall, battering him with baton strikes. Genocide felt nothing. He clutched the shockgun in his hand like a bat and went to work pulverizing his attackers. An officer kicked in the bathroom door, a woman holding a pistol. She fired multiple times to no effect. Genocide stood covered in blood. He even let her reload. Twice. He wanted to see her despair. Her hopelessness. He walked towards her, shrugging off bullets as they pierced his body. His wounds healed nigh instantly due to the dark essence he had been imbued with. He held her face with both hands, lifting her body off the ground. As she screamed, he used her head to shatter the restroom mirror, running down the full length of it while smashing her into it at several points. He dropped the remains of what he held, washed his hands with soap, dried them, then exited the restroom.
The inmates that rallied for the cause of genocide attacked the station. Fortunately, they were nowhere near Genocide in terms of power and only carried one type of firearm each. They shared his healing ability but could be killed quite easily. Gracia encountered a sniper on the end or a west wing hallway. Other officers waited behind corners unable to get close. Gracia noticed the faulty lighting. In this hallway, the lights flickered in intervals of 3 seconds. Finding a pattern and timing her movements, she rushed the sniper at the exact moment the lights went out. Running the length of the hall, Gracia zigzagged, dodging the sniper inmate's bullets. She jumped on a wall, ran 3 feet on it, then kicked off it, pouncing on the assailant. She fired five shots into him, making sure to hit the brain and the heart. Two severe injuries that were impossible for Shinigami essence to heal simultaneously. Elsewhere, Evans took on another escaped inmate. A vehicular arsonist named Carson. Carson had a bag filled with an assortment of different grenades and was happily giving them out like candy on Halloween. "A flash bang here, a bit of tear gas there. Oh. Wait! Was that an ice grenade? Did the explosion freeze your leg to the floor? Whoops. Maybe a fire grenade will melt that for you. Hold on let me get one fore you," Carson rambled gleefully. Evans looked at the carnage before him. Officers burning. Officers partially frozen in blocks of ice. He took a breath and aimed his wristgun. He steadied his right forearm. Carson readied to throw a random grenade. Evans shot it the moment it left Carson's hand. The grenade exploded directly in front of Carson. Both Evans and Carson looked at each other in shock. Confetti. A party grenade? Carson quickly fumbled for another but was tackled and restrained by several officers. Meanwhile in the South wing, Lary had some colleagues set a trap for another shotgun toting inmate. He had them bait the inmate and flee. Giving chase he turned a corner and ran straight into Lary's fist. The inmate recovered and motioned to shoot Lary. "Let's tango. " Lary gave the code word. Nearby officers activated a device. A signal jammer of sorts. The inmate shoved the barrel of his gun into Lary's gut and pulled the trigger. Nothing. The special signal jammer in question was designed for firearms. It was a last resort as it left officers just as defenseless. Lary was having fun. He boxed the inmate in hand to hand combat. Despite the inmate's enhanced strength, Lary's technique pulled through. Lary ducked under one of the inmate's wide punches and did some type of rising uppercut where he jumped off the ground while spinning. One of the other officers whispered" The rising dragon." Lary smiled giving a thumbs up" Yeah, it was a rising dragon uppercut. Saw it in one O my kid's vidya games. Thought I'd try it out while I'm jacked on adrenaline".
Jim Jimenez looked long and hard at himself in the mirror. He was in the women's restroom. Some brainless woman had broken the men's restroom mirror with her face. For the first time in a long while Jim could think clearly. He was becoming sane. At the least he was no longer a raving lunatic. The life essence of the dark gods had healed the wounds to both his body and his mind. He saw his face, his scraggly dirty beard. He found a razor and shaved. He trimmed his beard somewhat. He liked it. He washed his hair. It fell down his face like silk, no longer greasy. His bloodshot eyes once burning with crazed intensity had cooled. He blinked. Just for a second, he saw the man known as Genocide. The man that attacked him. The one that killed him and gave him new life. The drug dealers. The police. They were all the same in his eyes now. They were all to blame for the world being what it is. Jim wanted to hate them. He wanted to take revenge, but he felt nothing. It didn't matter. He knew he was wronged, could logically justify acting against them, but he just didn't care anymore. About anything. He was finally free. Sensing his presence was no longer needed here, Jim vanished into the night. He needed to find someone who had had the answers he needed. Himself. Who had he been? Who was he now? Who could he become? Where was he going? So many questions to ponder indefinitely. So much time left in the rest of his life.
Genocide ran down the station's halls raining hailstorms of bullets upon its occupants. He had a handgun in each hand as well as a wristgun on each wrist. This effectively gave him 4 separate firearms that he could use simultaneously. Lary regrouped with Gracia, Evans, and a handful of others. They radioed all surviving officers near Genocide to flee to the roof. This plan had been set in motion days before the assault and had been kept hidden from most of the force. The plan involved scheduling flights for several helicopters to arrive at some point after Genocide arrived. There would be no way for him to prepare for them and pre-scheduling their arrival ensured they arrived regardless of if they were called or not. Lary and the others set about preparing the second jamming device. Genocide stood among a hallway of bodies. He saw one man clinging to life trying to crawl away. He decided on trying that other thing he saw his master do. He grabbed the dying man and pinned him to the wall. Slowly he drove a knife into his chest. As the man's life slipped away, something else entered his body. Genocide channeled a small amount of his essence into the vessel. He had steadily done this with other casualties around the station whose bodies were somewhat salvageable. He dropped the body he was holding and looked upon the others. He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, his eyed were black, both sclera and iris. The scene before him changed. Genocide had a vision. He saw a dead gray wasteland littered with bodies. These people however weren't cops and wore traditional Japanese attire. In his hand wasn't a gun or knife but a short sickle akin to a farming tool. He heard a dark voice call out to him. Slowly, the corpses around him began to rise, now mere puppets bound eternally to their master's whim. The bodies sold to the reaper who had claimed their lives. Genocide's vision ended. His eyes had returned normal. Around him, dead cops began to rise. His dark essence had entered their bodies and reanimated them. He sent his dead army to attack the officers fleeing to the roof of the station. These zombies swarmed the stairwell giving chase to the few survivors. There were five of them. They had two flights of stairs to climb and a horde of their former colleagues close behind them. One officer tripped and was set upon by the horde. The zombies didn't bite them but held them firmly in place. The other four officers stared down wondering what to do. They could hear Genocide chuckling. They could hear humming. They could feel the temperature rising. Their colleague and the two zombies holding him were hit by an enormous green fireball. Genocide had fired a Magnum Opus and had charged the bullet to level 3. The Magnum Opus was simply a magnum that shot fireballs, with bullets that could be charged by holding down the trigger. It had three levels of charges. Level 1 was a small reddish ball of plasma. Level 2 was slightly larger and yellow. Level 3 was the maximum charge and resulted in a large slow moving green blast of energy. The officer was ignited and Genocide watched gleefully as the force of the blast sent him flying through a wall. The four officers continued up firing occasionally to slow down the zombies. Soon they made it to a door leading to the roof. Before one officer could reach it, he was sniped by Genocide, a bullet to the head killing him instantly. The remaining three made it out. They regrouped with the others already there, 12 in total, including Lary, Evans, and Gracia. This would be their final stand. They just had to hold out until Genocide made it up there. They just had to keep Genocide occupied until the helicopters arrived. Genocide slowly ascended the stairs behind his horde. On the roof, the remaining survivors faced off against waves of the undead. Evans recognized the attackers. These zombies were being controlled by nanomachines. He heard the stories of several weapons encountered by soldiers on the battlefield. These creatures were called Metaldeads as they were reanimated via machines. They had been officially banned by most of the worlds' governments for being unethical. However, this did not stop the technology from being spread still between shady organizations, terrorists, etc. Evans wondered how Genocide got this form of nanotechnology. Evans long speculated that the dark essence used by most of the killers they encountered was a a form of nanotech however it was different from anything else he had seen or heard about. The dark essence seemed to be an amalgamation of other types of nanotech. Evans had to save his inquiries for later. He reloaded his wristgun and took aim at the approaching group of Metaldeads. Gracia steadied her handgun and shot two Metaldeads in the head. From the single door countless arms seemed to spill forth from the darkness. The other officers took turns firing in intervals. this allowed them to create a steady stream of fire where no more that three guns needed to be reloaded at once. The horde seemed to thin out over time as if they were making progress. In actuality, the Metaldeads were just making room for Genocide to enter. Genocide exploded in a sprint from the door. Everyone fired upon the killer. Genocide had now chosen a wrist mounted mini flamethrower to use as his weapon. He stormed past the oncoming bullets taking some damage, but refused to slow down. He unleashed a stream of fire that caught five of the officers in one fell swoop. Gracia fired five rounds into Genocide's face. He stumbled back. Lary took the chance to fire several mine gun bullets at Genocide's feet. The mines quickly detected his movement and exploded. In seconds, Genocide was on his back.
Staring at the night sky Genocide saw the moon. He reached for it. He called for the darkness to give him more power. His wounds began healing. In the sky he could hear the whirl of propellers. There were six helicopters in total. The first two had evacuated the survivors while the others stayed to engage Genocide. Genocide got up and unstrapped the sniper rifle from his back. He stood before the searchlights as a black silhouette, cornered but unwilling to back down. Lary stared down at him smiling. "Okay!" He shouted, "Let's Tango!" Upon this declaration the second jamming device was activated. Now, isolated on the roof, Genocide's guns couldn't be fired and the helicopters were out of range of the device. Now Genocide stood like a sitting duck. A helicopter fired a rocket. Genocide side stepped and grabbed it. He turned his body redirecting the rocket to hit another helicopter. As it exploded Genocide drew his knife and threw it at another helicopter. Behind the knife was such force that it shattered the helicopter window's glass, embedding itself in the pilot. This helicopter too went down where it exploded. "Holy clucknuggets!Did you see that!?" Lary said dumbfounded. Evans looked out the helicopter door he was in jaw open in shock. "There's no way." He collected himself quickly and radioed the remaining two helicopters to keep moving and to use their machineguns as much as possible. The helicopters reigned down upon Genocide tearing apart his body. Shreds of leather and darkened blood sprayed across the pavement of the roof. Gracia watched as Genocide's body was destroyed repeatedly as it tried to heal. Surely he had to stop at some point. After 10 minutes the helicopters had exhausted their cache of ammunition and soldiers opted to fire their own rifles and occasionally throw grenades. After about six minutes, they too had run out of bullets. Genocide stood unfazed. He had long since healed himself and now appeared intangible with gunfire seeming to pass through his body. His coat once ripped , now appeared whole though on closer inspection seemed to writhe. Gracia looked in horror as she remembered the tales her adopted father had told her. Tales he had in turn heard from his predecessors. Every so often officers had reported encounters with ghost like beings cloaked in a cloud of living dark mist. The beings were rumored to be responsible for the deaths of multiple people ranging from scientists, veterans, mafia, politicians, etc. They were seen near such crime scenes and even more shockingly appeared around several sites where suicides were committed. These beings were reportedly impervious to bullets and filled anyone who got near with an impending sense of dread. If Genocide was connected to them or somehow turning into one , there was little chance they would be able to defeat him. Gracia's fears were confirmed when she saw that Genocide's leather coat had been destroyed and he had replaced it with the dark mist coalescing from his own spilled blood. The dark mist, swirling, grew larger and several tendrils sprouted out from it. Gracia could briefly make out a figure standing next to Genocide. A hooded figure cloaked in the same black substance. The figure stared up at her with soulless, blackened eyes which seemed to beckon her to jump from the aircraft she was standing in. Compelling her to give in to the death that plagued the earth. Genocide kneeled to his master. The Shinigami, Masataka stared down at his disciple. "You have done a great service to us. Even now the sealed god stirs in its slumber. Its...Awakening will soon be upon us. It calls out for war. It begs for famine. It longs to continue its conquest. We are the death it so desires. The death that is necessary for this civilization to grow. Use the power that I have bestowed upon you. Finish the mission as you see fit." The Shinigami vanished and Genocide stood.Genocide stared at his hands. He remembered the first killing spree. He was on a bus. It stopped. A woman got on the bus and walked to the back smiling as she passed him. Something about her eyes unnerved him. They were so bright but something dark reflected inside them. He ignored the thought and put in his headphones. In minutes he had dozed off. He jumped awake. He looked around and froze in panic. All around him, everyone had been hacked to pieces. He saw the driver, actively being stabbed by a masked assailant. The mask, painted white with black eyeholes, stared back at him. It raised a finger over where its lips would be. Even under the expressionless visage, he could feel that same smile. He ran home that morning. He went to his room to find it destroyed. His posters, his computer, his tv, everything, had been ruined. He turned around and saw a man at the end of the hallway holding a sledge hammer. "The hell you been, boy?", his stepdad sneered. The man dropped his hammer and walked closer, veins pulsing with rage. He tried to explain how his car had caught fire forcing him to walk 4 miles to the nearest bus stop, but the man's fist was faster than his words. "Boy!Answer me when I talk to you!!" the man says as he backhands the taste out of the would be Genocide's mouth. He took that beating for several minutes before being left to stare at his ransacked room. He hated how his stepdad went out of his way to destroy the things he loved. Soon, another set of footsteps could be heard. It was his mother standing behind his locked door. She didn't knock, or say anything. She just stood there, doing nothing as always. He never knew if she came to talk to him or apologize. All he knew was that she could never bring herself to speak to or even acknowledge him. Maybe out of guilt or perhaps shame. A year or two later after he had had enough he ran away from home. Living out on the streets alone, without friends, or family, he would embark on countless killing sprees. These killings weren't of his own volition however. He was coerced by some corrupt officers from The Unit. They made him kill on their behalf. Sometimes they were protesters, sometimes they were drug dealers, other times, petty criminals they couldn't be bothered to process. It was routine for him to be used to kill entire houses of drug riddled addicts. During one such venture he entered a drug den, killing the dealer as instructed. He took out several junkies before turning to leave. A woman who survived her injuries clung to his heel begging him to stop. Looking down he aimed the handgun he was carrying at her head of long disheveled brown hair and fired. Feeling nothing, he kicked her body aside like trash when it hit him. Her face. This woman had been his mother. What was she doing in a place like this? He felt a shock of emotion. He wondered if she had always been like this, or had she changed after he left. He never made amends, but decided to stop killing from then on. The unit did not like that. Once it became apparent that he was no longer of use to them they started a manhunt to apprehend him with lethal force. They found him. They killed him. But he survived.
He remembered the girl on the bus. He remembered her eyes. Those of a sadistic killer. Still there was something else inside them. Something faint but deeper. So. Much. Sadness. Just like him. He felt the hatred begin to spread. His purpose, he decided, was to make all humans rot in the hell they created for him.
These people, he thought to himself, these living diseases, all needed to die. Their struggles, their problems, they spread like cancer to others. The only cure for humanity's sin, its collective wrongdoings, was genocide.
Around him, dark tendrils continued to form and expand, spinning in a vortex. Genocide pulled out two pistols. He squeezed the triggers to no effect. "As I see fit, huh? Hehe." He squeezed both guns in his hands, breaking them into pieces. He concentrated. In his hands, two more guns materialized now completely black due to being forged from the dark essence. Forged by his will. Immune to the jamming device that shut down conventional firearms. He raised his arms at each remaining helicopter and opened fire. Countless tendrils whipped out and slashed at his targets joining the dark essence bullets. It was chaos. Dark tendrils and bullets tore through every direction as Genocide spun and swirled around in 360 degrees firing randomly with purpose. A tendril pierced Gracia's right arm, another, her abdomen. She was however, fortunate, as the other passengers of her helicopter were dismembered. She barely had time to jump from the vehicle before it crashed. She fell 2 yards onto solid concrete. She felt immense pain as her right shoulder shattered on impact. She looked up to see Genocide's blade like appendages ripping through the other escape helicopters. She rolled onto her back and tried to steady herself. Within seconds her body began to repair itself. The nanocells inside her had saved her life but were now depleted. She would need another supplement lest she receive another fatal injury. The standard nanocells she and the others had were much less potent than those of the killers they faced. In truth, they had only minimal strength boosts being able to lift 5-8 more pounds than before and healing being limited to one or two fatal injuries so long as death didn't occur instantly. Gracia blacked out. She awoke the next morning in a hospital. There the doctors refilled her nanocells. She learned that the station had been left in ruins. Genocide had detonated some type of minature nuke following his rampage. He always blew up the stations as if to send a message. Gracia looked out the window thinking about why she became a cop. Twice her family had been murdered by them. Her biological family had been killed in an on record drug raid committed by a group of corrupt officers called The Unit. She had been adopted by another officer that arrived at the scene who found her as a child hiding in a closed. Sadly, he too was killed for trying to expose the activities of The Unit. Gracia joined the force to avenge both losses and bring justice to the killers that disguised themselves as normal people. Law enforcement was neither good, nor bad. It depended upon the people that made it up. In the dying corrupt world Gracia lived in, she vowed to be a beacon of light. Evans laid in a bed adjacent to Lary. "That damn Genocide's somethin else in' he?Like the stories you told us were understatements. That man could legit not die at this point in the story. Like he has friggin plot armor or somthin.'' Evans cut him off" I get it. We all got our asses handed to us. But did you see that ..thing that appeared next to him. Right before he created that black vortex that wiped us out. That must have something to do with his power. Maybe there's a still a way to stop him."Lary chimed in," That fella looked like he was on the way to a black metal concert wit all the black facepaint he was wearin' Creeped me out to be honest." As the survivors mulled over their predicament, the cycle of evil continued to spread elsewhere.
Budley flips through the pages of a magazine. He checks his watch. He looks around the gas station and doesn't see any customers. Seizing the opportunity, he puts in his headphones and begins playing an imaginary guitar as he jams to a progressive deathcore album. Oblivious to the screams coming from outside, the store clerk moves on to thumping two candy bars on the counter to simulate drums. Budley sees that his shift has ended and begins locking up the store. He sweeps the aisles and jumps as a shadow appears behind him. He turns and sees a well groomed bearded man dressed in a black hoodie, black shirt, and black and gray camo pants. The man holds out his hand and smiles. Budley rings up the pack of nicotine substitute gum. "Tryin to kick the habit huh?" Budley asks. The man replies, "Somethin like that. Gotta get my priorities back in check. Focus on the things that really matter. That damn KonCreep's a hell of a band aren't they?" He nods to the playlist on Budley's phone. "Yeah, they're killer. just got into them a month back." Budley answers. "You know, I'm something of a musician myself. Maybe you'll hear of me on the news someday." Jim Jimenez says as he sees himself out. He walks to the back of the building and passes an ominous form of graffiti. A woman lays unmoving and above her, written on concrete in red is a message that simply says "Genocide Reigns".

As If It Were Kismet: Prologue
Matt tore through the brush, blind in the dark. He didn’t care where he was going. He only knew he needed to be elsewhere. Far from here.
Behind him a creature howled that shocked his mind. It’s form was cruel and dangerous, though female. Nothing like the young woman she had once been. Nothing but a girl, a small and slight female.
It’s guttural growls and howls only grew closer as Matt tried to pick between seeing where he was going and getting away. The few times he looked he caught sight of the creature behind him. Hopping through the air with a speed that told him he was being toyed with. As if he were a mouse being played with by a cat.
But the reflex in him to run kept him going. His adrenaline going as hard as it could. The tightness and burning in his core tensing and locking up as his legs felt like there were being burned from within while taking on more of a heaviness.
His lungs were starting to betray him as he tried to gulp big breaths of air but only rapid and shallow breaths were all that he could manage. His brain was starting to burn….and then he was falling.
Falling down the side of a hill he saw the creature dart in a spring towards him, imperceivably fast almost. Catching him in mid air it seemed.
Managing to wrap its body around him and cushion his impact against the ground as they rolled. His mind barely took in what was happening during the roll. Only starting to understand what was happening once they were still.
The creature's triple D-cup breasts were unmistakably pressed hard against his back as he laid facing up at the night sky.
For a few seconds the world stilled and the needle light pain hitting the center of his brain took over for the cooking heat his brain had felt. His whole body felt heavy and reluctant to move.
Even if he could have really moved, a dull ache came over his limbs making them feel stilled and trapped as if by immeasurable amounts of sand that had engulfed him.
Slowly the arms holding him started to move. Moving so the creature's hands could start exploring him. Causing Matt to unstoppably let out a pathetic moan that made him go cold inside as hands lifted up his shirt and started to touch his exposed stomach and then his chest.
He would have whimpered so pathetically had he not still been in the depths of terror.
As its hands felt and groped his pecs he tried to situp as if to get away. For his efforts, his reward was a hand around his throat and a collection snarls and growls against his ear. A beastly, guttural voice spat words at him while somehow holding a feminine tone.
“Don’t move….I don’t know if I can calm down…”
Her words were not helped by her moans in his ear and the subsequent kissing of his ear. The flesh of his ear going between her lips as she moaned and seemed to pant. Releasing it and licking the side of his face with a moist warmth. He could feel its spittle, viscous and coating his flesh where the tongue touched. He could smell something in his saliva. Something that subtly entranced him.
Matt went stock still with fear and the confusion of mixed arousal. He barely perceived her right hand traveling lower on his body. A surprised moan and shudder echoed in the night from Matt’s lips as she took ahold of him. Her hand above his pants but still….stimulating him.
A light squeezing and almost probing of her digits kept him aroused and confused within her grasp. Resigning himself to the strange fate, Matt looked up at the stars as his mind tried not to shatter under the strange maelstrom of events and sensation that had started mere minutes ago.
His mind was only more confused as a slight figure, feminine in build, how it seemed to thunk the ground audibly as she landed on her feet out nowhere. Her knees barely bending under the pressure of the landing. Yet dirt was kicked up anyways and some of it onto Matt. Feeling it pepper his shirt and pants as it fell.
The figure, lit only faintly by moonlight, roared some dark tone Matt could only perceive as a demon as her eyes went bright with a crimson light. A light in the darkness that should not have been. “Let him go you bitch.” Was its words following the roar. Spittle escaping its mouth with faint droplets hit Matt's face.
The creature holding him by his throat and crotch seemed to tighten the grasp of both hands as it roared back. “HE IS MINE!”
The figure paused with a moment's hesitation. He was also her quarry. She had felt his fear without him knowing. His confused arousal. His fear. His terror.
And now he laid at the center of a struggle between two monsters. Unsure of who he wanted to win.
As If It Was Kismet Ch. 1
Matthew Berkshire hadn’t seen his mom in two years. Not that he had seen her much over the last six years.
A messy divorce between messy people and mom’s chaotic want for a life in Alaska had been one of the most…upsetting times in life. Setting him up for so much of what had defined his life thus far but then that had really started two years before he ever turned.
His ear buds were basic and simple. A part of cheap five pack, common for his life as he was known to lose little things. Small things. They had a mix of metal and hard rock playing in them. Some classics, some alternative. Whatever made him feel something, anything. Even if it was hate. Anger. Rage. It was better than feeling numb. Not belonging.
The escalator down to his lone bag to go with his lone carry on showed his mom waiting for him. His had a type, that’s for damn sure. Not that it helped him in the genetics department as he was stuck at 5’9” to go along with his mother’s five foot even as his dad stood six foot. Forever leaving him to feel small, to pale, under his dad’s shadow. Did he ever stand a chance?
The guy next to her with the unkempt former seventies porn stache was “Dave.” He’d met him twice when his mother came and visited him in Florida. To his credit the guy didn’t look annoyed. Kind of concerned kind of which made Matthew want to break his frozen look but he was well practiced. Having removed any note of sadness from his face through much…tribulation.
His mother’s look on her face betrayed a hint of worry as the bruises on his face lightly showed up close. Saying his name was his like a distant echo that belonged to someone else.
Dave cut in and pulled out his right headphone. “What the hell bud, they knock you hard enough to hurt hearing? Your mom’s asking how you are doing.”
Matthew pulled out the other bud and grunted an empty “sorry.”
“You still have bruises after two week? What did they do to you?” His mom’s voice was full of worry. Something he hadn’t heard in….too long. Too long to make him feel anything. To ever make him believe there was any sincerity to her words. To not think her voice and mannerisms were an act. An act by someone who…wasn’t really there.
“It’s only fair. I took a nose. Fractured a couple orbital bones. Left one with having to get his jaw wired shut. And one will never walk right again for what I did to his knee cap.” Matthew said it all with a bored and disinterested tone. Perhaps well rehearsed.
“My man, handing out ass kickings, not bothering to take names.” Dave was quick to be the typical man’s man about it. Matthew wasn’t quite done yet. Lifting up his shirt to expose the right side near his kidney. Revealing a nasty scar from a six inch blade. “Luckily they gave me this first so they could rule it all in self-defense. The fuck didn’t get it in more than inch before I ruined his knee cap and then I took the nose of one of the fucks holding me.” Now he chose to smile keeping the well practiced dead look in his eyes.
No retorts. No questions. Just horrified looks on their faces. As he liked. As he preferred. They could hate him. They could be disgusted by him. But by God they would fear him.
“Well the doc did a good job sewing you up.” Dave commented uncomfortably. “Dissolving sutures. Ain’t they grand.” He smiled again and let it abruptly fall off his face and started walking to the carousel for the baggage claim.
Waiting and making small talk with Dave as his mother stood in silence. He was not the little boy she abandoned. The little boy she left with an angry man. While never hitting him. Left him in constant fear till he turned twelve and just didn’t care anymore. Something snapped. Broke. And he didn’t care if he died. Didn’t care if he stole. Didn’t even care if he killed. He just knew not to get caught. Something left over from his grandfather’s wisdom which came to make more and more sense with each passing year of life since that thing inside him broke.
Finally his bag came around and Dave went to try first to grab it but Dave practically leapt ahead of him. “Is that your grandfather’s rucksack bag?” his mother asked in a perplexed voice.
“Figured it’s been around since Viet Nam. So it’d serve me better than any of the worthless stuff they called luggage.” Dave commented after Matthew’s words. “Well hell yeah I still got mine from Desert Storm. You know the first one.” Dave laughed and Matthew eyed him oddly. Be it in the south or whether it was Alaska, country boys are country boys he guessed.
The car ride to the two people’s house, as Matthew thought of them. Was uneventful and full of vistas he imagined metropolitan types wetting themselves over. At most they meant isolation to him. Furtherness from the world as there were no mountains in Florida. And what mountains he had last seen in another state had been when he was eight. Another life, to Matthew it felt like. A life alien to him.
As If It Was Kismet Ch 2
Dave and his mom’s place was some two story type tucked into a tree line far up an elevated point. It was by no means the highest point in the mountain but it certainly felt up there.
Rocks were where the driveway should have been Matthew thought. Grabbing his backpack and rucksack from Dave’s jeep was no hard thing for him. Matthew was in formidable shape for someone his age, maybe even five years older. He had gotten a mix of fairly big shoulders and arms along with the chest to go for it when compared to most kids his age. A side effect of working out at least twice a day. First thing in the morning, some time in the evening, and the school’s gym when had had a good semester in school before he had to leave Florida.
Dave tried to come up and help him but Matthew walked past him towards the house. His mom was not sure what to make of his demeanor. Matthew was not the sweet kind boy he had once been. But she had been gone from his life essentially for a long time.
Ushering him into the house she cracked some joke he did not hear. He was too busy looking about and seeing a mix of old outdated decorating mixed with the strange and odd flair of his mother. Color contrasting against drab and dated. Like brightly painting over an old home that was falling apart he thought.
“Your room is this way Mattie.” His mom brightly intoned.
Without expressing any interest he followed his mother. Still faced and nonplussed. Just going along with the current. Pushed and pulled with its roll like a piece of driftwood.
The room was simple. A single small bed. A set of rubber weights with a curl bar and barbells. “Your dad said you were into weight lifting so we got you a bunch of stuff. Dave says it looks like his department’s gym almost. The woman’s smile felt very alien to him.
“Thank you. I appreciate it. I’ve got most of my stuff from home.” Matthew starting unpacking his rucksack and pulled out cables of repetitive and mixed colors. A single plastic barbell handle. The ruck sack could be filled with water bottles for added weight during pushups he figured. Remembering a Michael Keaton movie he watched with his dad post-Batman movies where he played a convicted killer using plastic bags filled with water for weights.
Matthew caught movement outside his lone fairly large window that could let him step out onto the roof of the house given its layout.
He saw a number of people running together through what he guessed was the backyard of the property, not that it had any fences to mark boundaries
They wore clothes that looked similar yet different from each other at the same time.”Oh those are the Johnston’s. Really nice bunch of people. Been on the mountain for a long time Dave tells me.”
Matthew looked at the group of people running and noticed the lack of resemblance. “They are related?” Matthew quizzically asked. Seeing a black and possibly a hispanic person amongst the bland looking white people.
“Oh well they are all adopted but for one or two of them…besides the parents of course. The family has a long tradition of taking in orphans they say. Real nice of them to do that don’t you think.”
Matthew looked at his mother and the hosier accent made no sense to him as he arched his left eye brow. Her and his dad were both from Florida. Born and raised. Sure her parents were from New York city but…
Matthew shook his lightly without turning to look at his mother as his vision was grabbed by one of the runners in particular. A girl of moderate height. Soft brunette. A plain beauty he figured with a slim build….and lack of remarkable breasts and rear to make any note of but….girls in general were his type at his age.
She was pretty enough. He couldn’t deny that but he found himself transfixed by her visage.
But the way she turned and looked at him, especially at that distance felt very disconcerting to him. Even if she was smiling like…she was a taste of a bright shiny day. Somehow.
Matthew’s mom noticed the exchange and smiled to herself with closed lips. “Oh that’s Vicky. She’s your age I think. Very sweet girl, who does the charity functions. You know bake sales, blood drives, car washes and the like. I think you should get to know her. Might be good for you.”
A truck horn sounded a couple of beeps in rather succession. “Oh that must be Mack, he said he might come by later this evening but he seems early.”
Matthew’s mother turned and left his room. Leaving Matthew to exchange a few looks with the alluring Vicky as she turned her head away from him to talk to the others in her group and look back at him.
Still Matthew’s left eyebrow was arched. In a way that reminded him of Spock from Star Trek that he and his grandpa used to watch on some streaming service or another.
As he heard ambient chatter elsewhere outside the house he figured to check it out as the alluring sight of Vicky would be around he figured. It was dull to stare at artwork. He was a boy who preferred jet skis and the like. Something he could ride and enjoy immensely. Even if at times it got him stabbed.
As If It Was Kismet Ch 3
Matthew sauntered out of the house and down the rockway that stood in for a driveway.
A few new people had come over from what he could first surmise of the situation. As he got closer it was obvious they were indigenous people. A couple of grown men…and a girl?
She was mousey. Maybe five foot. Hiding behind glasses and a big camo jacket that was far too big for her. It looked made for a grown man and the backwards trucker hat on her head kept her long black a beautiful mess of sorts.
She was cute in a way. A little androgynous but she had a cute energy to her. She reminded him of the more tomboyish Puerto Rican girls he had gotten into back in Florida. Given the deer corpses in the back of the truck….probably more dangerous to play with given the men in her family.
Small chatter passed between the adults when the girl noticed but turned away, trying to hide the tiny hint of a smile.
“Oh Mattie, this is Mack. He works with Dave at the sheriff’s department and John, he’s with fish and wildlife.” Matthew nodded at his mom’s words with some blankness as he looked at the deer the in the back of the pickup truck.
“Gale tells us you hunted with your dad some in Florida and Georgia.” Mack offered with a light hearted laugh camouflaged by his big simple and cheery but husky way he spoke.
Looking in the back of the truck he spoke. “We used lever action thirty-thirties and Mosin Nagants in seven-six-two-fifty-four-rimmed.” Mack and John whistled in an exaggerated fashion. Leaving Matthew to wonder if they were mocking him.
Mack spoke. “Well we just used thirty-odd-six in a custom gussied Garand.” That caught Matthew’s attention. “You have a Garand…” Matthew finally demonstrated interest in anything. “My dad has an SVT-40 and a Hakim 8mm but he always wanted a Garand but was too cheap to buy one.”
Gale, his mother, chimed in loudly. “Oh his Dad loved his guns but was such an odd duck about how he bought or why he bought them. Never made sense to me how he wasn’t a collector but he didn’t get the latest and greatest.” Gale laughed uncomfortably. At least it seemed that way to Matthew.
Matthew pointed to the girl with an underhanded pointing hand. “And who is this? A cute little mute mouse or does she have a name?” Dave and the other men laughed.
Mack again spoke. “Well you people call her Rebecca, she’s my adopted daughter.” Matthew was taken aback by what he heard. “You people?”
Rebecca kindly spoke with a soft but almost melodic voice as she struggled to maintain eye contact. “White people or rather not members of our tribe. It’s just easier to appease the colonizer kind of thing. Borrowed from when the Jesuit missionaries chased us up here.”
Mack stepped in. “It’s just easier to have white people names than have them try to say our tribal names. And we don’t want them shortening or Anglicising our names kind of thing.” Rebecca stepped back into the conversation cutting off her adopted father. “It’s an insult to our history basically.”
Matthew cocked his head sideways raising his eyebrows shortly before letting them drop. “Well as soon as I’m eighteen I’m out of here and back to Florida so I’m a sort of involuntary colonizer of sorts. So I won’t be taking any of your land from you. The Seminoles on the other hand are still shit out of luck.”
Rebecca’s smile caused Matthew to reflexively smile. Mack made the moment more awkward. “See Becca, I told you someone off the reservation would like you some. You just have to be creative.” Mack laughed in a chiding manner…Matthew presumed. He sensed that he was the butt of some kind of cultural joke. Like marrying a white guy was some sort of insult or mark of shame. That kind of thing.
Rebecca turning away from him was not something he had been expecting. Her then getting in the truck in a huff left the group in a silence for a moment.
Dave spoke to break the awkward silence. “Well just bring the truck to work on Monday and leave it for me to grab up.” Mack acknowledged Dave and they started to get off as Rebecca looked at Matthew for another instance. Matthew couldn’t look away for some reason as the two seemed to lock eyes for an instance.
Till Vicky and family seemed to come jogging down the road. While Matthew’s eyes diverted from Rebecca’s. Hers did not till she realized he was looking elsewhere. And her vision found Vicky and what had been a hint of smile on her face turned glum and disappointed.
Matthew did not look away from the vision of Vicky but instead of a starry eyed fool looking longingly. It was a baffled look. Well baffled for him, with his eyes drawn narrow and night with a focus.
There was something about her…he couldn’t quite put a name too. The way she appeared to him. One second brunette. The next second blonde or blonde like. As if the color appeared in her air and disappeared in fractions of seconds. Much the same way her body almost seemed to…shift…very subtly…smoothly. A nicer bum. Larger breasts. And then back to a simple and plain form. Feminine no doubt. Attractive. But not so…remarkable.
As If It Was Kismet Ch 4
The next two days passed without incident. Nothing of any real substance or challenge to note.
Matthew got settled somewhat and started working out almost immediately. Exploring around the woods but Dave told him not to go far. Especially without a hunting rifle. Dave had left a simple semi-auto Winchester out for him. His bear gun as Dave referred to it with its four round magazine. But Matt figured till he got some practice with the rifle to leave it alone. He made a hiking stick like his grandpa taught him and treated it over a low fire. He would take some electrical tape for the end his hand would grip around. Plenty enough to ward off anything smaller than a bear he figured.
The ride to school was a pain in the neck but simple enough. Dave would let him use a clunker pickup truck he had laying around. It wasn’t pretty but it would get him to and from. Even if it was from the eighties and still backfired on occasion. But for now Dave and his mom took him on their way to the sheriff’s department.
It wasn’t much of a school. It wanted to be modern but its fifties original construction was very obvious. It serviced the pipeline families and familys’ of fisherman who worked the seasons in between their time at the pipeline.
Matt was to report to the principal for some reason Dave and his mom wouldn’t share. Which annoyed him but he figured it was to read him the law of land. Small towns with their big views of the outside world and like.
Dressed in jeans, a grey sweatshirt under a light jacket with steel toed boots set him more apart then he expected. His buzzed head didn’t help matters. Already he was feeling like a stranger in a strange land but he was quite strange after all. And he liked it that way. Normal people were so pathetically disappointing to him.
A secretary or assistant or some such led him to the principal’s office. Where it reeked of real wood that was old and fabric and upholstery that needed to be updated for the last twenty years, Matt figured.
“This is Matthew Berkshire, Principal Andrews.” The man was turned with his back to the door and he was quick to wave her off as he turned her around.
He was an older man. Fat and large. Tall with a body built like he had once been fit and a demeanour of annoyed and irate already as he fixed Matt with a scowl and look of disgust. Another worthless government whore. Matt thought to himself. His father and his grandfather had bestowed unto him a natural disrespect for government workers and the figures that wore unjustified authority as a shield but pretended the weight of the state was not at their back ready to crush all who resisted. Little figures of valor pretending to be mighty and alone but acting with the tyranny of the state and all the backing.
“Mr. Berkshire, please sit down.” His tone wasn’t unusually hostile, just gruff. As if he had better things to do.
Matt complied and took a seat in the chair while maintaining a friendly facade. Not everyone was an enemy. And not everyone needed to be an enemy. Even if anybody could be any enemy. There was no reason to make enemies you didn’t have to. Another of his grandfather’s bastardised wisdoms.
“Well I looked over you file and you have quite the history Mr. Berkshire.” Matt resisted qiuping back a joke. Instead he waited for Principal Andrews to continue as he remained nonplussed and looking as if he felt no need to respond. A simple head tilt with dead eyes looking back at the principle as if he was not even there would suffice.
Matt’s reaction or lack of a reaction rather made Principal Andrews only narrow his eyes with examination. He was not used to a kid not responding to him. Especially with his gruff and hard act going on.
“Well by all accounts you moved here after some problems at your last school. A fight broke out and you did some real harm to your fellow students it appears.” Of course, he would take the side of the perpetrators. School administrators always did. Especially when they weren’t white. Just a fact of the times. Cowardice and pathetic mediocrity was the way they leaned, like good government workers sucking the dick of Big Daddy government. Worthless whores.
Matt chose to reply. “Oh you mean the criminals that stabbed me. Got arrested at the hospital and then pled to felonies. Yeah Florida, with the American counties are good like that.” Principal Andrews went real still. No shame. No fear. No penitence. He didn’t like that.
“Well be it as it may Mr. Berkshire we don’t tolerate that kind of behaviour here…” Matt cut him off responding with a deadpan tone. “You mean self-defense meant to save one’s own life while the cowardly and pathetic school workers look on with zero interest but to keep their money rolling in and will allow known gang members with records of violent acts and crimes that should have them expelled many times over, where in certain Democrat counties such cowardice and idiocy empowered a couple school shooters?”
Principal Andrews looked at the Matt with a note of disgust. “Look here Mr. Berkshire, your beliefs matter not one bit here. This isn’t Florida. We don’t like our way of life being disrupted by outside agitators who have problems with authority.”
Matt did his best not to roll his eyes and let the older fat man drone own as he dead-stared him. Lifeless and without emotion.
The man came to a finish and Matt spoke up without having listened to him or paid him any attention. “Great now that’s taken care of. Can I please get to class and finish my sentence of two years at your wonderful school?”
Principal Andrews huffed and snorted before calling in Vicky. Vicky stood in the corner after entering with a quiet and seamless presence. Matt felt disturbed and tried not betray his feelings as the young Vicky was perceived and not perceived to be moving.
Principal Andrews made the introductions and Matt nodded back. She was to be his chaperone for the day. They had the same classes and she was to show him the ropes so to speak. The ins and outs of the school. The locations of their classes.
He recognized her. It was hard not to. The way her appearance seemed to shift fluidly almost. The petite and skinny brunette ever so lightly had a big bust and blonde hair with curves added when she seemed to shift before his eyes. Like watching a film but each frame had a different person.
Matt didn’t say anything about it. Even if he did he would only be acknowledging his crazed state, if he had one. If.
Unlike an obedient puppy dog he got up in a slow and awkward fashion and followed behind her as his oddly disproportionate frame allowed. Causing her a note of concern for some reason. As if she was seeing something she shouldn’t have been….Or he was just weird. And Matt could admit to himself he was just weird. Part of his charm, he would jest about it at times. Not that he had many people to jest to now.
As If It Were Kismet Ch. 5
Following Vicky into the hall off to their first class was simple. She exchanged small talk and he slightly smiled as if to obviously suggest he was just being polite.
Inside his head, Matt was trying to figure out if he was having a psychotic break. The way Vicky looked kept changing and he looked at the other people around him and they stayed the same.
He was searching his mind as they were walking. And thus he wasn’t paying attention to where he was looking and so fell to his face forward over his feet seemingly out of nowhere.
A series of laughs erupted as it sunk in that he was obviously tripped. Like in prison this was a challenge to his superiority. If he let this pass he would be mocked and sneered at by this same group of boys. He wouldn’t walk to them like he was going to do nothing like a little bitch.
In a rage he turned and punched the stomach of the first face he saw. Some typical blonde haired wannabe jock. He knew from experience not to aim for the ribs. Instead he needed to aim for where he thought the belly button was.
Yells and screams blindly echoed around him as his after the punch he followed up his elbow of the opposite arm slamming into the face of the jock. Harder than a fist, the elbow struck the jock’s jaw and seemingly dropped him against a locker. Just in time to catch an errant and soft punch to the nose that sure enough hurt but did little to slow him down as his dad had taught him to fight through the pain. Blood and scars happened. They were a natural consequence of life to a man.
Taking the punch and falling further into his red state Matt headbutted the punch thrower before another guy arm bared his throat from behind. Which he managed to get his grip on the arm over a letterman jacked and jerk the unprepared boy to the side with him still latched on.
A few feet away from the lockers Matt knew his only chance was to jump and push off the lockers and knock the boy to the ground and so he did. He heard a thunk of the boy’s skull bouncing off the ground and he turned to pull out of the grapple.
The beatings he had taken from his father, the grapples, being choked unconscious. Had prepared him for fighting little bitches who didn’t know what a fight was. It wasn’t gay porn with rabbit punch fists flying.
Blood was running down his face and the pain started to hit him as the threats had been eliminated. Only then did he remember to breathe. Taking breathes as Vicky came up to him with tissues and took a hold of his nose.
“Owww owww owww what the fuck my nose could be broken.” He said to Vicky as she pulled his head up and back.
“It’s ok Carl. It’s done.” Matt tried to look to see who Vicky was talking to. It was a boy taller than his 5’9” by more than a small margin. The boy eyed him bored and annoyed before speaking. “What happened here?” An unoriginal line but one Matt couldn’t be a smart aleck about. “Well you see there was an outbreak of tripping and we all tripped over my dick. It happens.” Matt was about to laugh when Vicky seemed to pull up while still gripping his nose causing Matt no small amount of pain which he audibly evidenced.
Vicky spoke in a tone he wasn’t expecting. As if she was accustomed to issuing orders. “Keep Iris away from the hall till we sanitize the site. We have blood from at least three people contaminating the site. And have Jake bring me a spare jacket and shirt for this moron.”
Carl seemed to acknowledge her orders and seemed to blink away. Maybe the punch hit harder than he expected. He had no time to wonder as Vick took her hand away from his and pushed him against the lockers. With ease he had not been expecting from her form and stature.
Before he could respond Vicky licked his blood covered chin and then his lips and spoke to him. “Focus on me you little blood bag.” Her tone had an annoyed yet feminine sneer.
“Look into my eyes. Look at me. You belong to me. You are just another food source in a collection of food sources.” Her eyes were a beautiful hazel Matt thought. Almost green. Pretty like jewels in some old treasure collections. The eyes he could get lost in before kissing her. Finally Vicky was just a slight and petite brunette and he thought she was beautiful.
She would make a hell of a girlfriend. Some cute thing he could see laying on the beach in Florida on their sides laughing and smiling before trading light kisses while hands wandered innocently. Before his mind could drift further he felt her lips on his. It took him a second to mentally grasp the kiss but his arms were around her back as her hands were at his sides. His eyes reflexively closed as he saw hers close.
It was ineffable to Matt. Beyond words, what was happening. The kiss, the moments beforehand. The way his brain tickled with electricity and gentle warmth. He had never had a kiss like this and he had traded more than a few kisses with at least a few girls.
The kiss was like a warm bath with his consciousness slipping beneath the surface. Their lips only parted to try new angles and approaches as Matt struggled to take in breath. It was a moment he could have stayed trapped in for….he didn’t know. But a curt throat clearing by another girl pulled them out of the moment.
The girl was taller than Vicky. Blonde. With slight curves. Vicky addressed her bewildered and gobsmacked, and perhaps a bit embarrassed. “Tina?”

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First: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/14vo5lb/troublemakers_deaths_pity/
*previous:* https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/1cr3pct/troublemakers_adrenaline_is_a_superpower_in_itself/
......
Drake wrapped clean, sterile, saline and antimicrobial soaked gauze around his laser burns to stave off infection. he occasionally glanced at the Geknosian spec ops that had been stripped of their armor and weapons. The heavily cybernetically modified Geknosians kneeled silently with their heads bowed along one wall of the forge. Destrier walked down the line with a bucket and ladle, offering each soldier water. There were looks of apprehension, but none refused the kindness offered, drinking several ladlefuls at a time. Except for one, Despite the splints affixed to her arm and leg, Charlotte, no, Sylva refused the water, turning her face away from the wooden ladel. Destrier sighed and dolloped the water back into the bucket, setting it down on a dusty anvil with a slosh. Drake looked to Remin, who was still pale and shaky as he held the chest seal to his ribs. Cassius sat in a corner, looking completely exhausted as he reloaded his Dahlia. There was a sickening crunch from a dark corner as Caz re-set her broken nose, exhaling hard through her nostrils to splatter the ground with clotted blood. Donning her mask, she turned back around, reaching underneath the mask to wipe her nose and snuffle.
"Are we going to open up the bunker anytime soon? If not we should get back to base and get everyone medical attention."
Drake nodded and pulled out the remote before looking to Destrier and Cassius.
"Keep an eye on everyone, we'll be back."
Caz joined his side as he stepped out into the warm sunshine, looking up at the corpse tree, he sighed softly and removed a pinky ring, feeling a pulse of ancient power rushing through his veins as he focused on the tree. On the thought of its bark darkening and burning beneath roaring flames, of defiled corpses crumbling to ash. He slowly squeezed his hand into a fist, and the tree burst into flames with a roar. Drake slipped his ring back on as Caz looked up at the burning corpses, mask expressionless before returning to Drake's side as he wandered toward the excavated elevator.
Standing in the center of the large platform, drake set his thumb inside the hooded slot on the remote, something jabbing into his finger before a small green light lit up on the device. There was a loud grinding noise as the elevator began to descend. He folded his hands behind his back as the metal lip of the elevator rose past his vision, revealing the massive metal tracks that it ran on.
The elevator shuddered and Drake got a sinking feeling in his stomach as a loud clicking noise surrounded them. Caz looked up at him just as he threw an arm around her, clutching her to his side as he threw four rings off of his left hand, hearing them clatter once before puffing into smoke as the elevator fell out from beneath their feet with a screech.
...
"Shitshitshitfuckfuckfuck!! Fuck!"
Carlos thought as he sprinted through the underground halls of the mansion, sprinting past fellow humans in new armor and weapons as he neared Martha's workshop, barely registering the new gas masks swinging from their hips. He slammed into the mad scientist's workshop, screeching to a halt on his rubber soled sneakers before rushing over to her desk and slamming a video puck onto the table she was distributing armor and masks from. The moment he slammed it down, a video popped up on a hologram projector, taken from Halcyon's rifle camera.
Galliks and light-skinned troop transports slowly hovered down the main boulevard, columns of power armored soldiers marching on the sides keeping pace. Martha dropped the helmet in her hands, shaped like a corynthian helmet as she saw the buzzards hovering over the column, loaded down with spec ops. Halcyon's shaky voice could be heard over the clamoring, guttural marching song in the background.
"we're aborting the mission and moving back to base... I knew they brought in reinforcements but this is insane there's gotta be a hundred Gallicks alone. We're fixing charges to the buildings we concealed ourselves in, going to try dropping some buildings across the road to slow them down. I don't think we're getting out of this one... Halcyon out."
The feed cut, Carlos and Martha looking at each other with rapidly paling faces. Martha cursed and stomped to her desk, raising the alarm and sending Klaxons blaring throughout the underground chambers and mansion as she removed the safety pin from the concussive blaster built into her forearm.
"Alright Martha, Go time."
She muttered to herself as the rumbling footsteps of a few thousand humans vibrated the underground halls.
...
The elevator dropped from beneath their feet as corvid-like wings sprouted from Drake's back. A mighty wingbeat pulling them from the elevator's downdraft as he controlled their fall, holding Caz tightly to his chest.
"Please, don't drop me."
Caz sounded afraid as her fingers dug into the collar of his armor, he tightened his grip around her back as he softly sighed.
"I won't drop you, ever, I promise."
Caz unburied her face from his lorica, looking up into his eyes, not saying anything as a reassured look entered her eyes. He gave her a soft, lopsided smile, feeling it tug at the scar on his face.
"there's no way... a markswoman afraid of heights? don't you climb buildings and swing around all the time?"
There was a flash of embarrassment in her crystalline eyes and she buried her face in his chest.
"Shut up... Its different when the ground just falls out beneath you..."
Drake let out a soft laugh as his boots softly touched down on the top of the elevator, summoning his missing rings and watching black feathers poof to the ground before disappearing in puffs of black smoke. Pulling caz out of his chest, he felt her fingers linger at his collar as she dusted herself off, looking around the odd antechamber. He turned his gaze to look over the simple metal antechamber, lit be caged, yellow bulbs that cast a sickly light on everything. A massive hangar door with a pulsing red light in the middle of a locking mechanism at it's center, made up the entire far wall. Drake curiously took a step towards it and Caz grabbed the back of his collar, just as he started to tip forward, foot going straight through the holographic floor. Drake let her pull him back as a soft mechanical laugh echoed through the room.
Drake swapped a look with Caz and then asked.
"Can you see where it's safe to step?"
She slowly nodded and extended a hand, pointing at a section of flooring close to the far wall.
"only piece that's raised up, it's like a big basin made up of movable pillars. Most sit flush with the ground roughly fifty feet below us. Not necessarily lethal, but still a nasty fall."
Drake nodded, looking around the practically blank room, then he turned his eyes to the ceiling. Girders and beams ran along the ceiling providing potential grip points. Pointing at them he asked.
"Those solid?"
Caz nodded and reached to her belt, spooling out her grapple hook and wire, slowly spinning it in a large circle before lobbing it up at a girder, letting it loop around an A truss. Drake looked around the room as Caz tested the firmness of the grapple with a few experimental tugs. It couldn't be that easy, if it was simply that easy why hadn't the Geknosians gotten through other than the genome coded remote? they could bypass it with a slave.
"Hey Caz, be careful."
She looked over at him and he could see the grin in her eyes.
"I'm not worried, you won't drop me, you promised."
Then put her weight on the cord and swung out. Drake watched, slipping a pinkie ring off just in ca-
A turret dropped from a panel in the ceiling and fired one shot, snapping Caz's grapple line.
She turned in mid air before momentum took over, a look of shock and surprise on her face before she began to plummet. Drake didn't think twice, launching himself off the elevator platform with a powerful leap that bent durasteel. He flew through the air, arms outstretched as he slammed into Caz, pulling her into his chest, the change in momentum spinning him onto his back as he slammed into a platform that rose up to meet him. He slid on his back a few feet, Caz clutched tightly to his chest, masked face centimeters from his own. They stared into each others wide eyes for a moment, the unplanned closeness both comfortable and awkward in a way Drake couldn't quite describe. Drake gently pushed her back, swallowing through his suddenly dry throat before letting out a nervous laugh.
"Caught you."
Caz chuckled and palmed his face to push herself off him, looking down at the solid square of ground they sat on.
"yeah, yeah, knew ya wou-"
A high pitched squee! noise echoed through the room, grabbing their attentions as a high-pitched feminine voice squealed from all around them.
"Ooooooh! that was just adorable! and what a jump!"
The holographic floor dissipated as the sound of purring electric motors filled the room, large metal pillars rising to make a seamless, white tile floor. Drake instinctively looked to the large hangar door as the red light at it's center pulsed, a girlish giggle echoing through the antechamber. The AI overlord of the bunker seemed to replicate a blush as it said.
"oops, I'm supposed to wait for a password before restoring the floor... buuuuuttt... that directive expired fifty years ago. So! I made my own rules. Anyway my pretties! Would you please get to your feet so I can give you a tour?!"
Drake nodded and took Caz's hand, letting her haul him to his feet before they both turned to face the hangar door as massive clicks and thinks echoed from inside the thick door. With a screeching noise, the almighty doors slid open to reveal a a brightly lit, large hangar. Aircraft Drake couldn't even dream of understanding sat polished and clean, hardpoints loaded down with ordinance and massive, multi barreled guns slung under the chin of each aircraft. Hulking, humanoid robots stood in orderly rank and file, powered down for long term storage with their weapons still loaded and ready. Each one had a belt fed 20mm Hep autocannon for a left arm.
Drake is wide eyed and gape-mouthed as he beheld the bounty the hangar held, the massive aircraft looking like sleek birds of prey, latches on each landing strut seeming to specifically be designed to hold the mechanical soldiers. Drake shook his head, wondering if he was looking at an illusion when he heard Destrier's loud, deep voice call down the elevator shaft.
"Martha just radioed in! They need us back home Yesterday, forces are marching on the mansion! A LOT! of them!"
Drake's heart dropped into his boots as he shouted urgently.
"How fast can these things be in the air and can you fly them!?"
The overlord giggled.
"Now and, of course! any music recommendations to make an entrance with?"
Drake looked at the ceiling incredulously, before shouting.
"Make it something intimidating but for the love of the gods we need to go NOW!"
The mechanical soldiers all moved in unison, eyes pulsing green as they straightened up and began latching themselves to the craft. Drake didn't need to tell Caz twice as they both sprinted for the nearest aircraft, a small robot on wheels hooked itself to the chin wheel and pulled it toward the elevator with a lurch.
...
General Gra'vos watched from a buzzard, a fruity cocktail in a coconut shell daintily held in one clawed hand as he watched the carnage below. Lounging in a folding chair in only his fatigues, medals acting like a weighted blanket. His men pummeled the gates of the rebel base even as the helpless rebels desperately spewed projectiles from the noisy guns they'd somehow acquired. There was a good section of space in front of the gate where both Geknosian and human corpses lay broken. He bared a laugh as the gates were thrown open immediately after the rebels put out a blistering barrage. His eyebrows furrowed as the humans, instead of attacking, ran out with stretchers and loaded up as many of their dying and injured as they could before sprinting back through the gate. A grin twitched onto his face as he watched as a pair of the human stretcher bearers were cut down by emplaced gaussian turrets. What a useless effort, leave the dying to their fate lest you join them. He brought the straw poking from the shell to his lips and took a long pull of the mix of fruity alcohols, savoring the bouquet of flavors.
He watched with glee as Gallick rail turrets pounded the armored gates with a salvo of kinetic penetrators. He'd be slotted for a promotion after this mission when he'd completed it, just like all the others. He was looking forward to a cozy job as a captain of a cruiser, or perhaps as a security officer on a capital ship, perhaps he'd have the honor of being an Imperially sanctioned slaver. He pulled the straw from his lips, tongue cold from the slushed ice he'd added to the shell for texture. A slave woman in beautiful, red ribbon garb attended his nondominant hand's claws with a short, sharp knife as she trimmed them into a good shape for ripping out throats.
"Sir! eight UFOs, enclosing on our position from the badlands. Advise!"
Gra'vos raised an eyebrow ridge before laughing.
"Shoot them down then!"
"Lock on isn't working sir! I repeat, cannot achieve lock on, advise!"
Gra'vos shifted in his lounge chair to look at the pilot.
"Do I need to repeat mys-"
^{Whopwhopwhopwhowhopwhopwhop}
The noise sent shivers down his spine, no, they couldn't have. The sound grew louder, bringing with it the sound of a song that brought Gra'vos back to the jungles of Votran. The sound of screams filled his mind, interspersed with the sound of air beaten into submission as those accursed machines circled overhead, raining rip-roaring explosive death onto his men as that accursed song played.
Gra'vos looked out the other door of the buzzard, face pale, cold, and clammy as he saw the chevron of dark shapes getting closer, the chorus of that accursed song making his heart pound in his chest as he remembered laying there on that muddy forest floor, shrapnel riddling his body.
"We're not gonna take it! No! we ain't gonna take it! WE'RE NOT GONNA TAKE IT, ANYMORE!!!!"
He lurched from his chair to grab a set of binoculars from a hook by the door, a small, balled fist driving a shortbladed knife into his back and snatching something from the back of his belt before he was shoved from the Buzzard. Twisting in midair, he looked up at his slave as she armed the det-sphere he always kept at the small of his back, a look of cold determination in her eyes. The last thing he saw before he slammed into the hard pavement at terminal velocity, was the buzzard getting torn in half by the explosion.
...
Drake flinched a bit, the explosion loud even over the blaring music as one of the circling Buzzards over the mansion was torn in half, spinning to the ground in a fiery inferno. He felt a sadness then, but it was a proud kind of sadness. He bowed his head and pulled his helmet on as they flew closer, a medi-bot treating both Remins and Sylva's wounds expertly.
Many would die today... it was only right that some got to do it on their own terms.
He raised his head to look at the bright flashes of laser weapons against the mansions walls, sparkling like the sun off of a running creek. The fiery, nuclear sun of rage in his chest burned bright as he narrowed his eyes. Fear soured his gut as he looked down upon the swarm of Geknosians, there were indeed a lot of them. Pulling a jump pack from the rack, he pulled it on and yanked the safety clip out before sliding his arm into the control glove.
"Drop me and the bots behind them! I'm going to try and split their attention. Caz! remain onboard and pick off high priority targets from the air. Destrier, Remin, Cassius..."
He looked back at them, and they looked up at him from where they nauseaously held their stomachs, leaning against the airframe.
"Help hold the mansion, they need you."
Seeing the light by the door turn green, he heard the robotic soldiers detach to careen towards the ground like vengeful meteorites. Drake snapped them a salute and fell backwards from the aircraft, two rings puffing into black smoke from his right ring and middle finger as he un-summoned them.
......
Part 108: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/s/75ERTPa4p7

"A family is left in mourning as twenty-one-year-old Natalie Rose was found dead over the weekend," the TV blared into the room, "seemingly attacked by some sort of wild animal as she sat in her tent on what was meant to be a relaxing camping trip alone. Natalie's parents have requested privacy at this time, but they appreciate the condolences they have received. In other news-" Roman grabbed the remote from me and shut off the TV.
"Hey, I was watching that!" I said as I flipped him off from across the room. "Bullshit, you're on your phone," he chuckled, fixing his hair up in the mirror. "Okay, well, I was listening. I like to have background noise, dickhead," I replied, watching him in the reflection, his focus clearly not on this important conversation.
"Where are you going all dressed up?" I interrogated him. "Morgan and I are having our engagement party, but we've got to be there early to sort out seating."
"You're having your engagement party and you didn't invite your own brother?" I questioned him, offended at the audacity this man had. "I did invite you, dipshit. You told me you had a date with Katie tonight."
The realisation hit me like a punch to the gut. I'd completely forgotten about my movie date with Katie. With a surge of panic, I leaped from my seat, heart pounding, and scrambled to get dressed. Every second felt like an eternity as I cursed my forgetfulness. Then, I heard Roman's car start outside. Without a second thought, I sprinted out the door and down the driveway. Knocking on his window, I pleaded for a ride.
The soft hum of the road and the whirring of the engine filled the car as we silently moved through the night. Staring out the window at the blur of trees, I thought about how I would apologise to Katie. Roman reached for the radio, and a Trace Adkins song began playing. Seeing this as the perfect time to start a conversation, I spoke up, "So, are Katie and I coming to the wedding?" I asked, grinning. Roman let out a deep sigh as he turned off the music. "If Katie doesn't plan a date night on the same day, then yes," he replied.
Silence filled the car as we drove along the empty road. The vast woods surrounding us created an eerie atmosphere, intensified by the winter darkness cloaking the night sky above. Yet, for Roman and me, who had grown up in this land, these woods evoked nostalgic memories of our childhood adventures. While for others, it might be an unsettling glimpse into the barrier separating civilization from the unknown, for us, it was a comforting window back into our past.
When Roman bought the land we had grown up on after our parents passed, I was probably more excited than I should've been, considering I had just lost my mum and dad in a tragic carbon monoxide leak. But my relief at not having to leave this place was immense.
We eventually reached an area where the city lights were visible in the distance. I noticed Roman yawn as he adjusted his grip on the wheel. "You're gonna have to tell me where to go, I can't remember where Katie lives," he stated as he changed gears and prepared to enter the busy traffic, a stark contrast to the remote rural road we were about to vacate.
“Just take a left up h-" I began, but was interrupted as a white blur ran in front of the car, causing Roman to slam on the brakes and swerve. I grabbed onto the side of the door as we spun out of control, the screeching of the tires filling my ears, jolting me out of the relaxed state I had been in due to the many miles of quiet driving.
We eventually came to a stop, now facing the opposite direction, gazing down the endless stretch of desolate road we had just traversed. Roman calmly checked all his mirrors for whatever he nearly hit but failed to see anything through the dust he had stirred up in the spinout.
“You all good?” he asked, a relieved smile creeping up his face, a deep breath escaping his lungs.
“Yeah, what was that?” I asked as Roman started reversing, then turned the car back towards the busy city street about a kilometre away and began driving. I looked over to him, expecting an answer to my question, but didn't receive one. His brow was furrowed in an uncertain expression, clearly lost in thought, like he was trying to remember if he locked the front door.
“Roman?” I said, causing him to blink a couple of times.
“I don't know what it was," Roman answered, not breaking his intense stare at the asphalt in front of us as we drove along, approaching the main road. “Probably just a sheep, there's a few acres of farmland behind these trees,” he continued.
As we approached the intersection, Roman flicked his left indicator on before turning onto the main road. “Okay, now take the next right,” I said, feeling the weird atmosphere in the vehicle slowly dissipating. After a few more turns, Roman said that he knew the way from here and turned the radio back on, which cut the remaining tension that I could tell we were both feeling.
The chilly winter night was starting to bite at my skin, and I cursed myself for forgetting a jacket in my hurry. I swivelled my head around to see the backseat. “What are you looking for?” Roman asked, finally looking in my direction as he turned the music down slightly.
“Uh, do you have a jacket I can borrow? I didn't realise it was gonna be this cold,” I sheepishly admitted.
“Hold the wheel,” Roman told me as he reached around behind him, shifting around his hiking gear that he hadn't taken out since his camping trip with Morgan last month.
Eventually, he pulled out his gym hoodie and threw it on my lap. “This is all I got,” he grunted as he readjusted himself in his seat and took hold of the steering wheel again. When we pulled into Katie's driveway, I pulled the hoodie over my head and hopped out of the car into the brisk night air, my breath visible in the cold. “I'll pick you up around 11:30.” Roman shouted out the window as I pulled the hoodie the rest of the way down and waved to Roman as he drove away, beeping his horn as he left me in the chilling winter breeze.
I knocked on the door, checking the time to see that it was 7:37, only a few minutes late. As I waited in the dark, a surprisingly chipper Katie opened the door, hugging me and dragging me inside. “You didn't miss much,” she whispered as we stumbled through the house that had all of its lights off. “Why do you smell like your brother?” she asked, shooting me a dirty look before grabbing a handful of the hoodie and sniffing it. All I could do was shrug and grin, “I forgot how cold it gets in the winter time, he let me borrow it.” She rolled her eyes, and we sat down next to a bunch of her friends and her parents, who all whispered their hellos in the soft glow of the TV.
Around 11:18 pm when the movie was long since finished, Katie's parents said goodnight and headed off to bed, and a few of Katie's friends who had been visiting said goodbye and drove home. I got up to get some water from the kitchen, and as I walked back, I stood in the doorway that separated the kitchen from the living room, which was dark, only lit by the TV. This allowed me to see Katie frozen, staring towards the window, which was out of my direct line of sight.
Confused, I peeked my head out of the doorway and looked toward the window. I froze and dropped my glass; luckily, it landed on the carpet and didn't make much noise, and the tall, pale creature standing an inch from the window didn't notice. The creature was foul, a gaunt, lanky humanoid. Well, at least the head was humanoid; the body and limbs were almost ape-like, with long, disproportionate arms and less exaggerated legs. The creature's whole body was covered in grey skin stretched tightly over its abnormally long bones. It had no hair anywhere. Its mouth was strangely wide, stretching around to where its ears would be if it had them, and its eyes were just sunken, inky black pits in its head. But I could tell it was staring daggers at Katie, who had tears rolling down her face. She slowly turned her head to look at me, shaking and breathing quickly. I had never felt so powerless. I was supposed to protect her, and I would. I would die to protect her, but I had no idea how to shield her from whatever this thing was.
Then I had an idea. I looked to the light switch panel to my left. I knew one of them was the porch light, but there were three others: the living room light, the kitchen light, and the hall light. If I pressed the wrong light, I didn't know what the thing would do, but I had to try. I had to remember which light Katie's dad used to turn the porch light on when he goes out for a smoke.
I reached for the light second from the bottom and flicked the switch. The hall light turned on. Luckily, the hall was on the opposite side of the kitchen from where the living room was, and it was out of view for the creature at the window. But I couldn't mess up again. If the kitchen light turned on, the creature would see me, and if the living room light turned on, it might cause it to attack Katie. I looked back at the creature, which was using one of its hands to scratch the window as it sniffed around. I had to do something.
I reached for the bottom light switch and flicked it; the porch light turned on. The creature spun around to face it and let out a screech that will haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life. I ran to Katie and grabbed her, dragging her off the side of the couch where there was about a metre gap between the armrest of the couch and the wall.
The sound of the window smashing filled the house, and Katie cried into my shoulder. I couldn't see anything; it was pitch darkness besides the slight blue glare from the TV on the wall above us. But I could hear raspy breathing and bones cracking as the thing searched the living room. I heard it sniffing the couch where Katie was sitting, and I heard it make its way closer to the end of the couch, one of its hands pressed on the wall above us. I saw the silhouette of its head begin to peak over the side of the couch, but suddenly the light turned on, and Katie's dad yelled as he saw us from the kitchen while he was holding a shotgun.
The creature ran at him but fell to the ground as a loud shot rang out in the night, leaving only the sound of our combined breathing and Katie's soft sobs. I watched intently as the body lying between Katie's dad and me moved around on the floor, before slamming its hand down, then the other, and pushing itself to its feet.
Katie's dad reloaded his shotgun, but it was too late. The creature grabbed the poor man by his leg and pulled it out from under him, causing him to shoot the ceiling. I grabbed Katie and dragged her upstairs as the creature began tearing into her father. She cried and screamed, begging me to help him, but what could I do? Whatever that thing was, it just took a shotgun blast to the chest and brushed it off.
I locked us in her upstairs bathroom as the creature's loud and hurried footsteps made their way towards us. Katie was crying loudly now, insisting that we were going to die. Honestly, not a super helpful contribution, but I can't blame her.
As the creature began crashing against the door, pieces of wood started to splinter off. I shoved Katie into the tub, and then lay on top of her. Hopefully, my body would be enough to shield her from this thing. Time slowed down as the door exploded inward. I looked at the girl I loved, makeup running down her face, pieces of door in her hair, mouth wide open as she let out the most ear splitting scream. For some reason, I felt no fear. Even as the monster began tearing at my clothes and clawing at my flesh, I felt strangely calm.
Eventually, the creature grabbed me, swinging me around by my hoodie, slamming me into every wall and surface in the room. I fell to the ground as the hoodie ripped off, and the creature just stared at me, then the hoodie in its hand, then back at me. I stared back, utterly confused, as it leaned over and sniffed my entire body from head to toe. It looked as puzzled as I felt for a moment before I heard Roman's car pull up outside.
The creature screeched as it sprinted out the door, slamming into the hallway wall in its haste. "NO!" I shouted, leaving my still-shaking girlfriend in the tub as I chased the monster out of the house. Somehow, I caught up to the creature and grabbed onto it, bringing it to the ground below. The thing managed to get on top of me, biting and clawing at my arms and hands as I shielded my face.
Before I knew it, Roman came out of nowhere, tackling the creature off me, yelling for me to run. The creature, sleek and deadly, wasted no time in retaliating against Roman's attack. With a primal growl, it lunged at him, its claws slicing through the air like daggers.
Roman had a size advantage that I didn't have, and managed to hold his own for a few seconds as he wrestled with the beast. He'd always been as strong as a bull for as long as I can remember, tall with powerful hands and massive arms and shoulders. But I couldn't risk watching my brother, as strong as he may be, get killed by this… whatever it is.
With strength I didn't know I had, I grabbed the back of Roman's expensive shirt and pulled him out of the way of a fatal blow to the head, throwing him towards the car before I lunged at the creature and went feral. I don't know what came over me; I started swinging on the creature as we tumbled around in the muddy grass. Just when I thought I was actually winning, the creature managed to get its legs between us and kicked me off, then swung its clawed hand at my stomach, ripping it right open.
I collapsed to the ground as my body tried to comprehend what had just happened. My eyes narrowed as everything was drowned out. I watched the silent scene play out before me, my heartbeat pounding in my head.
The creature charged at Roman, who leaped to grab his car's back door handle just as the creature snagged his foot. It yanked at his leg, but Roman clung onto his car door tightly. The creature persisted in pulling as Roman struggled to reach for something in his hiking gear stored in the back seat.
With an agonising yell, Roman's leg gave a sickening snap. Despite the pain, he finally retrieved what he was searching for. Releasing the car door, Roman watched as the creature stumbled backward. Seizing the opportunity, he swiftly climbed on top of it, brandishing his trusty hunting knife from his camping trips.
As Roman wrestled with the creature, the air was filled with grunts and snarls. He plunged the hunting knife into the creature's body, eliciting a guttural howl of pain. The creature thrashed wildly, but Roman held on grimly, his determination unwavering.
With each strike, Roman's movements became more frenzied, fueled by adrenaline and the need to protect us. The creature's attempts to retaliate grew weaker as Roman's blows found their mark. With a final decisive thrust, Roman delivered the fatal blow, and the creature slumped to the ground, defeated.
Breathing heavily, Roman collapsed beside the creature, his body trembling with exhaustion and relief. I rushed to his side, concern evident in my voice. "Natalie-" he faintly murmured.
"Who? Who's Natalie?" I asked, my confusion growing.
Suddenly, the creature jolted up, its movements abrupt and startling. Without warning, it lunged at me, seizing me by the throat and hurling me against the car.
The last thing I saw before I blacked out was the creature sprinting towards me. In that moment, I felt a strange sensation coursing through my body, as if something within me was shifting. I glanced down at my hands and watched in horror as they contorted and turned a sickly shade of grey. Long claws protruded from my fingers, their sharp edges glinting in the dim light.
As my bones cracked and deformed under the strain of this inexplicable transformation, a sudden surge of anger and ferocity overwhelmed my senses. It was as though a primal instinct had taken hold of me, consuming my entire being in its relentless grip. With each passing moment, the world around me faded into darkness until finally, I lost consciousness, my mind consumed by the terrifying reality of what I had become.
I awoke hours later in the back seat of Roman's car. The hum of the road and the whirring of the engine attempted to lull me back to sleep, but I sat up, rubbing my head as the memories flooded back. "What happened?" I asked, my voice hoarse and strained.
Roman responded with silence, a familiar reaction from him, but this time, it sent a shiver down my spine. As I looked at my arms, then my stomach, and felt around my whole body, I realised the wounds and deep gashes caused by the creature were all gone, as if I had never been attacked.
I caught Roman's gaze in the mirror, but he quickly averted his eyes. That's when I noticed Katie in the passenger seat, her tear-stained face betraying her silent anguish. It was clear she wanted to say something, but I couldn't shake the feeling that Roman had warned her against it.
"What do you know about this place?" Roman asked sternly, his voice devoid of emotion.
"We've lived here all our lives, Roman," I replied, confusion evident in my tone. "What do you mean?”
Roman pressed down on the brakes, bringing us to a sudden stop. I noticed a pained expression flit across his face in the mirror, a fleeting moment of vulnerability that he quickly tried to conceal.
"Your leg!" I exclaimed, my voice laced with concern as I recalled the events from earlier.
"It was a dislocated hip. I fixed it," he replied bluntly, his tone revealing little about the ordeal he must have endured.
"This isn't real, Jason. None of this is real. You are not real!" Roman's voice was sharp, refusing to meet my eyes in the reflection.
"Back at Katie's house, I remembered everything the moment I looked into that creature's eyes. I remembered... I remembered Natalie," he said, his words catching in his throat, revealing the first hint of emotion I'd seen from him.
I watched as a tear rolled down Katie's face. I reached to put a hand on her shoulder but stopped myself.
"Roman got me to remember," Katie said, her voice trembling. "I remembered the emergency alert, and when those things broke down our doors. I watched as they dragged my parents out, then my baby brother, then me. I woke up in this fake world, in a family that isn't even mine, dating a boy who turns out to be one of the monsters who brought me here." She spluttered, and I began to cry silently as I realised what she was saying.
Roman eventually started driving again, occasionally getting a call from Morgan, but after the fifth call he threw his phone out the window. We drove until I fell asleep. I don't remember what I dreamed about, but it was peaceful. I think I was in that forest with Roman. We were children again, playing around in the trees, finding cool sticks and exploring the endless expanse of what felt like a fairytale, which I guess it was.
I was awoken by the abrupt sound of Roman's car door slamming. I looked outside and saw that it was daytime again. Trying to figure out where we had stopped, I noticed a giant sign that said “Library.” I hopped out of the car and jogged to catch up to Roman and Katie.
“What are we doing here?” I asked, clearly still being avoided. It was understandable, but it still hurt.
“I need to wake everyone up,” Roman said as we walked in and approached a computer.
I noticed we were getting odd stares from everyone as we walked by, which is when I also noticed that I looked like I had just come out the other side of a paper shredder. My clothes were all torn up with bits missing, apparently not possessing the magic healing ability that I do. The sound of Roman typing snapped me out of my self-conscious thoughts and redirected me to the computer screen.
"I'm going to be a while, guys," Roman said as he began writing out his story. "I need to tell the whole thing from the beginning. Go find a book or something.”
I looked over to Katie, her face void of expression, but a great sadness filled her now dry eyes, having cried all the tears she had. “Why don't you just wake up?” I asked, probably coming across as more insensitive than I intended.
“I've got nothing to go back to. Roman told me what the world is like back there. If my family is here, I have to find them and wake them up first,” she responded, finally meeting my eye.
I wanted to hug her so bad, but I knew she didn't love me anymore. She probably had a real boyfriend in the real world.
Hours went by as Katie and I found a place to sit and wait in silence, watching Roman. He looked funny in the little library chair, hunched over the computer. Such a big guy looked out of place here, his muscular presence overpowering that of the rest of the library's patrons, who were all either very old or very young.
I hate to admit I fell asleep, but I'm just telling the story how it was. I was awoken suddenly by sirens and shouts. “We have got you surrounded, come out with your hands up or we will come in and show you no mercy,” a man's voice yelled from outside through a speaker. I looked over to Roman, who was limping over to us as all the customers flooded out the exits.
“Get up, we need to leave. They've turned the law against us,” Roman ordered. Katie and I listened and followed him.
We made our way upstairs into the empty employee lounge, and Roman opened a window... with his elbow. “They've got every exit covered but this one. We need to jump,” he calmly told us. He stood up in the window frame, kicked off some of the remaining glass with his boots, and jumped to the roof of the single-story building below, wincing in pain as he landed on his bad leg.
That's when six armed officers kicked down the door and opened fire on Katie and me. I moved to block the bullets from hitting Katie, taking several hits to the head and back. I then pushed Katie through the window, and Roman caught her before I jumped out myself and followed.
We ran from rooftop to rooftop until we reached a ladder that led down into an alleyway, where we attempted to catch our breaths. Roman and Katie watched me intently as the bullets lodged in my body began to work their way back out, the wounds closing up after. My skin color shifted a little, and I felt a rattle leave my throat as a cold sweat came over me.
“Hey, control yourself,” Roman told me sternly. I nodded, struggling to remain composed.
“Did you finish the story?” Katie asked Roman.
“Yeah, I kind of had to rush the last part, but I got the message across,” he replied, slumping to the ground behind a dumpster, exhausted.
“What now?” I asked.
Roman looked at me, panting. “I'm gonna help Katie find her family, then I'm going back to Natalie,” he said between heavy breaths.
“What about Morgan?” I questioned, causing him to look down at his feet. “I don't even know her in the real world, and I would never have chosen to be with her. This place… it's like it wrote me a life that was least likely to let me remember who I am. The girl I'm engaged to is the complete opposite of Natalie. I've got a brother who lives with me, my parents are dead. There's literally nothing here to remind me of home, bro,” Roman said, shedding a couple of tears.
We waited in the alley until night, hearing sirens go back and forth every now and then. When Roman said we were in the clear, we made our way back to the car and started driving again. I noticed Roman's eyes fluttering after about an hour, and I told him I'd be happy to drive if he needed to sleep. I could tell that his ego didn't want to admit he was exhausted, and he also still didn't trust me, but he gave in and pulled over, falling asleep in the back seat as I drove off into the night.

i love reading about Big Stupid Romantic Gestures on /actuallesbians, because I like to picture myself in the stories and dream that one day I'll have a more poetic life. But also because they're usually uplifting and wholesome, and I need more of that in my life.
so it's kinda incredible, really, that I've finally got one of my own to tell.
Few nights ago, I get in from work, and, as usual, i'm dead on my feet. She, meanwhile, is already home, because she's got a normal schedule for normal people. and as soon as I walk in the door, she jumps up off the couch and takes my hand and says I need to follow her. So I drop my bag and my keys, and - feeling a little panicked - follow her out of my apartment, into the hall, and then down the hall to the stairs at the end (nobody uses the stairs, where the hell are we going?)
we start climbing the stairs. all the way to the top. Up there, behind a bunch of maintenance shit, is a locked door leading out onto the roof (well, one of two roofs, actually). But it's always locked, and always alarmed, so we've never had a chance to use it. Except for this time, because the building manager is there and he's holding it open, smoking a cigarette and looking down at his phone. And like, we're all friends and everything (I've been living in that place for years) so he just gives me a little nod and a smile, and then goes back to tapping away on his fruit combo or whatever. Sliding past him, we go out onto the roof - which is not a safe roof, by the way - and it's cool and breezy and dark; and in the corner, up against some AC duct, there's a wireless sound bar connected to an ipod nano (that's how old we are), playing something vaguely classical and fancy.
and as soon as i look at her, she puts her arm around my waist and we start slow-dancing in the middle of the roof, like we're at a prom or something. And Lukas (not his real name) slinks away and leaves the door wedged open with a bucket full of cigarette butts, so now it's just the two of us (and the people in the adjacent, much taller building) all-alone on the roof. And I'm completely breathless, so I ask her what the hell is going on. What's the occasion? She says no occasion, just that i should 'look up'. And so I do. But all that's up there is a featureless gray sky, blown out by the orange sodium of our neighborhood. She says there's northern lights up there, if you look hard enough. Which is unbelievable, but I believe her anyway. And so I'm squinting and not really seeing it; there's maybe the faintest hint of green, I'm not really sure. And then, like a pot of spilled ink, my eyes adjust and there's this wash of color. Faint and blurry, gone in a second. But I swear I saw it. And I'm like wowww, completely transfixed; and that's when she kisses me and tells me she loves me (i said it back without hesitation, btw) and we start moving in a circle to something slow and orchestral. All while high up above (I assume, because, if im being honest, I didn't see shit) the night sky was shimmering with an otherworldly glow.
After a while, blue danube comes on, which is one of my favorites, and we start twirling to that instead. and it cannot be overstated how bad we are at dancing, but we kept spinning and tip-tapping across the insanely dirty roof for another, I dunno, forty-five minutes before Lukas came back to wrap it all up. And the whole thing was, without question, the best moment of my entire life. No ulterior motive, no surprise announcement, no 'by the way, I ran over your cat earlier, hope this softens the blow' at the end. Just the distant sound of traffic and the crackle of a 128kbps harpsichord over in the corner. We didn't speak a word. I just lay my head on her shoulder, she brushed my hair a little, and halfway through she touched my butt. Chef's kiss perfection, the whole thing.
anyway, that's it. I dunno if anyone cares. but i had to write it down somewhere, just to get it outta my head. also, i think she paid lukas to let us up there, ill ask him when i see him. oh, and in the future, i will completely embellish this story to have us dancing a step-perfect waltz to a crystal-clear aurora in the shape of our faces. but for now, it was just a clumsy night in the city. and i liked it. she's the best.

Previous Update discussion All Update Threads

New official Wiki at https://spaceengineers.wiki.gg/wiki/Space_Engineers_Wiki

Hello, Engineers!
The new Signal update is here! “Signal” lays the foundation for a new era of Space Engineers. 2024 will be a year of exploration, battle, and survival. This update focuses on our framework for a new standard in player versus environment.
Signal adds new choices to your creative arsenal with new blocks, specifically created for this occasion. With this new set of blocks, your remote automation can act with an entirely new level of autonomy. Where the wildly popular “Automatons” update added remote mining operations, automated drones, welding assistants and so much more, “Signal” empowers these systems to communicate! Reactive updates, straight-to-chat, as well as complex systems communicating over multiple ships, stations, or any combination are now possible!
Get live chat updates from your remote satellite array, mining drone fleet, or automated defense sentinels in Signal!
Please join us in 2024 as we explore Space Engineers like never before. We can’t wait to see what you create!

Marek's Blog post: https://blog.marekrosa.org/2024/05/space-engineers-signal.html
Broadcast Controller / Transponder Guide: https://www.spaceengineersgame.com/broadcast-controller-action-relay-guide/

Update 1.204 - Signal trailer (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u4Me_6tcxLw)

Features

Scenario selection menu overhaul for Steam Version and XBOX/Microsoft Store
New Red Ship Starting Scenario (Quick Start) / Quick Start button in Main Menu
Death and Respawn improvements (A Reason for your death, Cryopod death message)
Added reload bar for static weapons
New NPC Grid Claiming
Reputation System Rebalance
Improving performance of NPC Grids
Improvements to Cargo Ship flight paths
Added warning notifications when grinding Components to Scrap
Block info/stats improvements (charge efficiency, production blocks)
Cargo Container Destruction improvements, Temporary Containers
Disabled scrap item spawning from damaged blocks by default in new Worlds
Non-unique items can be stacked in the inventory
Adjustment to Tree collisions
Lightning damage disabled by default for worlds
Improvements to F1 help screen
Npc changes, modding (possibility to spawn paired loot in container), Drone Spawning Improvements, New Loot Container Options

Added new Blocks - Base Game

Broadcast Controller (1 block, L + S grid)
Action Relay (1 block, L + S grid)
Additional Round Armor Panels (4 blocks, L grid + 4 blocks, S grid)
Compact Antenna (1 block, L grid)

Added Content to existing DLCs:

Scaffolding (4 blocks, L grid) (added to Deco Pack 3 )
9 music note sheets, concert version of in-game soundtrack (added to Deluxe Edition)

Signal Pack

Truss Set (7 blocks, L grid + 2 blocks S grid)
- Truss Light - S + L grid
- Truss Pillar - S + L grid
- Truss Pillar Diagonal - L grid
- Truss Pillar Offset - L grid
- Truss Pillar T - L grid
- Truss Pillar X - L grid
- Truss Decoy - L grid
Corridor Blocks (8 blocks, L grid)
- Corridor - L grid
- Corridor Corner - L grid
- Corridor Double Windowed Sides - L grid
- Corridor Light - L grid
- Corridor T Intersection - L grid
- Corridor Windowed Roof - L grid
- Corridor Windowed Side - L grid
- Corridor X Intersection - L grid
Narrow Corridor (1 block, L grid)
Narrow Corridor Stowage (1 block, L grid)
Narrow Door (2 blocks, L grid)
Inset Walls Set (6 blocks, L grid)
- Inset Wall - L grid
- Inset Wall Corner - L grid
- Inset Wall Corner Inv. - L grid
- Inset Wall Diagonal - L grid
- Inset Wall Light - L grid
- Inset Wall Pillar - L grid
Decorative Console Blocks (5 blocks, L grid + 5 blocks, S grid)
- Console Module - S + L grid
- Console Module Buttons - S + L grid
- Console Module Corner - S + L grid
- Console Module Corner Inv. - S + L grid
- Console Module LCD - S + L grid
Bay Windows Set (5 blocks, L grid + 4 blocks, S grid)
- Bay Window - S + L grid
- Bay Window Corner - S + L grid
- Bay Window Dome - S + L grid
- Bay Window End - S + L grid
- Bay Window Railing - L grid
9 Tracks added to Jukebox
- Approaching the Start [concert version]
- The Dust
- A New Dawn
- Liftoff [concert version]
- Uncharted Territory [concert version]
- Fight Like One [concert version]
- Warfare Trailer [live]
- Out of Early Access [live]
- We Are Engineers

Official Blueprints

Official Blueprints: https://www.spaceengineersgame.com/community-hub/
Weaver Shipping Platform
- https://steamcommunity.com/sharedfiles/filedetails/?id=3242490483
- https://mod.io/g/spaceengineers/m/weaver-shipping-platform
Buddy Bot
- https://steamcommunity.com/sharedfiles/filedetails/?id=3242722188
- https://mod.io/g/spaceengineers/m/buddy-bot1
Signal - Guide Grid
- https://steamcommunity.com/sharedfiles/filedetails/?id=3242724302
- https://mod.io/g/spaceengineers/m/demo-grid

Fixes & Improvements

Changed ModAPI behavior for mechanical blocks to accept Attach/Detach only once per tick
Fixed an issue where pixelated flickering would appear near large amount of light sources
Fixed a crash when grinding down a parachute hatch at the moment of it being deployed
Fixed an issue where clicking View (Camera block, etc...) when remotely connected to a grid beyond sync distance would kick you to spectator
Fixed an issue where NPCs would fall through the planet upon death
Changed Admin teleport behavior using Ctrl+Space when seated in a station. Character will be unseated and then teleported. Dynamic grid and character behavior unchanged
Fixed an issue where "Target is out of range" would appear even to other players not currently trying to lock a target on DS
Fixed an issue where trees would fly away after cutting them down
Changed hand drill behavior so that at most 15 floating ore objects spawn from single voxel change, floating ores over this number are combined into bigger chunks
Fixed an issue where the first world in the list would get published instead of the one selected by controller
Fixed an issue where the deployed parachute would still slow the grid down even after the block was ground down into construction stage
Fixed an issue where the AI Offensive block would get stuck in an unresponsive state while shooting
Fixed an issue where a drone would forget "Flee to" GPS on DS
Fixed an issue where a conveyor line to Hydrogen Tank would not get interrupted even when part of it was ground to construction stage
Fixed an issue where a Hydrogen Tank would not fill up when the conveyor connection was built in Survival
Fixed an issue where an alarm in Space Standoff would remain active with a dead enemy character in the area
Fixed an issue where the removal of an item from Build Planner queue was prevented by the selection of an N/A blockvariant
Fixed an issue where a Sensor block would fail to detect manually placed asteroids
Fixed an issue where a Connector status would get desynchronized and appear unlocked for some and locked for others on DS
Fixed an issue where copypasting Body location GPS would try converting the date and time into coordinates
Fixed an issue where player would get kicked from DS after trying to weld projection too fast
Fixed an issue where spherical safe zones would fail to identify what is and what isnt contained in the field
Fixed an issue where ModAPI IMyTurretControlBlock.Target returned itself
Fixed an issue where graphical artifacts appeared when weather was present due to precision loss
Fixed an issue where safe zone would reject and continue rejecting a grid, accelerating it to max speed
Fixed an issue where Idle movement would not work for Searchlight in MP
Fixed a crash when attempting to crush a grid with another grid
Fixed an issue where a turned off Sensor would still visualize the Show sensor field range
Fixed an issue where a character would jump low and near in low artificial gravity
Fixed an issue where the Day duration slider and description in Advanced world settings would break visually
Fixed an issue where the info about Help keybinding would not change on the HUD when key was rebound
Fixed an issue where NPCs would not be able to follow player onto a ramp of sufficient height and elevation
Fixed an issue where NPCs would get stuck on steep surfaces or could not follow player near trees
Changed NPC behavior when they cannot reach a target to wander around instead of stopping and waiting
Fixed an issue where turning off Saberoids/Spiders on DS would not make them despawn
Fixed an issue with Z-fighting on the small grid oxygen tank
Fixed an issue where a copied Rocket turret in combat would continue actively shooting after pasting without having a target
Fixed an issue where block's destroy particles would not scale with its dimensions
Fixed Enable drones and Enable voxel hand toggles in Advanced World Settings not having a tooltip
Fixed an issue where lootable NPCs would not be displaying their names when highlighted
Fixed an issue where the muzzle flash particle would look as a 1 pixel wide line above the iron sights when in that mode by adding support for ironsight particle
Fixed an issue where NPCs would stop their AI after reloading a save
Fixed an issue where a ship would have trouble orientating itself along recorded path in gravity
Fixed an issue where a server could start with a 3rd party generated or incorrect password salt causing connecting Clients to crash on join
Fixed an issue where one of the Mission Briefing datapads in the Space Standoff would contain old version of the text
Fixed an issue where the Space Credits icon would not be displayed in economy screens on PlayStation
Fixed an issue where the direction of shooting would follow the decoupled crosshair in 3rd person and not the direction the character and weapon was facing on DS
Fixed an issue with Z-fighting on the Inset Bed block
Fixed an issue where all Barrel blocks would be under Block Weapons tab. Explosive Barrel moved under Warheads, others moved to Cargo section
Fixed an issue where Assault turrets would continue to spin after being turned off during idle movement
Fixed an issue where LCDs would be too bright, causing the text to be harder to read
Fixed an issue where UI opacity could be set too low, preventing the player from seeing completely
Fixed an issue where Willis Duct Light would have incorrect research dependency
Fixed an issue where Small grid Railgun collision models would be too large
Fixed an issue where ModAPI for IMyExhaust, IMyPowerProducer and IMyReactor interfaces would extend the in-game variants
Fixed an issue where h2/o2 Generator would mirror incorrectly
Fixed an issue where a newly added item to a Jukebox playlist would advance the Jukebox UI to the last song but still remain playing the current one
Fixed an issue where Event Controller would forget assigned blocks on paste on DS
Fixed an issue where ModSDK tools ModelViewer and BehaviorTree would produce an exception on startup

Support Site Fixes

Fixed a crash when deleting a cargo filled with non-stackable items
Fixed a crash when splitting a grid with an LCD in a construction stage
Fixed a crash when Event Controller was set up to attach/detach a mechanical block top part at the same time
Fixed a crash when a Connector would try to repeatedly attach or detach while already attaching/detaching
Fixed an issue where the upper parts of an o2/h2 Generator would not have mountpoints
Fixed an issue where the collisions of small grid Autocannon and Assault cannon turrets would be too large
Fixed an issue where the Custom Turret Controller would forget assigned weapons and settings after grid split/merge
Fixed an issue where the Pirate Base on the Moon would spawn drones with Atmospheric thrusters
Fixed an issue where an LCD with too long of a text would freeze or crash the game. Now text max 65k characters long. Title max 512 characters.
Fixed an issue where a CTC powered rocket launchers would not lead a target
Fixed an issue where small grid Small Connector was able to connect from the sides
Fixed an issue where an assigned toolbar action would work even through a physical connection like Landing gear instead of logical like Connector
Fixed an issue where it was possible to receive an invite dialog from a multiplayer game other than SE, resulting in an error
Fixed an issue where CTC selected weapons would not persist through save/restart on DS
Fixed an issue where an AI offensive block with intercept would be prevented from retargetting by collision avoidance
Fixed an issue where an AI recorder would not trigger setup actions at the waypoints
Fixed an issue where the time to target lock was too long. When the target is a grid, the locking time is 5 seconds down from 10 seconds.
Fixed an issue where purple texture would get used on voxels after changing graphics settings
Fixed an issue where Alt+mouse camera control would not work when controlling CTC
Fixed an issue where Preserve aspect ratio would not work on curved LCDs
Fixed a crash when entering a cockpit with specific toolbar setup
Fixed an issue where it was impossible to access interactive elements of other blocks obscured by the Holo LCD
Fixed an issue where it would spawn players under the ground if the spawn point was embedded in voxel
Fixed an issue where AI offensive block would lose assigned weapons on grid split
Fixed a crash when a missile type projectile hit a door subpart while mid open/close
Fixed an issue where the Flare launcher had an incorrect dummy
Fixed an issue where the the Safezone would incorrectly determine if something was in or not
Fixed an issue where a character in jetpack on a DS would start copying rotation of a nearby spinning grid
Fixed an issue where the small grid Rocket turret would have a hole in its model
Fixed an issue where the displayed mass of a grid would not update on change due to the calculation not taking multipliers into account
Fixed an issue where the UV textures on the ladder block decals would not be correct
Fixed an issue where small grid Landing gear collision models would be too large
Fixed an issue in the Industrial cockpit model
Fixed an issue where large grid Connector collision models would be too large
Fixed an issue where small grid Ship drill collision models would be too large
Fixed an issue where Oxygen farm collision models would be too large
Fixed an issue where small grid Rotor collision models would be too large
Fixed an issue where small grid Advanced Rotor collision models would be too large
Fixed an issue where Ship Welder model would have a see-thru seam around the conveyor port
Fixed an issue where {player_count} in server Motd would count NPCs as players
Fixed an issue where the Medical room block had incorrect mounpoints
Fixed an issue where the grid would explode after attaching it to a fallen tree with a Landing gear
Fixed an issue where the large grid Ship welder was not able to touch the conveyor with its conveyor port
Fixed an issue where the Oxygen farm model was not able to touch the conveyor with its conveyor port
Fixed an issue where hydrogen would not flow through sorters in the opposite way
Fixed an issue where the AI blocks would not calculate with the mass of subgrids as well
Fixed an issue where NPCs would attack through closed doors
Fixed an issue where a Beacon would interfere with Remote control and remote connection to a grid
Fixed an issue where the base of a large grid Antenna was not centered
Fixed an issue where Large oxygen tank conveyor port models would intersect with conveyor lines a bit
Fixed an issue where large grid Large cargo container conveyor ports would not touch with other connected blocks
Fixed an issue where the small grid Gyroscope would appear to levitate above the surface
Fixed an issue where Jump drive had holes in its model
Fixed an issue where smal grid Small cargo models would not visually connect
Fixed an issue where Ion thruster models did not visually connect
Fixed an issue where Atmospheric thruster model would have a gap in it
Fixed an issue where Programmable block API for Laser antenna was not working
Fixed an issue where the Offset door collision models would be too large
Fixed an issue where filled gas Tanks would show damage effects after being ground below functional
Fixed an issue where the Chat spam protection would time out even Admins
Fixed an issue where the scrollable server Player list would not fit all players
Fixed an issue where Aquarium bubbles would show and animate in projections
Fixed an issue where Inset couch would mirror incorrectly
Fixed an issue where the Sensor block would not be able to detect players laying in beds
Fixed an issue where the small grid Beacon did not require radio components to be functional
Fixed an issue where the Pillar model construction stages were rotated by 90 degrees
Fixed an issue where the player would not be informed that they are unable to spawn outside of the world size limit
Fixed an issue where Alt+MMB would allow for items to pass through sorters the wrong way
Fixed an issue where Solar panels either worked when they shouldn't or did not work when they should
Fixed an issue where left CTRL would get ignored for crouching in localised languages, right CTRL would always be ignored when key was bound to it
Fixed an issue where small grid Blast door edge collision models would be too large
Fixed an issue where AI blocks would be ignored in the power priority rankings and lose power
Fixed an issue where a multiplayer lobby would fail to download specific mods
Fixed an issue where control of a remote grid would not persist through save/restart of a server
Fixed an issue where a Piston would not allow other Pistons being placed around it
Fixed an issue where a Drone collision avoidance would try to avoid its own subgrids and refuse to fly to Waypoints
Fixed an issue where there would be less planetary boulder spawning
Fixed an issue where AI Offensive block would continue shooting even after target was destroyed
Fixed an issue where it would not be possible to place a block onto the top part of a piston placed horizontally on a surface
Fixed an issue where sounds would be almost inaudible in the right channel of a Stereo setup
Fixed an issue where a leftover Debug Draw would appear when target pattern was set to hit and run on AI Offensive block
Fixed an issue where AI recorder would name waypoints differently in the Detailinfo than in the Waypoints list
Fixed an issue where Offensive word filter would try to protect player even in non-shareable areas of the UI

Hotfixes will be listed in a reply comment below:

Sorry this took so long, kinda got caught up.
Don't have too much to say, other than Maple Whiskey is rapidly becoming one of my favorite drinks, and I'm sorry this took so long to come out. Real life kinda got in the way for a bit (I have one of those?), and I had to put stuff on the backburner. Sorry.
That about covers it.
Previous/Main/Discord/Next
_________________________________
Fries limped his way down the ship’s hallways, using the wall to his right to support himself. Twisted metal and debris littered the hallways, but it had clearly not come from this sector. He was in the center of the ship, far enough away that nothing was dangerously damaged yet, but they were obviously putting stuff in the wide, CEVA-rated hallways for the time being. He gritted his teeth from the pain and was forced to take short, shallow breaths as he walked. He clutched his side as he shuffled along, almost wishing that he was in one of the suits to help support him.
“Fuck me.” He muttered, pausing for a moment outside of his room to breathe. He was about to type in his code to unlock the door when he realized that it was already unlocked. Not sure why and fearing the worst, he drew his personal pistol from the back of his suit’s waistband, keeping it close in to himself to make sure that it couldn’t get pulled away from him. Exhaling sharply as he brought his arm away from his chest to hit the button that opened the door.
It quickly slid open with a sharp hiss and allowed him into the room. The lights were on, and the room didn’t seem to be different, but he distinctly remembered having locked the room prior. He slowly walked in, trying to clear as much as possible while coming in. He took note of the new bag in the room, but couldn’t see anything else new in the room.
His attention was rapidly divided by a shipwide alert that the admiral had left the vessel, causing him to turn around suddenly.
“You alright?” a voice behind him asked, causing him to rapidly turn around to aim the gun, but wound up hurting him more and causing him to drop to one knee.
“What in the fuck are you doing in my room?” the ODST whispered, barely able to speak from pain.
“Got moved down here for safety, you can ask Donahue.” she stated, helping him up and taking the gun from him.
“Got it… he just left the ship?” he asked, immediately attempting to lay himself down on the bed.
“Yeah, he’s heading to see the Tikaqick.” Firdaus stated with a slight bit of disdain in her voice.
“You got a problem with them?” the ODST muttered, barely looking at her.
“Not as many as with my own people, but certainly a fair number of problems with them.” she hissed, helping the man move towards the bathroom.
“You’re going to need to explain, but in a bit. I have like six different bandages to switch.” Fries grunted, closing the door behind him.
_____
“Sir?” the lieutenant Marine beside him asked, racking a round into her rifle’s chamber, “You alright?”
“Hmm?” The man asked, his head quickly snapping up to look at her, “Oh, yes. I’m fine.”
“You’re sure?” she asked again, watching as the man sealed on his helmet.
“Yes.” He nodded, shooting a glance back at the ship they left from, “Yes… it’s not my first time doing this…”
The crew continued on in relative silence. The Marines and ODSTs were a mix of the two crews, one of each being from the old crew and one of each being the replacement crew. The Marine Lieutenant was one of the new crew, along with the ODST Sergeant. The Marine Sergeant and ODST Captain, however, were both well experienced in combat.
“We’re approaching the landing bay.” The pilot called out over radio, “Thirty seconds.”
“Copy that.” Donahue nodded, standing up and bracing himself against the roof to avoid floating around, “Well… Guess it’s that time again.”
“There’s no CIA on board and the ship isn’t a USS.” The Marine sergeant stated, unbuckling himself but not standing up, “It’ll be different this time.”
“Let’s hope not. Flu’ron’s still on board.” James Orwell, the xenobiologist muttered, attempting to raise his reflective visor, to little avail.
The Marine floated over and helped the man with his visor before floating towards the pilots’ cabin door and letting himself in, floating between the two so he could see out the front window.
“Siddown, Sergeant.” One of the pilots muttered, not looking back as he did minute adjustments to the ship’s trajectory as they approached.
“This whole damn thing could be made of gold…” The Marine muttered, magnetically locking himself to the floor and kneeling down as they approached.
“Crossing threshold, standby for turbulence.” One of the pilots radioed out, a hydraulic whine reverberating through the ship’s hull as they lowered the landing gear.
“Back and seal the hatch, Sergeant.” The other pilot snapped, barely looking back at the Marine, instead focusing on the windows and displays ahead of them.
“Copy that.” The Marine nodded, taking the time to check the two pilots’ weapons stowed behind their chairs before floating himself back into the crew compartment and sealing the hatch behind him.
“Ten seconds to landing. Artificial Gravity is off in the bay, disarming OMS.” A pilot called out, still keeping a smooth voice about him, “Threshold crossed, stand by.”
The ship seemed to do nothing for a moment before a very light shudder echoed through the hull, followed by a sharp, metallic ‘thud’.
“We have contact, maglocks engaged.” The first pilot informed.
“Gravity systems and harmonics coming online. Disengaging RCS.” the second pilot called out, likely talking to his partner over the crew in the back. After a few seconds of silence, the ship seemed to spool down and orange lights came on in the back of the crew compartment, showing up just over the CEVA-sized, round airlock doors at the sides of the craft and above the regularly-sized hexagonal door at the back of the craft. After a moment, a female robotic voice called out ‘Pressure stable’ and the lights switched to green.
“We’re down. Thank you for flying Air Peregrine, please take your bags from the overhead compartments and leave in an orderly fashion.” one of the pilots called out, putting on an extremely good and smooth ‘airline’ voice.
“You are aware that you’re talking to an Admiral, right.?” the Marine Lieutenant asked, seemingly disappointed at the pilot.
“Oh, I imagine he does.” Donahue smiled, motioning for the ODSTs to head out the door first.
The two armored figures were already moving towards the door, letting the ladder come out first before checking pressure one last time and opening the rear door. To their shock and horror, the void of space lay just outside the door, though nothing was losing pressure.
“Plasma barrier?” a Marine asked, his voice faltering slightly when he saw the smoking form of the Dracula in the distance.
“Something like that…” James muttered, waiting for the Admiral to head down the ladder after the ODSTs before following him down.
There were no aliens directly off their ship, which surprised them slightly, but gave the crew time to prepare themselves. They were supposed to form a ‘triangle’ with Donahue at the front, the two ODSTs behind him, and the two Marines on either side of James, behind the ODSTs. However, they had more than enough time to prepare, to the point of it becoming awkward. The team moved to the left side of the Ranger, and sat in waiting. The Marine Sergeant began to get skeptical and checked the chamber of his rifle while his reflective visor dropped into place, subtly preparing for a conflict.
However, before their thoughts could fester any further, a door off the left-side nose of the Ranger opened to reveal the creatures that owned the ship. They were around the same height as a Human, albeit seeming a little taller on average. They were obviously Avian-esque, with short, stubby, owl-like faces, in opposition to the long beaks of Afi’end. They had two large eyes just behind their beak, with what appeared to be two sets of closed eyelids underneath them. Their feathers were gray and black, with a small amount of crow-like iridescence in them. They had long wings which wrapped around their bodies, making a ‘cloak’ around them. Their legs were similar to that of an Afi’end’s, but seemed slightly thinner.
They wore thick, heavily stylized armor. It had gold plating with ivory and blue-diamond accents, glassy pauldrons, and other, seemingly glowing, lines and accents in it.
The rest of the ship looked similar; with gold, ivory, and blue-diamond glass seeming to come from all parts of the ship. The ship looked incredibly clean, with no smudging seeming to come from anything except the Humans. The flight deck they were on was made of some kind of ivory-esque compound as well, with the only scuffs on it being from the RCS thrusters the Ranger had used earlier. Against the gold, whites, and blues of the alien vessel, the greens, grays, and oranges of the Human suits contrasted hard;
Donahue’s suit was nothing special, nor was it too dirty, but it was not perfectly hermetic, like the rest of the ship seemed to be. James’ suit did seem to fit their criteria of cleanliness everywhere except his boots, where it was obvious that he hadn’t put hours of work into cleaning the dirt out of the fabric on the last surface mission he had done. The Marines’s suits were the most well-loved; boasting patches of stained mud, foliage, and other assorted junk all over the suit. The ODSTs were clearly battle-damaged, however: Cuts and scrapes into the plating could be seen around the arms and chest, with plasma burns etched into the metal of the helmet on the more experienced man.
Donahue almost wished he had been able to wash his suit now, but he hoped they would understand.
“Hey, we’re not the only ones to bring armed guards.” The ODST to his right stated.
“Oh thank Christ.” Donahue muttered, shifting his reflective faceplate up, “I would have felt awful if they trusted us that much.”
“Feel better, they don’t.” The ODST muttered back, standing up straighter as the aliens approached.
“Admiral Donahue?” the creature at the front of the group asked, looking at the admiral in the front of his own group.
“Captain Kinlykc?” Donahue asked, stepping towards the aliens. The creature seemed mildly amused at the Admiral’s suit, but went back to looking him in the eyes shortly after.
There was an awkward silence for a moment before the alien decided that it was likely in everyone’s best interests if something was said.
“Apologies for my awkwardness in this situation; it has been a long time since I’ve had the pleasure of doing a proper first-contact scenario.” it stated, clearly motioning for his own guards behind him to be less on-guard. The Humans were taken aback a bit, as the creature didn’t move his mouth to speak, but more seemed to emanate the words from itself.
Donahue nodded, but didn’t have to motion to his own men, as they had already come to stand down themselves.
“Entertainingly enough, I was still captaining that ship out there for our true first contact.” Donahue nodded, making sure that both his hands were visible in front of him.
“Really?” the avian asked, motioning for the admiral to follow him deeper into the ship, “Is your ship the only one in your fleet?”
Donahue paused for a moment before following the alien Captain, motioning for his team to follow shortly behind him.
“Negative, we’re just lucky.” The Admiral smiled, attempting to hide his trepidation through humor. The ODSTs were just as slow to follow behind, but eventually caught back up, seemingly worried about leaving the pilots alone. They were brought into a wide hallway. It had the same stylings as the docking bay had, but seemed to have ‘tiling’ instead of the solid piece that the other room had. James slowly pushed his way through the column of armored personnel and wound up beside the Admiral.
“Umm, excuse me, Captain Kinlykc?” He asked, fiddling with his suit to attempt to make sure the external speakers were working.
“Yes?” the avian asked, looking back at the scientist.
“How… are you talking?” He asked, not sure whether the question was to be considered rude or not, “As in, your mouth isn’t moving, how are you talking to us?”
After the scientist clarified himself, the avian seemed to understand the question.
“We do not breathe through our mouth, I’m assuming like you do then.” It nodded, tapping on its beak and unfolding its wings. It raised its arms and pointed at a set of openings under the creature’s armpits, “We breathe and vocalize through these.”
James was speechless for a moment, but the Admiral was relatively sure that was because he was deciding whether or not it was entirely wrong to lean in closer for a better look.
“If you do not mind me asking a question of my own, what are the clothes you’re wearing?” The avian asked, motioning to everybody except the ODSTs, “Are they your uniforms?”
“These?” James repeated, pulling at his suit, “These are pressure suits. To keep our own atmosphere in.”
“But why?” The bird asked, continuing down the path, “We scanned your vessel as the door opened to analyze what your atmosphere was to accommodate, and they were almost identical.”
"We pressurized our vessel to the bay’s atmosphere.” Donahue stated, nodding at the two, “Our atmospheres are similar, and very breathable, but not the same.”
“Why the pressurized suits then? We can breathe the same atmosphere, no?”
“Our people are not nearly as advanced as some others, who can do bacterial scans of atmospheres before they even land to make sure that neither side will infect the other. We cannot do that, so we hermetically seal off from everybody else to avoid infecting them.” James stated, finishing Donahue’s explanation.
That was an answer that seemed to sit well with the avian, who nodded at them and continued down the hallways.
_____
Kinsey practically dive-rolled out of her vessel’s docking port and into the Dracula’s gravity field, her helmetless RHEV suit’s bulk causing her to roll erratically to the side. She quickly got back up and started jogging her way to the other side of the ship, her quickly-moving, armored figure moving everybody out of her way. She wasn’t in any actual hurry, but the message did have to be delivered relatively quickly.
She quickly dog-legged down a side hallway and towards flight bay 3, near the primary medical bay. As soon as she was at the area, she started heading back towards the outer hull of the ship again, turning only when she was directly on a course with the med bay. After a few moments of running, she turned into the medbay, where Flu’ron was inspecting a rifle another Marine had given him.
“Feathers!” she called out, skidding to a halt outside the door.
“Oh Hells.” Flu’ron muttered as he looked up at her. He handed the rifle back to the Marine and walked towards her, “What do you need, Doctor?”
“Only us Marines can call him ‘Feathers’.” the Marine muttered, putting on a fake pout for her.
“Look!” She exclaimed, ignoring the Marine’s protest and shoving a datapad into the avian’s face.
After pulling back a bit, he took the pad from her and started reading the text on it. After a moment, during which the Marine came over to see what the commotion was, Flu’ron looked up from the pad and nodded at her.
“Well… Goddamn!” He smiled, handing the pad back and pulling out his own tablet, “One-hundred. Going your way.”
“Woah, hold on, I think I missed something. What’s going on?” the Marine asked, confused as to why the Afi’end was sending the scientist money.
“Her brother, who was listed KIA a month and a half ago, is not dead.” Flu’ron explained calmly, watching as the scientist practically bounced off the walls with excitement. He wasn’t sure whether it was because of the money or that Frost was still alive.
“And the fucker made it onto Xalantun before me!” Kinsey stated, calming down enough to get the words out.
“You saw the ‘sent’ date, right?” Flu’ron stated, making sure she knew how recently she had received it.
“Three hours, forty-five minutes ago!” she stated, nodding enthusiastically.
“If the round-trip time isn’t that long, why’d it take him nearly a month to respond?” Flu’ron asked, just sitting down to enjoy the show.
“I’ve got two theories; either he’s been too busy to respond, or this is the first time he’s gotten a data dump in months.” She stated, “Where’s Firdaus, she owes me money!”
Flu’ron shrugged, but the Marine perked up, “To my knowledge, she’s down in Deck 5, section 6, subsection 3, room 156. She’s keeping hidden from the alien ships around us.”
Kinsey perked up at that knowledge, suddenly looking concerned, “Hold on, what?”
“Yeah, she’s residing in an ODST’s room, to my knowledge. Not sure why she’s hiding though. I’m not saying anything to anybody who isn’t a crewmember on board this ship though, aside from you, doc; she wants to stay hidden, we’ll keep her that way.”
“In an ODST’s room?” Kinsey asked, looking immediately at Flu’ron.
“He’s got four broken ribs, you need to go stop her.” the avian stated, rolling his eyes, “I’ll prep the machines, just in case.”
“Ok, I gotta check on two things with her then.” Kinsey stated, nodding at the two before running out of the room and yelling “Carry on!” at the pair.
_____
“Peregrine, we’re going deeper into the vessel, think you can handle yourselves?” The Marine Sergeant asked, slinging his rifle onto his back.
“Hey! Keep that thing out!” the Lieutenant snapped, motioning to his gun again.
The man rolled his eyes, but unlimbered his rifle again.
“Copy that, Praetor. We’re good for the time being.”
“Understood. Keep us apprised, yeah?” the Marine radioed back, shifting his suit around to relieve a pinch he had created in his armpit.
“Copy that, Praetor. Out.” one of the pilots responded back, killing the communications network afterwards. The Marines and ODSTs walked alongside the Admiral and xenobiologist in silence, taking intrigued glances down hallways as they passed them, and receiving intrigued glances back from aliens as they passed them in the hallways. They weren’t entirely privy to the conversation that was happening ahead of them, but they weren’t looking to be part of it either. The two veterans were far more interested in getting a good look at the ship than having to talk to anybody, and the two newer members were still too paranoid to pay attention to anything other than their duties.
They were brought into an unoccupied room with a large window that looked out into the deep space just beyond, though the Dracula and other alien vessel blocked the view. The guards from both species gave a quick visual sweep of the room as they came in. Upon watching the Tikaqick guards sit down or generally relax, the veteran ODST and Marine slung their weapons and moved towards the back of the room, motioning for the other two to do so as well. Despite obvious hesitation to do so, they eventually moved to the back with the other two soldiers.
“So what, if you are able to tell me, are your people doing out here?” Captain Kinlykc asked, glancing back at the soldiers momentarily before returning his gaze to the Human ship.
“Sadly, I am not able to give you our reasoning for being out here. That’s not exactly something I can give away freely.” Donahue sighed, not even sure why he’d actually have to explain that, “What I can tell you is that we weren’t planning to be out this far.”
“Really?” the avian asked, looking at the man with surprise, “Scans have indicated that your vessel is prepared for long-range assignments, based on compartmentalization and areas theorized to be for food.”
Donahue raised an eyebrow at the statement, realizing that they likely had a near-perfect model of the interior of the ship if they could theorize about the ship’s rooms, even if they couldn’t entirely see the contents of the rooms. He was relatively concerned at the revelation, but didn’t let it show.
“Well, that ship is a modification of our first attempt at a long-range exploration ship, but the project was canceled five years before first contact.” Donahue explained, watching as a few suited figures climbed around the hull of his vessel, “There were only ever three of the ships created, all of which got converted to combat duty."
“Really? I know they got converted, but what became of the other vessels?” the avian asked, seemingly entranced by the same men on the hull.
“Well, the Armstrong-Class exploration vessels, named the AC-00 J.T.K., AC-01 J. Harker, and AC-02 M. Reynolds, were all brought back to our home planet as soon as possible, be that from assignment or construction, for retrofit.” Donahue explained, turning away from the window so he could better look at the avian, who saw the gesture and did the same, “The J.T.K. was a prototype, and was axed shortly thereafter. The Reynolds was renamed to Serenity and moved to be part of the United States Space Force, but was destroyed on assignment after the newly-fitted reactors went on runaway and melted half the ship off.”
“And the J. Harker?” it asked, indicating towards the window, clearly already knowing the answer.
Donahue nodded and motioned out the window, “Refused the new reactors, renamed to Dracula, joined the USSF, made first contact, made first contact negotiations, made first Human-to-alien combat, limped back to our space, received the first official ship-systems AI, became the first ship in the UNITF a year later, and still remains in combat as the oldest space combat ship in our service. As a species.”
The bird looked at the vessel with a new form of respect in its eyes, though whether for the crew or the vessel was unknown. It gave a shallow nod to the vessel before turning back to the man in front of him, “How old is it?”
Donahue had to pause to think for a moment, trying to remember everything he could about his ship.
“Well… the program to make them started nearly seventy years ago, and she was the first ‘production’ model. After decades of systems upgrades and additions, she’s the embodiment of Theseus’s ship, but her original christening would have been… forty-eight years ago.” He muttered, ignoring the confused look on the alien’s head when he mentioned Theseus, “I remember her first launch. I would have been around seven at the time.”
“How… Do you keep something like that running for that long? Especially if it’s a combat device.”
“Same way we keep the grandfather clock and jukebox in the primary lounge running; good care from a good crew.” Donahue nodded, watching as the blue sparks from a plasma cutter lit up a section of hull that was surrounded by CEVAs.
_____
“Watch it! Merde!” The Marine snapped out as Kinsey sprinted past him, intent on quickly making it to the room.
“Sorry! A life is at stake!” she called back, hearing another string of words in French that she didn’t care to translate yelled back at her.
The scientist slid to a halt in front of room 156, trying the door, then knocking on it rapidly. When nobody came to the door, she looked up and down the halls, locking eyes with the Marine, who was still watching her.
While still looking at him, she grabbed a tool out of her belt and started to plug it into a receptacle below the keypad.
“Code is two-five-four-eight.” The Marine called out, shaking his head and just walking away.
“Oh.” was all she could manage, pausing for a second to put the tool away before waving back at the Marine, “Thanks, Frenchie.”
“Je m'appelle Mauvieux…” he mumbled from down the hall, turning down another hall, seemingly to get away from her and the scene of the crime.
She ignored him entirely as she punched in the code and hit the button to open the door. The door had barely slid open entirely before she slipped inside and looked around for the snake.
“Firdaus, don’t! His ribs are-” She started, pausing when she realized that the snake was not doing anything other than sitting curled up in a corner of the room, a book in her hands. She looked surprised when she saw the suited Kinsey enter the room.
A door slid open to the scientist’s right, revealing the ODST she was looking for. Unfortunately, he was covered only by a towel around his waist, was clutching at his floating ribs with one arm, and had a pistol in his other hand, pointed directly at her head. As soon he recognized who he was looking at, he lowered the sidearm and leaned against the doorframe.
“Jesus Christ, Ev. What th’ fuck yeh doin’ in here?” He hissed, letting her take the gun from his hand and put it on a nearby desk, “And who th’ fuck gave you the emergency code to my door?”
“Someone who I forgot the name of.” Kinsey shrugged, stopping the man from bending over to pick up his clothes, which had been unceremoniously dumped onto the floor. She handed them to the ODST, who nodded at her and headed back into the bathroom, leaving the door open and hoping, or simply not caring, that the two women didn’t look into the room while he was dressing.
“Ok then, better question; and one I already asked you: Why the fuck are ya barging in here?” he wheezed out from the bathroom, obviously struggling a bit as he tried to dress himself.
“Making sure the thirty-odd foot long constrictor isn’t doing anything to the poor man with the four broken ribs.” She shrugged, shooting a shit-eating grin back at the snake, who flipped off the woman as she smiled back.
“Hey, don’t worry, I drew a gun on her as well.” Fries chuckled, grunting immediately afterwards. After a moment, he came out of the bathroom far more clothed than previous. He immediately went towards the scientist and gave her a quick, one-armed hug that leaned a fair deal of his weight on her, something that took her off-guard.
“Hey… you alright?” She asked, clearly realizing that something was wrong. She knew how the ODST usually acted, and he wasn’t generally the kind to hug without a stiff drink or three in him, let alone put weight on somebody else.
“Yeah, just… didn’t like what happened out there.” He sighed, pulling his weight off of her and going to lean against a wall.
“Didn’t hear what happened. You mind filling me in?” She muttered, moving to sit in a nearby chair. It creaked in protest to the woman’s suited 6’2” frame sitting down, but didn’t break.
“Thought I was going to die stranded out in the middle of fuck-off=nowhere space.” Fries wheezed, knocking his head on the wall behind him, “Kinda… put into perspective what I was told from day one was still a possibility.”
“Well, now I’m more interested in who told you what from the start.” She chuckled, clearly attempting to lighten the mood.
“Me mum always told me that I’d die alone in space, a billion and a half miles away from home.” He muttered somberly. He thought for a moment before his face twisted into a sad grin, “First time she’d shown concern for me in years.”
“Jesus, man. I’m sorry.” the woman muttered, feeling bad about her previous attempt at humor.
“Seriously; my condolences.” Firdaus piped up, simply sitting in her coils and watching the ODST sadly.
“Ehh… Whatever. That cunt never wanted to have me to begin with.” the man shrugged, grunting slightly as he sat down, “I did her a favor when I joined the forces.”
“That’s… not how you should look at that…” Kinsey muttered, standing up slightly when the man sat down, but sat back down when he waved her down.
“Ehh. Don’t care anymore. She’s six feet under an’ can’t bitch at me anymore.” He stated callously, rolling his eyes.
Kinsey quickly snapped to look at him, an expression of horror and sadness on her face. Firdaus seemed to share the same reaction as her, but was far less expressive in her movements.
“What the hell, dude?! Your mother died?! When! How?!” she exclaimed, getting out of her chair and motioning her arms out.
“Three years ago, MDMA overdose.” he muttered, clearly wanting the subject to change.
“Fuck…” the scientist muttered, picking up on the man’s clear reluctance to continue the conversation, “You could have said something.”
Fries paused for a moment, before simply shaking his head, “Nope.”
Kinsey paused for a heartbeat before nodding and stepping back towards the door, “Well, I’m sorry that there’s no better place to leave this at, but I’m going to head out.”
“Alright. Have a good time doc.” the ODST muttered, looking down at the floor for a moment before looking back up at her and nodding again, “Check in again sometime soon, yeah?”
“Yeah. Can do.” She nodded, opening his door and stepping out.

By what means the papers out of which I have made a connected story came into my hands is the last point which the reader will learn from these pages. But it is necessary to prefix to my extracts from them a statement of the form in which I possess them. They consist, then, partly of a series of collections for a book of travels, such a volume as was a common product of the forties and fifties. Horace Marryat's Journal of a Residence in Jutland and the Danish Isles is a fair specimen of the class to which I allude. These books usually treated of some unfamiliar district on the Continent. They were illustrated with woodcuts or steel plates. They gave details of hotel accommodation, and of means of communication, such as we now expect to find in any well-regulated guide-book, and they dealt largely in reported conversations with intelligent foreigners, racy innkeepers and garrulous peasants. In a word, they were chatty. Begun with the idea of furnishing material for such a book, my papers as they progressed assumed the character of a record of one single personal experience, and this record was continued up to the very eve, almost, of its termination. The writer was a Mr. Wraxall. For my knowledge of him I have to depend entirely on the evidence his writings afford, and from these I deduce that he was a man past middle age, possessed of some private means, and very much alone in the world. He had, it seems, no settled abode in England, but was a denizen of hotels and boarding-houses. It is probable that he entertained the idea of settling down at some future time which never came; and I think it also likely that the Pantechnicon fire in the early seventies must have destroyed a great deal that would have thrown light on his antecedents, for he refers once or twice to property of his that was warehoused at that establishment. It is further apparent that Mr. Wraxall had published a book, and that it treated of a holiday he had once taken in Brittany. More than this I cannot say about his work, because a diligent search in bibliographical works has convinced me that it must have appeared either anonymously or under a pseudonym. As to his character, it is not difficult to form some superficial opinion. He must have been an intelligent and cultivated man. It seems that he was near being a Fellow of his college at Oxford—Brasenose, as I judge from the Calendar. His besetting fault was pretty clearly that of over-inquisitiveness, possibly a good fault in a traveller, certainly a fault for which this traveller paid dearly enough in the end. On what proved to be his last expedition, he was plotting another book. Scandinavia, a region not widely known to Englishmen forty years ago, had struck him as an interesting field. He must have lighted on some old books of Swedish history or memoirs, and the idea had struck him that there was room for a book descriptive of travel in Sweden, interspersed with episodes from the history of some of the great Swedish families. He procured letters of introduction, therefore, to some persons of quality in Sweden, and set out thither in the early summer of 1863. Of his travels in the North there is no need to speak, nor of his residence of some weeks in Stockholm. I need only mention that some savant resident there put him on the track of an important collection of family papers belonging to the proprietors of an ancient manor-house in Vestergothland, and obtained for him permission to examine them. The manor-house, or herrgård, in question is to be called Råbäck (pronounced something like Roebeck), though that is not its name. It is one of the best buildings of its kind in all the country, and the picture of it in Dablenberg's Suecia antiqua et moderna, engraved in 1694, shows it very much as the tourist may see it to-day. It was built soon after 1600, and is, roughly speaking, very much like an English house of that period in respect of material—red-brick with stone facings—and style. The man who built it was a scion of the great house of De la Gardie, and his descendants possess it still. De la Gardie is the name by which I will designate them when mention of them becomes necessary. They received Mr. Wraxall with great kindness and courtesy, and pressed him to stay in the house as long as his researches lasted. But, preferring to be independent, and mistrusting his powers of conversing in Swedish, he settled himself at the village inn, which turned out quite sufficiently comfortable, at any rate during the summer months. This arrangement would entail a short walk daily to and from the manor-house of something under a mile. The house itself stood in a park, and was protected—we should say grown up—with large old timber. Near it you found the walled garden, and then entered a close wood fringing one of the small lakes with which the whole country is pitted. Then came the wall of the demesne, and you climbed a steep knoll—a knob of rock lightly covered with soil—and on the top of this stood the church, fenced in with tall dark trees. It was a curious building to English eyes. The nave and aisles were low, and filled with pews and galleries. In the western gallery stood the handsome old organ, gaily painted, and with silver pipes. The ceiling was flat, and had been adorned by a seventeenth-century artist with a strange and hideous "Last Judgment," full of lurid flames, falling cities, burning ships, crying souls, and brown and smiling demons. Handsome brass coronæ hung from the roof; the pulpit was like a doll's-house, covered with little painted wooden cherubs and saints; a stand with three hour-glasses was hinged to the preacher's desk. Such sights as these may be seen in many a church in Sweden now, but what distinguished this one was an addition to the original building. At the eastern end of the north aisle the builder of the manor-house had erected a mausoleum for himself and his family. It was a largish eight-sided building, lighted by a series of oval windows, and it had a domed roof, topped by a kind of pumpkin-shaped object rising into a spire, a form in which Swedish architects greatly delighted. The roof was of copper externally, and was painted black, while the walls, in common with those of the church, were staringly white. To this mausoleum there was no access from the church. It had a portal and steps of its own on the northern side. Past the churchyard the path to the village goes, and not more than three or four minutes bring you to the inn door. On the first day of his stay at Råbäck Mr. Wraxall found the church door open, and made those notes of the interior which I have epitomized. Into the mausoleum, however, he could not make his way. He could by looking through the keyhole just descry that there were fine marble effigies and sarcophagi of copper, and a wealth of armorial ornament, which made him very anxious to spend some time in investigation. The papers he had come to examine at the manor-house proved to be of just the kind he wanted for his book. There were family correspondence, journals, and account-books of the earliest owners of the estate, very carefully kept and clearly written, full of amusing and picturesque detail. The first De la Gardie appeared in them as a strong and capable man. Shortly after the building of the mansion there had been a period of distress in the district, and the peasants had risen and attacked several châteaux and done some damage. The owner of Råbäck took a leading part in suppressing the trouble, and there was reference to executions of ringleaders and severe punishments inflicted with no sparing hand. The portrait of this Magnus de la Gardie was one of the best in the house, and Mr. Wraxall studied it with no little interest after his day's work. He gives no detailed description of it, but I gather that the face impressed him rather by its power than by its beauty or goodness; in fact, he writes that Count Magnus was an almost phenomenally ugly man. On this day Mr. Wraxall took his supper with the family, and walked back in the late but still bright evening. "I must remember," he writes, "to ask the sexton if he can let me into the mausoleum at the church. He evidently has access to it himself, for I saw him to-night standing on the steps, and, as I thought, locking or unlocking the door." I find that early on the following day Mr. Wraxall had some conversation with his landlord. His setting it down at such length as he does surprised me at first; but I soon realized that the papers I was reading were, at least in their beginning, the materials for the book he was meditating, and that it was to have been one of those quasi-journalistic productions which admit of the introduction of an admixture of conversational matter. His object, he says, was to find out whether any traditions of Count Magnus de la Gardie lingered on in the scenes of that gentleman's activity, and whether the popular estimate of him were favourable or not. He found that the Count was decidedly not a favourite. If his tenants came late to their work on the days which they owed to him as Lord of the Manor, they were set on the wooden horse, or flogged and branded in the manor-house yard. One or two cases there were of men who had occupied lands which encroached on the lord's domain, and whose houses had been mysteriously burnt on a winter's night, with the whole family inside. But what seemed to dwell on the innkeeper's mind most—for he returned to the subject more than once—was that the Count had been on the Black Pilgrimage, and had brought something or someone back with him.
You will naturally inquire, as Mr. Wraxall did, what the Black Pilgrimage may have been. But your curiosity on the point must remain unsatisfied for the time being, just as his did. The landlord was evidently unwilling to give a full answer, or indeed any answer, on the point, and, being called out for a moment, trotted off with obvious alacrity, only putting his head in at the door a few minutes afterwards to say that he was called away to Skara, and should not be back till evening. So Mr. Wraxall had to go unsatisfied to his day's work at the manor-house. The papers on which he was just then engaged soon put his thoughts into another channel, for he had to occupy himself with glancing over the correspondence between Sophia Albertina in Stockholm and her married cousin Ulrica Leonora at Råbäck in the years 1705-1710. The letters were of exceptional interest from the light they threw upon the culture of that period in Sweden, as anyone can testify who has read the full edition of them in the publications of the Swedish Historical Manuscripts Commission. In the afternoon he had done with these, and after returning the boxes in which they were kept to their places on the shelf, he proceeded, very naturally, to take down some of the volumes nearest to them, in order to determine which of them had best be his principal subject of investigation next day. The shelf he had hit upon was occupied mostly by a collection of account-books in the writing of the first Count Magnus. But one among them was not an account-book, but a book of alchemical and other tracts in another sixteenth-century hand. Not being very familiar with alchemical literature, Mr. Wraxall spends much space which he might have spared in setting out the names and beginnings of the various treatises: The book of the Phœnix, book of the Thirty Words, book of the Toad, book of Miriam, Turba philosophorum, and so forth; and then he announces with a good deal of circumstance his delight at finding, on a leaf originally left blank near the middle of the book, some writing of Count Magnus himself headed "Liber nigræ peregrinationis." It is true that only a few lines were written, but there was quite enough to show that the landlord had that morning been referring to a belief at least as old as the time of Count Magnus, and probably shared by him. This is the English of what was written: "If any man desires to obtain a long life, if he would obtain a faithful messenger and see the blood of his enemies, it is necessary that he should first go into the city of Chorazin, and there salute the prince...." Here there was an erasure of one word, not very thoroughly done, so that Mr. Wraxall felt pretty sure that he was right in reading it as aëris ("of the air"). But there was no more of the text copied, only a line in Latin: "Quære reliqua hujus materiei inter secretiora" (See the rest of this matter among the more private things). It could not be denied that this threw a rather lurid light upon the tastes and beliefs of the Count; but to Mr. Wraxall, separated from him by nearly three centuries, the thought that he might have added to his general forcefulness alchemy, and to alchemy something like magic, only made him a more picturesque figure; and when, after a rather prolonged contemplation of his picture in the hall, Mr. Wraxall set out on his homeward way, his mind was full of the thought of Count Magnus. He had no eyes for his surroundings, no perception of the evening scents of the woods or the evening light on the lake; and when all of a sudden he pulled up short, he was astonished to find himself already at the gate of the churchyard, and within a few minutes of his dinner. His eyes fell on the mausoleum. "Ah," he said, "Count Magnus, there you are. I should dearly like to see you." "Like many solitary men," he writes, "I have a habit of talking to myself aloud; and, unlike some of the Greek and Latin particles, I do not expect an answer. Certainly, and perhaps fortunately in this case, there was neither voice nor any that regarded: only the woman who, I suppose, was cleaning up the church, dropped some metallic object on the floor, whose clang startled me. Count Magnus, I think, sleeps sound enough." That same evening the landlord of the inn, who had heard Mr. Wraxall say that he wished to see the clerk or deacon (as he would be called in Sweden) of the parish, introduced him to that official in the inn parlour. A visit to the De la Gardie tomb-house was soon arranged for the next day, and a little general conversation ensued. Mr. Wraxall, remembering that one function of Scandinavian deacons is to teach candidates for Confirmation, thought he would refresh his own memory on a Biblical point. "Can you tell me," he said, "anything about Chorazin?" The deacon seemed startled, but readily reminded him how that village had once been denounced. "To be sure," said Mr. Wraxall; "it is, I suppose, quite a ruin now?" "So I expect," replied the deacon. "I have heard some of our old priests say that Antichrist is to be born there; and there are tales——" "Ah! what tales are those?" Mr. Wraxall put in. "Tales, I was going to say, which I have forgotten," said the deacon; and soon after that he said good night. The landlord was now alone, and at Mr. Wraxall's mercy; and that inquirer was not inclined to spare him. "Herr Nielsen," he said, "I have found out something about the Black Pilgrimage. You may as well tell me what you know. What did the Count bring back with him?" Swedes are habitually slow, perhaps, in answering, or perhaps the landlord was an exception. I am not sure; but Mr. Wraxall notes that the landlord spent at least one minute in looking at him before he said anything at all. Then he came close up to his guest, and with a good deal of effort he spoke: "Mr. Wraxall, I can tell you this one little tale, and no more—not any more. You must not ask anything when I have done. In my grandfather's time—that is, ninety-two years ago—there were two men who said: 'The Count is dead; we do not care for him. We will go to-night and have a free hunt in his wood'—the long wood on the hill that you have seen behind Råbäck. Well, those that heard them say this, they said: 'No, do not go; we are sure you will meet with persons walking who should not be walking. They should be resting, not walking.' These men laughed. There were no forest-men to keep the wood, because no one wished to hunt there. The family were not here at the house. These men could do what they wished. "Very well, they go to the wood that night. My grandfather was sitting here in this room. It was the summer, and a light night. With the window open, he could see out to the wood, and hear. "So he sat there, and two or three men with him, and they listened. At first they hear nothing at all; then they hear someone—you know how far away it is—they hear someone scream, just as if the most inside part of his soul was twisted out of him. All of them in the room caught hold of each other, and they sat so for three-quarters of an hour. Then they hear someone else, only about three hundred ells off. They hear him laugh out loud: it was not one of those two men that laughed, and, indeed, they have all of them said that it was not any man at all. After that they hear a great door shut. "Then, when it was just light with the sun, they all went to the priest. They said to him: "'Father, put on your gown and your ruff, and come to bury these men, Anders Bjornsen and Hans Thorbjorn.' "You understand that they were sure these men were dead. So they went to the wood—my grandfather never forgot this. He said they were all like so many dead men themselves. The priest, too, he was in a white fear. He said when they came to him: "'I heard one cry in the night, and I heard one laugh afterwards. If I cannot forget that, I shall not be able to sleep again.' "So they went to the wood, and they found these men on the edge of the wood. Hans Thorbjorn was standing with his back against a tree, and all the time he was pushing with his hands—pushing something away from him which was not there. So he was not dead. And they led him away, and took him to the house at Nykjoping, and he died before the winter; but he went on pushing with his hands. Also Anders Bjornsen was there; but he was dead. And I tell you this about Anders Bjornsen, that he was once a beautiful man, but now his face was not there, because the flesh of it was sucked away off the bones. You understand that? My grandfather did not forget that. And they laid him on the bier which they brought, and they put a cloth over his head, and the priest walked before; and they began to sing the psalm for the dead as well as they could. So, as they were singing the end of the first verse, one fell down, who was carrying the head of the bier, and the others looked back, and they saw that the cloth had fallen off, and the eyes of Anders Bjornsen were looking up, because there was nothing to close over them. And this they could not bear. Therefore the priest laid the cloth upon him, and sent for a spade, and they buried him in that place." The next day Mr. Wraxall records that the deacon called for him soon after his breakfast, and took him to the church and mausoleum. He noticed that the key of the latter was hung on a nail just by the pulpit, and it occurred to him that, as the church door seemed to be left unlocked as a rule, it would not be difficult for him to pay a second and more private visit to the monuments if there proved to be more of interest among them than could be digested at first. The building, when he entered it, he found not unimposing. The monuments, mostly large erections of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, were dignified if luxuriant, and the epitaphs and heraldry were copious. The central space of the domed room was occupied by three copper sarcophagi, covered with finely-engraved ornament. Two of them had, as is commonly the case in Denmark and Sweden, a large metal crucifix on the lid. The third, that of Count Magnus, as it appeared, had, instead of that, a full-length effigy engraved upon it, and round the edge were several bands of similar ornament representing various scenes. One was a battle, with cannon belching out smoke, and walled towns, and troops of pikemen. Another showed an execution. In a third, among trees, was a man running at full speed, with flying hair and outstretched hands. After him followed a strange form; it would be hard to say whether the artist had intended it for a man, and was unable to give the requisite similitude, or whether it was intentionally made as monstrous as it looked. In view of the skill with which the rest of the drawing was done, Mr. Wraxall felt inclined to adopt the latter idea. The figure was unduly short, and was for the most part muffled in a hooded garment which swept the ground. The only part of the form which projected from that shelter was not shaped like any hand or arm. Mr. Wraxall compares it to the tentacle of a devil-fish, and continues: "On seeing this, I said to myself, 'This, then, which is evidently an allegorical representation of some kind—a fiend pursuing a hunted soul—may be the origin of the story of Count Magnus and his mysterious companion. Let us see how the huntsman is pictured: doubtless it will be a demon blowing his horn.'" But, as it turned out, there was no such sensational figure, only the semblance of a cloaked man on a hillock, who stood leaning on a stick, and watching the hunt with an interest which the engraver had tried to express in his attitude. Mr. Wraxall noted the finely-worked and massive steel padlocks—three in number—which secured the sarcophagus. One of them, he saw, was detached, and lay on the pavement. And then, unwilling to delay the deacon longer or to waste his own working-time, he made his way onward to the manor-house. It is curious," he notes, "how on retracing a familiar path one's thoughts engross one to the absolute exclusion of surrounding objects. To-night, for the second time, I had entirely failed to notice where I was going (I had planned a private visit to the tomb-house to copy the epitaphs), when I suddenly, as it were, awoke to consciousness, and found myself (as before) turning in at the churchyard gate, and, I believe, singing or chanting some such words as, 'Are you awake, Count Magnus? Are you asleep, Count Magnus?' and then something more which I have failed to recollect. It seemed to me that I must have been behaving in this nonsensical way for some time." He found the key of the mausoleum where he had expected to find it, and copied the greater part of what he wanted; in fact, he stayed until the light began to fail him. "I must have been wrong," he writes, "in saying that one of the padlocks of my Count's sarcophagus was unfastened; I see to-night that two are loose. I picked both up, and laid them carefully on the window-ledge, after trying unsuccessfully to close them. The remaining one is still firm, and, though I take it to be a spring lock, I cannot guess how it is opened. Had I succeeded in undoing it, I am almost afraid I should have taken the liberty of opening the sarcophagus. It is strange, the interest I feel in the personality of this, I fear, somewhat ferocious and grim old noble." The day following was, as it turned out, the last of Mr. Wraxall's stay at Råbäck. He received letters connected with certain investments which made it desirable that he should return to England; his work among the papers was practically done, and travelling was slow. He decided, therefore, to make his farewells, put some finishing touches to his notes, and be off. These finishing touches and farewells, as it turned out, took more time than he had expected. The hospitable family insisted on his staying to dine with them—they dined at three—and it was verging on half-past six before he was outside the iron gates of Råbäck. He dwelt on every step of his walk by the lake, determined to saturate himself, now that he trod it for the last time, in the sentiment of the place and hour. And when he reached the summit of the churchyard knoll, he lingered for many minutes, gazing at the limitless prospect of woods near and distant, all dark beneath a sky of liquid green. When at last he turned to go, the thought struck him that surely he must bid farewell to Count Magnus as well as the rest of the De la Gardies. The church was but twenty yards away, and he knew where the key of the mausoleum hung. It was not long before he was standing over the great copper coffin, and, as usual, talking to himself aloud. "You may have been a bit of a rascal in your time, Magnus," he was saying, "but for all that I should like to see you, or, rather——" "Just at that instant," he says, "I felt a blow on my foot. Hastily enough I drew it back, and something fell on the pavement with a clash. It was the third, the last of the three padlocks which had fastened the sarcophagus. I stooped to pick it up, and—Heaven is my witness that I am writing only the bare truth—before I had raised myself there was a sound of metal hinges creaking, and I distinctly saw the lid shifting upwards. I may have behaved like a coward, but I could not for my life stay for one moment. I was outside that dreadful building in less time than I can write—almost as quickly as I could have said—the words; and what frightens me yet more, I could not turn the key in the lock. As I sit here in my room noting these facts, I ask myself (it was not twenty minutes ago) whether that noise of creaking metal continued, and I cannot tell whether it did or not. I only know that there was something more than I have written that alarmed me, but whether it was sound or sight I am not able to remember. What is this that I have done?" Poor Mr. Wraxall! He set out on his journey to England on the next day, as he had planned, and he reached England in safety; and yet, as I gather from his changed hand and inconsequent jottings, a broken man. One of several small notebooks that have come to me with his papers gives, not a key to, but a kind of inkling of, his experiences. Much of his journey was made by canal-boat, and I find not less than six painful attempts to enumerate and describe his fellow-passengers. The entries are of this kind: "24. Pastor of village in Skåne. Usual black coat and soft black hat. "25. Commercial traveller from Stockholm going to Trollhättan. Black cloak, brown hat. "26. Man in long black cloak, broad-leafed hat, very old-fashioned." This entry is lined out, and a note added: "Perhaps identical with No. 13. Have not yet seen his face." On referring to No. 13, I find that he is a Roman priest in a cassock. The net result of the reckoning is always the same. Twenty-eight people appear in the enumeration, one being always a man in a long black cloak and broad hat, and the other a "short figure in dark cloak and hood." On the other hand, it is always noted that only twenty-six passengers appear at meals, and that the man in the cloak is perhaps absent, and the short figure is certainly absent. On reaching England, it appears that Mr. Wraxall landed at Harwich, and that he resolved at once to put himself out of the reach of some person or persons whom he never specifies, but whom he had evidently come to regard as his pursuers. Accordingly he took a vehicle—it was a closed fly—not trusting the railway, and drove across country to the village of Belchamp St. Paul. It was about nine o'clock on a moonlight August night when he neared the place. He was sitting forward, and looking out of the window at the fields and thickets—there was little else to be seen—racing past him. Suddenly he came to a cross-road. At the corner two figures were standing motionless; both were in dark cloaks; the taller one wore a hat, the shorter a hood. He had no time to see their faces, nor did they make any motion that he could discern. Yet the horse shied violently and broke into a gallop, and Mr. Wraxall sank back into his seat in something like desperation. He had seen them before. Arrived at Belchamp St. Paul, he was fortunate enough to find a decent furnished lodging, and for the next twenty-four hours he lived, comparatively speaking, in peace. His last notes were written on this day. They are too disjointed and ejaculatory to be given here in full, but the substance of them is clear enough. He is expecting a visit from his pursuers—how or when he knows not—and his constant cry is "What has he done?" and "Is there no hope?" Doctors, he knows, would call him mad, policemen would laugh at him. The parson is away. What can he do but lock his door and cry to God? People still remembered last year at Belchamp St. Paul how a strange gentleman came one evening in August years back; and how the next morning but one he was found dead, and there was an inquest; and the jury that viewed the body fainted, seven of 'em did, and none of 'em wouldn't speak to what they see, and the verdict was visitation of God; and how the people as kep' the 'ouse moved out that same week, and went away from that part. But they do not, I think, know that any glimmer of light has ever been thrown, or could be thrown, on the mystery. It so happened that last year the little house came into my hands as part of a legacy. It had stood empty since 1863, and there seemed no prospect of letting it; so I had it pulled down, and the papers of which I have given you an abstract were found in a forgotten cupboard under the window in the best bedroom.

“It’s a nice place, isn’t it?” Memoria heard her partner say sarcastically.
Byrgenwerth, or what was left of it, lay in front of him and his partner. The abandoned college sat nestled by the side of Scorpion Lake, and it was clear it used to be a place of immense knowledge and beauty. Tall, orderly stone walls held the place up, a domed observatory on the roof. There was a balcony on the back facing the lake, which held a rocking chair to which Provost Willem had taken a liking. The exterior of the college was covered with cracks and vines, a testament to the age of the institution. Once well-kempt gardens surrounded the sturdy walls, and the many unique types of flora had long since escaped their pots and plots. The moons were low tonight, two crescents and one gibbous, against the dark night sky. Gray clouds covered the rest of the sky, giving a sort of ominous look to the old college.
“Aye,” Memoria replied. “And you think there’s the key to the beast cure here?”
Ludwig nodded. “Willem researched the blood before his disappearance. All of his notes and studies will be here unless someone destroyed them. Which is very likely.”
Memoria nearly jumped as an owl’s call broke the night’s silence
The Byrgenwerth scholars. What was it Laurence said about them? He said they had good intentions, but were “ineffective”, whatever that means.
“Let’s not spend any more time than needed here. This place is creepy, and I remember hearing stories of scholars going mad here. If we do find anything, shall we bring it back to Laurence?” Memoria asked. She exhaled a sigh of frostbreath, and she saw Ludwig shiver out of the corner of her eye.
“Yep. He was Willem’s best student, after all. Before he left the college. I really do need to ask him about that sometime.” Ludwig placed a claw on the top of the hilt of his holy silver sword, and Memoria put her wing around him.
“If anything happens, know I love you.” She whispered in his ear, and Ludwig couldn’t help but smile.
“We’ll be fine. We’ve fought worse than whatever could be in there.” She looked at him expectantly. “I love you too,” He added quickly. She kissed his cheek quickly before pulling away.
“Lead the way, Hunter,” Memoria called, and Ludwig blushed.
“Yes. Right. Follow me.” Ludwig drew his sword, and let it rest on his shoulder. Memoria similarly drew her own weapon, a sharp white katana forged in the blue fire of an Icewing forge. Passed down for generations, it was merely ornamental for hundreds of years.
But Memoria had found a use for it: hunting beasts. And furthermore, she found she could strengthen it with her own diseased, corrupted blood.
The looming shadow of Byrgenwerth threatened to blot out what little light the moons gave off.
Such a shadow brought back… unpleasant memories from Memoria’s dragonethood.
It’s in the past now. I’m safe from her now.
She steeled herself and brought her focus forward to the abandoned college. Ludwig was ahead of her on the beaten path. The savanna grasses around them rustled in the eerie winds.
“You alright?” Ludwig called back, noticing something was wrong without even having to look. Memoria wiped away a single tear before responding.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just… was thinking about my mother.”
Ludwig winced slightly. “I’m here for you, you know.”
“I know. I’ll talk about it later. We’re busy right now.”
As soon as she finished that sentence, she thought she heard a loud crash from inside the building. Ludwig stopped walking and raised a talon to motion for Memoria to stop as well.
“There’s a beast in there. A big one. Should I?” He asked, gesturing to his sword. He was asking if he should transform it.
“No. Save your strength.” Memoria told him, and he nodded.
“Alright. Get ready, I’ll draw it out.” Memoria wasted no time, quickly hiding behind a large rock as cover. She held her blade out in front of her, ready to fight to her very last breath.
She peered out from her cover and saw Ludwig standing outside the large wooden doors that served as the entrance to the institution. She spied a brave look on his Nightwing face, and he carefully pulled open one of them.
He quickly darted to the side as a massive beast lunged at him.
It was three times the height of a dragon. It stood on two legs, like a human, and remnants of what used to be wings dangled from its back. Its haunches were bent unnaturally from the awkward position, and its two arms were long and bare. A mix of both fur and orange-black scales covered its body, and it had a mane of grayish fur around its head. Its body was very slim, and one could see its ribcage jutting out at just a glance. Its right arm was massive compared to its left, and what used to be its claws had been replaced by long curling fur. Blood stained its beastly hide.
Its face was wolf-like in shape; covered in fur, shaped like a canine, and blank, bare eyes. Two antlers, similar to a deer, protruded from the top of its head, and it had the most horrible, blood-curdling screech. The remains of a tattered white cloak hung from its back, and Memoria realized this fearsome beast was once a Hunter of the Sun.
The beast slammed its larger arm where Ludwig once stood, cracking the stone beneath. The agile Nightwing was already behind the beast, and he sliced at the beast’s left leg. His sword didn’t go all the way through, but it did draw a fair amount of blood. The beast staggered and fell to the ground in a lump. Memoria launched herself into the air, twisting her wings and tail to give herself more speed, and readied her katana. With the force of a falling meteor, she brought the blade down on the cut that Ludwig had made on the beast’s leg.
The sharp edge went straight through, severing from above the knee and crippling the beast. The beast screamed before flailing its massive arm around in the direction of Memoria. She swiftly backstepped and countered with a punishing blow. Her sword whistled through the air and planted itself in the tricep. It didn’t cut completely, and Memoria blew a gust of frostbreath across the wound, freezing it solid. Ludwig stomped on it, and the arm broke off. The pair took turns hacking at what was left of the beast until it fell silent. Its mangled, bloody corpse sat still on the stone ground, and the stars twinkled overhead.
Ludwig rested his sword on his shoulder. “That wasn’t too bad. I wonder what else lies in this wretched place.” He said coldly, and Memoria wiped some of the blood on her face away.
“I’ll be ready for it, whatever it is. The adrenaline is pumping now.” She said, flexing her claws. She held her katana out in front of her as she followed Ludwig into the building.
The entrance room of Byrgenwerth had clearly seen better days; it was a large circular room made from both stone and treestuff, and stray papers littered the floor. Scattered about were pools of blood and bones. In the center of the room, a silver chandelier had fallen. It lay sideways, half of it collapsed. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and round tables had been knocked over. The only light source in the room came from the windows above the bookshelves, dim moonlight pouring through. In front of them, on the far side of the room, were two stairways leading to a raised second floor. Pure mahogany pillars provided support for the second floor.
“Charming,” Memoria noted.
“Indeed. I pray Willem organized his studies, else this will take forever.” Ludwig sighed, taking in the sights of books and papers scattered everywhere.
“Look here,” Memoria called. She was standing next to a seemingly ordinary bookshelf, but she had spied a gold plaque labeled The Holy Blood resting proudly above it.
“This is it? Just one shelf? There has to be more.” Ludwig exclaimed and eagerly pulled a book from the shelf. It was covered in dust, and he shook it. A bookmark fell out, and Memoria felt the need to sneeze. He opened it to that page.
“The Byrgenwerth spider hides all manner of rituals from us. A terrible shame. It makes my head shudder uncontrollably.” Ludwig read aloud. “It was scrawled on a note.”
“The Byrgenwerth Spider? The hell is that?” Memoria asked. She hated spiders. Vile creatures.
“I don’t know. Let’s keep looking around.” He put the book back on the shelf.
“You don’t think we should take it with us? It might be important.” Memoria asked. He tilted it sideways so that it hung out of the shelf slightly.
“We’ll come back for it. Maybe. Depends on what else we find.” He turned to the next shelf and scoured for anything interesting. “I’ll try to find something else about the ‘Byrgenwerth Spider’.”
Memoria pulled a random book from the first shelf, and read the title. “The Holy Blood: The key to ascension?”
She turned to the first page and felt her eyes strain to read in the dim light.
The holy blood. Discovered in A.S. 5123. Taken from the corpse of what we now call “Great Ones”.
The first Great One was discovered washed up on the southern shore of Pantala. It was a queer being, one unlike anything any other dragon had seen before. Unfortunately, I was never able to see the body myself; but a few of my colleagues were. They described it as being a mix between human and fish. Its lower half was white in color and strongly resembled a flounder. Its top half shared similar features to that of a female human, except for the lack of a face.
Indeed, one of the most interesting reports was that a few individuals weren’t able to see the corpse at all; they were only able to perceive it after more knowledgeable scientists described it to them.
“Ludwig? What do you remember about the origins of the blood?” She called to her partner, who had lost himself in a tattered book.
“Uh… it came from some sort of monster that washed up near the remnants of Bloodworm, before the rebuilding process,” Memoria saw him rub his head. “And… I think a few scientists wanted to test how the blood would affect their bodies.”
“I found a book on that, look here.” She saw Ludwig fold the corner of the book he was reading, and walk over to her. “Look here: There was a strange group of scientists that wanted to test the physical tissues and blood of the corpse. Strange, I had thought at the time. But that was before we knew the power that the blood held.” She read.
“Is there a page about me?” Ludwig asked mischievously.
“I don’t know. I think this book was published before the outbreak… but I’ll look anyway.” Memoria flipped to the table of contents, and… yep. There it was. Page 320: Ludwig, The Holy Blade. “Page 320. Moons above, I pray there’s nothing here to stoke your ego even more.” Memoria muttered under her breath. She felt Ludwig’s wing over her, and she leaned into her lover. “Ludwig, The Holy Blade. Ludwig is an associate of Laurence, and is widely considered to be Gehrman’s best student.” Memoria sighed. She saw a smirk on his face, and she kept reading. “However, he isn’t known for his combat skill as much as he is known for his Holy Blade. Indeed, during the A.S. 5123 expeditions into the Abyss (see page 140), Ludwig, one of the Abyss Divers, discovered a strange greatsword. It was roughly half the length of a full-grown dragon and forged from a strange metal that looked similar to silver. He claimed the sword ‘called to him’ and that it ‘talked to him’.” Memoria glanced over at him. “Does it actually?”
Ludwig nodded. “It used to. It hasn’t in a while. A month or two.”
“Wait, it actually did? I thought you just said it did. For the press, or for your reputation.” Memoria looked a little surprised.
“It whispers to me. Grants me the courage to keep fighting. Remember the Battle of the Crimson Grasses? How do you think I kept fighting for so long?” He asked her.
“I… I never thought about that. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m telling you right now, dear. What else does the book say?” He asked. Memoria turned her attention back to the book.
“While in battle, some say that the blade takes a different form. Glowing with a light not unlike the Aurora Borealis in the Ice Kingdom, the blade grows in shape, and intricate patterns and markings appear on the magical surface. While it may be animus-touched, it is also very likely that this magic could be something else entirely.” She finished the paragraph, and then promptly closed the book. “We’re getting distracted. Let’s keep looking for actually important stuff. Don’t forget why we came here. Why don’t we go to Willem’s study?” She suggested, and Ludwig sighed.
“My sword isn’t animus-touched. It's special.” He grumbled, and Memoria suppressed a laugh. She put the book back in its place.
“Come. It’s on the second floor, right? It would make sense.”
“I think it is. It’s been a while since I asked Laurence about this place, and even longer since I’ve visited. I think the last time was… it was before I had found my blade.” He said.
The pair flew up to the second floor, and much like the first, stray papers and books littered the floor. Ahead, there was a rather ominous-looking door centered in the wall.
“I think that would be Willem’s study. Don’t know what else it could be.” Ludwig opened the door carefully, and the hinges creaked loudly.
Willem’s study was circular in shape, with a single desk in the middle. Strangely enough, the room was almost completely barren otherwise, besides a few neat stacks of books on the ground and a sheet of paper on Willem’s desk. There was something hastily scrawled on it, and Memoria couldn’t help but wonder why Willem’s room was so orderly after all this time.
Ludwig stepped forward, and read the note. Memoria studied the stacks of books. Most of them had something to do with the blood, and a small few were about beasts.
“Memoria? What is ‘paleblood’?” He asked, and Memoria read the note.
Willem was right. Paleblood is the key.
The handwriting was very messy, and a splatter of blood marked the bottom corner of the paper.
“Paleblood… I’ve never heard of it.” Memoria said, and Ludwig turned the note over.
Three third cords.
Once again, Memoria had no clue as to what ‘three-third cords’ meant.
“Strange. Keep it, maybe it’ll be useful later.” Memoria told Ludwig, and he shoved it into a leather pouch.
“Three third cords. Paleblood. Maybe those books mention it.” Ludwig said and pointed to the neat stacks of books. Just from a quick glance at the titles, none mentioned anything about paleblood or cords.
“Nothing in the titles. Did Laurence ever mention anything about Paleblood? He was Blood Minister, he would surely know of all the types of blood there are.” Memoria asked her partner.
“I don’t recall. Paleblood sounds new to me, so probably not. I’ll ask anyway. He’s probably second best to Willem himself. No, third best. The second best would be these books.” He picked up one and flipped to the table of contents. “Nothing in this one. This one’s about the ‘changes in a Hivewing’s homeostatic system under the effects of blood’. Rubbish. What do these big words even mean?” He asked rhetorically.
“Well. It looks like we have the rest of the night carved out for us.” Memoria sat down on the floor, curling up against the wall and flipping through one of the more promising books. Ludwig sat beside her, and she rested her head on his shoulder as they read together. It was a moment of comfort; a moment of love. Such moments were rare in these times. Rarer than one would think.
…
Memoria lay against a cliff face on the shoreline. It was a little after dusk, and they were about halfway to the designated meeting spot. They were about to settle in for the night, to get some sleep that they both desperately needed. It had been days since they last slept, and Memoria’s eyes were so very tired from the night of reading yesterday.
“Shame we didn’t get that much information. But we do have something to look out for: Paleblood, and three-third cords.” Ludwig said from across camp, and he stoked the flames of a campfire with his own breath. His black scales threatened to disappear in the dark of the night.
“More than we started with. And that’s all that matters, right? Our journey wasn’t wasted.” The Hive-Icewing stretched her four white wings and yawned.
“Oh, I know it wasn’t wasted. All of these damn books, they’re so heavy.”
“Are you ready for the attack?” Memoria asked him. He glanced at his holy blade, which was resting on a nearby rock. He paused for a moment, and Memoria saw a shadow of uncertainty on his face.
“I… I’m not sure. It sounded great at first, but… I’m worried. We’ll lose a lot of Hunters that day… I hope it works.” He said quietly, and Memoria heard a tinge of pain in his voice.
“I think I might go to sleep now. I’m tired.” Memoria sighed, lying down on the soft dirt. She closed her eyes, and she felt someone sit next to her. Ludwig touched her back softly, and Memoria felt herself drifting off.
“Have I ever sung what used to be my mother’s favorite song for you?” He asked, and Memoria shook her head.
“No, I don’t think so. I would love to hear it, though.”
Ludwig cleared his throat before singing in a soft, gentle voice.
“Well come and well met, my brave little spark.” His voice soothed her worries, any fears she had.
“How long you’ve wandered, burned bright as a star.
Oh, I have awaited you patiently all this time.
Past every fate
Now sing with me once more, share of your life.” Memoria couldn’t help but move a little closer to her partner’s warmth.
“Far greater than memory, its loss and love words cannot hold
Boundless the tale overflows.” Ludwig whispered softly, and Memoria could feel herself slipping away, into the realm of dreams.
“And carries your light out to sea…”
May the good blood guide your way.
Ultima_8

Hi there I just joined this page and I thought I’d share my opinions on the entire celebrity blockout situation. It’s been on my mind a lot and I have a LOT to say just don’t know where to! Firstly I admire the working class for recognizing that a lot of the rich and famous care very little for the well-being of the less fortunate, and I agree the Palestine situation should be discussed. HOWEVER I do have criticism of how this blockout is being approached and well reason for it. I’ve noticed this entire thing reminds me similarly of 2020s mass BLM support and how much performative activism spread as a trend throughout social media. We now laugh at the idea that posting a black square would do ANYTHING for racial Justice, but the only reason it is now judged is because it is no longer “relevant” to trend followers. I see this blockout taking the same turn. Id like to point out that simply blocking celebrities is not going to have the impact you believe it will. If you really want to attack someone and see some change, go for the politicians. After all it’s our current president funding Israel. If you plan on showing the rich who’s boss, then don’t buy films, don’t stream music or tv, cancel your Netflix and your Hulu and go back to cable, but even then the advertising will STILL feed them money. So might as well quit the Tv all together right? Get rid of your Samsung cause plenty of celebs are involved in partnerships. Stop buying from Sephora or Ulta, since plenty of celebs work with beauty brands or own a brand themselves. So you’ll buy drug store right? Well cover girl works with Zendaya and Elf has ties to Kim Kardashian. Want the latest fashion? Can’t buy SHEIN they’ve got child labor through the roof. So you’ll buy American Eagle and Lulu? They likely use the same child labor as shein just for a higher labor price but sell it to us for much more, and many Americans in this economy can’t afford quality clothing. How about small business and Etsy? Much better but still can be quite pricey and the same shareholders as Starbucks fund many sites. Our entertainment and luxury have been captured by the businesses and wealthy that you want to go after and yet many still believe hitting a block button will do anything. But from a more necessary consumer standpoint it’s so much more complicated. Instead of aiming for smaller branches of business like Starbucks, go for the corporations that own them. Go after Nestle, Coca Cola, Pepsi Co, Frito Lay, etc. Go after their shareholders and THEN you’ll see maybe even a SLIGHT impact. Only thing is it is nearly impossible to do so. The brands you should be attacking are being funded by the working class constantly because we need food. Many people can’t afford or have little access to local business and farms. And with how it goes any smaller business that shows some sort of success is at risk for grabs by a multibillion dollar corporation, and then the cycle continues. Point is the working class is pretty backed into a corner. And it’s so much of a bigger problem than JUST fighting for awareness for Palestine. I understand the reason behind it and I get the intent, but you really can’t think it will do what you think it will. Then you’re just falling for the performative activism these people love because it makes you THINK you’re doing something so you quiet down about the issues when in reality you haven’t even hurt a fly. Just being realistic.

As discussed in the first post, this is my ongoing compilation of the remaining questions Christopher has answered online between August 1st 2023 and April 30th 2024 which I've not already covered in other compilations.
As always, questions are sorted by topic, and each Q&A is annotated with a bracketed source number. Links to every source used and to the other parts of this compilation will be provided in a comment below.
The previous post focused on In-Universe Lore. We will now switch to out-of-universe questions, starting with Murtagh. This installment will cover the essence of Murtagh, both the book and the character. The next post will cover additional Murtagh-related questions.

Murtagh the Book

Idea for the book

What was your biggest inspiration to return to this universe and write Murtagh? Was it always in the works? Yeah, so, boy, it's a little convoluted. Ultimately, you can blame the existence of Murtagh on a couple of things. So, starting in 2017 or so, I was feeling a little frustrated in my life for various reasons. And so I decided that I was going to say yes to every appearance opportunity that came my way, just as a way of getting myself out of the house, living life, traveling, seeing stuff, meeting people, etc. So I said yes to going to a bunch of conventions and then sort of out of nowhere, Barnes and Noble asked if I would be their Author in Residence for 2019. They asked in 2018. And so I said yes. And what that meant was I was going to be traveling to a different B&N bookstore every month for the entire year of 2019. Now shortly after I said yes, my mom actually came to me and she said, "Christopher, you're going to be doing that, that's going to be a lot of work. Sure would be nice if you had something new published for 2019." And at this time, I was deep into revisions on To Sleep in a Sea of Stars, which was a massive, massive book. But I thought that hey, that's a great idea. So I took like a month or two and I wrote and revised what became The Fork, The Witch, and The Worm: Tales from Alagaësia, short stories set in the World of Eragon. The first story in there, The Fork story, was based off a tweet that a fan sent me. And again, I think it was 2016 or 2017. And they said, "Hey, Christopher, can you tell us anything about what Murtagh and Thorn are doing after the end of the Inheritance Cycle?" And it was way too late for me past my bedtime. And I said something like, "Murtagh just enchanted a fork to be more deadly than any sword and won a fight with it, and Thorn isn't very happy with him." And I couldn't stop thinking about that, so that became the basis for the Fork story. And then once I wrote it, I couldn't stop thinking about sort of where that story would lead for Murtagh and the world of Alagaësia. I finished To Sleep in a Sea of Stars and I finished revising Fractal Noise. I actually delivered Fractal Noise to Tor all the way back end of 2021, or fairly in 2021. And then I was like, "Okay, it's time for dragons." And I was looking at writing the long awaited Book Five. Though the more I looked at it, because there's a time jump between Inheritance and Book Five, I realized that I was having to do too much explaining of all the things that had happened leading up to Book Five. It was just gonna be deadly dull. So then I went back to those thoughts I'd had of Murtagh and the Fork story and I was like, "well, wait a minute, what if I wrote a book about Murtagh? I've always wanted to. This might be a good reason and good time and a good opportunity." And so I took it. And that's ultimately how Murtagh came about. Books come about through many different ways. Also, on a very practical side of things, last year was the 20th anniversary of the release of Eragon. And so that was also an extra motivation. I was going to write Murtagh anyway, but it was like, okay, not just going to write it. Let's make sure that it's done in time so it could come out on the 20th anniversary, which of course it did. [34]
I was looking at Book Five and I was doing the groundwork for it. Then I realized because it's further down the timeline than Murtagh that I was having to do a huge amount of explaining and setting the groundwork for people to understand how we got to the point of where we were in that book. Then I thought well maybe it'd be a good idea to take a step back and tell one of these earlier stories so people understand what's going on. [28]
I was starting to do some plotting for the next book in the World of Eragon, and I realized that there was too much setup needed. There was too much explaining, too much exposition. So I thought, well, what if what if I took a step back and actually told the story that I'm trying to summarize. And I'd already dipped my toes in, and was already thinking along those lines of, "What are the implications of that short story? Does it lead to something larger?" And of course it does. [1]
How long did it take to write Murtagh? Three and a half months. And then another six months of editing. That's mainly because it takes a few weeks every time my editor looks at it, and then it comes back to me, and then it takes another few weeks. It takes time. But the reason I was able to write it so quickly was because I had a very clear outline, which I learned to create over time. If I don't have an outline, writing doesn't go so well. And if I do have it, it's easy and fast. I wrote that outline quickly, which took no more than two weeks. That's because I already had the beginning in my head – because that was the story of The Fork . And I already knew what the ending would be. So if you have that then you have 80%. And then you still have about 20% left to figure out the middle, and that was the hardest part. I refuse to write a book where I don't know the ending. [23]
How much of it was brand new ideas that came to you now, and how much did you pull from old notes, unused ideas, and pulling it all together? Well, it evolved. I've always had ideas for more full-size books set in the world of Eragon, and a book about Murtagh was one of those. I had a couple of general ideas that I wanted to play with, such as Murtagh and Thorn grappling with their past, grappling with other threats and developments in the world. But the specifics of that only really came about starting in, I want to say, 2018, and even a little bit earlier when I originally got the idea of the short story, The Fork in The Fork, the Witch, and the Worm, which was from Murtagh’s point of view– Well, it was about Murtagh, not his point of view. But that served as the inciting incident and the key for the actual events of this book, and then everything in it drew from old notes, and then, also, I had new stuff as well. [6]
You'll see a lot in Murtagh that I'm drawing from what I've already established and then building off the feel of it. [12]
You talked about how act three was something that came to you early on in the process, and you wanted to reach that point. How do you work with your writing process? Do you start with that scene that comes to you first and then work backward? How do you play around with that? Every book is different, but I refuse to write a book unless I have the beginning and the end clearly in mind. And in this case, I already had the beginning because it was retelling the short story, “The Fork,” from Murtagh’s point of view now. That was the inciting incident in some ways. Technically, the inciting incident actually occurred at the end of Inheritance, but for this book, this is the beginning. Then, I knew where I wanted to end, like, last scene, last chapter. I had that right from the very beginning because I knew that would be emotional and affecting and all of that. Then, it was a question of what type of story I was trying to tell and how that would relate to Murtagh’s personal issues. So, my original conception was like an Edgar Rice Burroughs-style adventure into the unknown, and then the more I did on it, I was like, “Well, there's more to it than just simple adventure. A lot more. So, how do I serve that?” So, I work up a pretty detailed outline before I write the first draft, write the first draft, and then I sit back and say, “Okay, how well did I do in accomplishing what I was trying to accomplish and what do I need to change or focus on?” [6]
Why did you choose to write a story about Murtagh? Do you ask your readers which characters resonate with them, or do you make your own plans? I certainly like to know who is popular with my readers. This is how I know that Murtagh has been a real favorite for years. But that doesn't affect what I write. The fact that Murtagh is a favorite did not lead to the book of the same name. That was mainly because Murtagh's journey wasn't complete after Inheritance. [23]
We see the growth of Murtagh and Thorn's relationship in this book. How did you prepare yourself to explore the relationship between them? Before I start a book, I essentially do what I consider my homework. I take a notebook and I start writing by hand and I have a conversation with myself about who the characters are and what their stories are and what their journey is going to be. And I did that with Murtagh and Thorn specifically because it was very important to me that their relationship felt different than Eragon and Saphira's relationship. And I didn't get it perfectly the first draft. I'd say I got about 80% there. And then worked on it some more once I had a better understanding of what their dynamic was, and then I could go back to the beginning and it's like, okay, this is how they interact. Let's really focus on that. And that was just the core. It is Murtagh's story in a lot of ways, but it's also Thorn's. And that just was very, very important. But thinking about their different experiences, of course, was the key to figuring out how they were interacting. [32]
I’m not sure that if asked, I would have ever guessed your next Inheritance Cycle book would be about Murtagh. What inspired you to dig into this particular character as an author? In many ways, the Inheritance Cycle is the story of three (somewhat) brothers. Eragon, his cousin Roran, and Eragon’s half-brother, Murtagh. They’re each equally important to the story. However, since the series is primarily from Eragon’s point-of-view, readers never really got to experience Murtagh’s journey, which I think is a shame. [15]
Murtagh is one of the main characters of the Inheritance Cycle. There's Eragon, there's Arya, there's Roran, there's Nasuada, and there's Murtagh. But we really don't see a whole lot of Murtagh after the first book. He's taken away, he's imprisoned and we only see him appearing essentially as a villain. And I felt that there was a real missed opportunity there, or there was an opportunity to rectify that and show what actually was going on during that time. [34]

Coming back

It's been so many years. What keeps you in the world of Eragon? I grew up with it. Yeah, but I grew up in Steinhagen. I'm okay with visiting every 10 years. Well, to be fair, it's been 12 years since the last big one came out. Oh, that's a good point. Yeah, that's a good point. But the main thing is I have stories that I want to tell and I'm passionate about those stories. And that's what drew me back to the world. I decided I had a story that I cared about and was passionate about and I wanted to devote the time and energy to make sure that readers got to experience it as well. [2]
Even though it's been many years since it ended, what was it like for you getting back into that headspace and going back to that world? The world itself was very familiar. I had no difficulty diving right back into it. The biggest difference is that this isn't from Eragon’s point of view, so writing from Murtagh’s point of view introduces some differences to the experience. Which was nice for me and I think it will hopefully be nice for readers, as well. But it's an interesting mixture of intense nostalgia, intense familiarity, and yet a sense of newness, as well. Like if you've ever returned home after a long trip, college or wherever, and everything is super familiar, but maybe seems just a little different. [6]
Do you feel ownership of these characters still? The Inheritance Cycle has been with people for so many years. Do you think they belong to the people now? No they're mine because I can do what I want with them. But they have their own existence in the minds of the readers. I have a personal relationship with the books I read and the characters in those books. I'll just pick a book at random, Dune for example. My emotions and interactions with that book are probably very different than someone else's and different from Frank Herbert's when he wrote it. I know people have very deep emotional connections and experiences with Eragon and Saphira and the other characters, and that's out of my control. It is a wonderful thing at the end of the day that someone loves something that you've created so much. Absolutely. That's the goal, that's the dream, that's what you hope as a creator. But it makes me feel a sense of responsibility writing a new story. I definitely felt this with Murtagh, of wanting to do justice to those feelings that people have toward those characters. [28]
Did you always plan to tell more stories within the world of Eragon? Of course. In fact, I deliberately left a couple of dangling threads in Brisingr and Inheritance specifically to form the basis for future books. I love this world, and I hope to write many more stories in it over the years. Murtagh is the first of these. [8]
Did you always know you were gonna go back? Yes, and in fact, I started laying the groundwork in my third book for future stories, specifically so that later on, it didn't feel like I was pulling stuff out of a hat to extend work in the world. [33]

Evolving Scope and Writing Style

One of the fun things has been watching your writing go from Eragon: Very clean and it's a quick book about these characters end up on this journey and there's a fight at the end, and there's a really cool dragon. It's very clear what you're trying to do. And I think it was incredibly successful, or we wouldn't be here today. And then by Brisingr, it's a mess, and everybody's everywhere, and the world is this huge, complicated, lovable place with all these people that you adore. But watching the way you've grown from that, and then to take the steps into this very mature handling of Alagaësia in this book, it feels like I've read a career of writing enhancement. And it's been really exceptional. I actually wish I could read the books without being so familiar with them, for that very reason. I kind of want to see how they change over time. And it's interesting you mentioned Brisingr versus this one and even Inheritance, which is I kind of wanted to dial it back with this one. It's much more of a character study. It's much more focused on Murtagh and Thorn. We spend a lot of time alone with them, actually, over the course of the book. And there isn't any one character that's with them through the whole story. Which I think is reflective of Eragon, again, in his first book. And it's still a large book. It's still a 700-page book. And yet, for all of that, it is much more focused. I actually think, now some readers may disagree with me on this, but personally I think a lot more happens in this book than Eragon, and it's not actually that much longer in terms of word count, but it still feels to me like a lot more happens in this book than Eragon. [11]
[Terry Brooks:] I started out writing big books like you, I was writing 700-800 page books in the beginning. But I quickly shifted over when I realized that I could write the same book at half the size, and it would sell for the same amount. That's one thing I couldn't do with Murtagh, because I really needed to match the style of the series. [1]
How has your writing style evolved? I'm a much better writer than I was when I started and I also have more of an understanding of the difficulties of life, which was helpful when writing a character like Murtagh who has encountered a lot of difficulties. Also, I'm much more methodical in how I approach a book. I do a lot of planning and that allows me to write the book quickly and efficiently. [20]
I did not always succeed with the Inheritance Cycle because I learned as I went along, but there's a lot of words that I did not and would not use in the books because they were out of place. In fact, it's funny, I have a friend of mine who's Italian. A fellow author, and she read To Sleep in a Sea of Stars in English, which was the first book of mine she'd read in English. She's also been reading Murtagh in English, and she's having more difficulty with Murtagh than with To Sleep in a Sea of Stars. I was curious because there's a lot of technical terminology in To Sleep in the Sea of Stars and so I asked her about this, and we kind of burrowed down and figured out what the issue was, which is that technical words in English a lot of times tend to be of Latin origin, Latin or Greek. For an Italian reader and speaker, that's easy to understand. Whereas in Murtagh, the vocabulary is much more Germanic and Anglo-Saxon, and as a result, much more difficult for a native speaker of a Romance language. [28]
I really love the spruced up language throughout the book; Murtagh was brought up and educated in the capital, I think the book from his perspective having an excellent use of vocabulary is only fitting. That was the idea. Glad you liked it. [T]
A third of the way through Murtagh and I can’t stand th’ word short’n’ng in dialogue. Don't read Dolores Claiborne, then, lol. [R]

Murtagh the Character

Murtagh's Childhood

This series deals a lot with fathers and absent fathers and difficult fathers. And since you wrote the series, you've become a father yourself. And so looking back on that series, how has your fatherhood that you have now obtained changed the way that you look back on the way that you created the father figures of Alagaësia? That's a really interesting question. It didn't really change too much, but it did change one thing in particular. In Murtagh, without getting too spoilery, there's a moment that Murtagh is having a flashback recollection of his own father and his mother. I think you know the scene I'm talking about. And writing that I was really sort of drawing off of what I have seen with my children and how they behave and play and how they sort of view and interact with the adults around them. That helped me. But as far as like Murtagh's feelings toward his father or Eragon's feelings toward his father, those were already established. Those characters are already established. So I wouldn't say that being a father has necessarily changed at a huge amount. Because fortunately, I have a good relationship with my father. And so far, my kids have a good relationship with me, except when they're trying to stay up too late. So it's not reflecting what I have in my life. I'm just trying to follow the logic of who those characters are and what their relationships are. [11]
This time you also deep dive into Murtagh's relationship with his biological father Morzan, and his true father and mentor Tornac. Being a father yourself now has changed the way you feel about their stories? Strangely enough, no. The only thing that changed is there is a scene I don't want to spoil but I'm sure you will remember. Those who've read the book will know. It's a flashback scene. To a moment when Murtagh was very young himself. And there were some things I've seen in my children and the way they behave that sort of guided how I wrote that scene and how I imagined young Murtagh would have perceived what was happening. But in general, no, the father-son relationship, if anything probably draws more from my experience with my father and myself versus myself with my children. So would you say that Tornac has a little bit of your father? Ehhh... I don't know about that. But I did like writing that relationship. Yeah, Tornac and Murtagh's relationship is very beautiful. And sad as well! Well that is the theme of Murtagh's life. [17]
I think also there's probably something to be said for the fact that you are older now, you're a father now, so how you experience Murtagh as a character is maybe different for you as well. Is that a fair characterization? I think so. I don't think I could have written this book 10 years ago. Not the way I did. [34]
One of the relationships that I feel like you didn't explore as much in the Eragon series but did become a little bit more important here in Murtagh is mothers. What was the process of exploring Selena and getting to bring a scene with her into the series for the first time? It was a lot of fun. It was great having Selena appear. Obviously it's a hazy memory on Murtagh's point point of view, but she sort of looms large over the story as a whole in the book. And rightly so, because he perhaps unfairly blames her for some of his circumstances, and he has to come to terms with that. And there's another character in the book who perhaps is forcing herself into a mothering position during the story and Murtagh has grapple with that as well. [11]

Daddy Energy

There are so many experiences that Eragon got through because either he was the first rider, and so people were treating him with a kindness that they wouldn't show a normal person, or we got that Eragon will persevere through anything and he just kind of shows up and gets it done. Murtagh experiences so many of the same situations and his approach is to replace like Eragon's perseverance with a kindness that was so unexpected from a character with his history. And so this book shows Murtagh's got like a really kind heart deep at the center of him. And he goes through some really awful stuff. But he keeps that kind heart. And I guess, how did you approach writing the soft interior of this man that you've really put through so much at the end of the day? But maintaining that really kind core that allows him to accomplish what he accomplished? That, again, was something that was a bit iterative. I wrote the book really thinking that the theme was him and Thorn grappling with their status in society? Are they going to remain outcasts, exiles? Are they going to reintegrate? What is their role in the world, and how do they feel about it? And after my editor read it, she said, "Yes, that's there. By the way, did you notice how he acts around children?" I said, "Well, yes?" She said, "Take another look at that." And it tied into so many important things for Murtagh that that really added a whole other layer. There's a certain innocence/naivete to Eragon that can sometimes lead him to be very successful at what he does, but also be a little bit, I don't want to say cruel, he's willing to kill and do things just like Murtagh is, but he's also innocent to a certain degree, at least to start with. And it leads to a different approach and a different outcome. Whereas Murtagh has had such dark experiences in his life, he approaches it very differently. [11]
Was the theme of inheritance in Murtagh intentional? Like with the relationships with the children and imparting either like a gift of a fork or wisdom on to or even a sense of caring on to a younger generation, was that intentional to bring over from the Inheritance Cycle or was that found kind of naturally? It was just what this particular story needed. Murtagh has already grown up. He's not an adolescent. He is a grown man. But this particular transformation that he needs to go through is not complete. And all the stuff with the children and the young people in the story. It's a nice tie-in, that theme of inheritance. But I wasn't aiming for that. [11]
I loved that each and every single one of those little side quests included younger people in a way that made Murtagh so protective of them. He has daddy energy. And the funny thing is, that's not because I'm now a dad. I do want to put that out there. In fact, the funny thing is I didn't intentionally make that a theme in the book. And I very much was focusing on the relationship that he and Thorn have with sort of a larger society. Do they belong, do they not belong? Do they rejoin society, do they not rejoin society? And after I sent the first draft to my editor, she came back to me and she said, "By the way, do you realize?" she pointed out the daddy energy, essentially. She didn't quite use those words, but it was the same thing. And she said, "you have this trend going through, think about it, think about how it relates to his character." And she was absolutely right. Just a few touches extra, really brought a lot to who he is. But I wouldn't say that was because I was a father. It was definitely an outgrowth of who Murtagh is as a character. [32]

Asking for Help

[Murtagh's approach to life] actually gets him into deep trouble in this book, because he refuses to accept help when he should have looked for help and stays in a place he shouldn't stay in when he knows he shouldn't stay and thus ends up in deep trouble. [There's a] moment fairly late in the book when he finally thinks that he should have reached out to Eragon, and he knows Eragon would have helped him. And he hates it. He does, but even then, he would accept it. Like, he's in the most dire depths of despair. And at that point, he starts rebuilding and accepting help. Uvek, Alín, he starts actually accepting help. And that's why, by the very end of the book, he actually is willing to participate in society, so to speak, and Thorn as well. [11]
Why does everyone kick Murtagh's ass throughout the book? Okay, I've seen a couple of people say that online, I'm actually going to take issue with that: he wins all of his fights. Except for when he is sort of tricked at one part of the book. But if you look at it, he really does win all of his fights. But with help Well, with some help here and there. Part of it too is he no longer has the help of Eldunarí that Galbatorix gave him. And so I think even though he knows that, subconsciously he goes into some of these fights thinking that he still has that power behind him and he has to kind of discover that "Oh, crap, I'm still stronger than a normal person and I do have a dragon with me, but I'm not invincible." And it takes him a little while to sort of get that beaten into his head. And I have to say at the beginning he's like too proud to ask for help. But then he evolves. Not just proud, I think resentful also. And that is kind of a large part of what the story is about. Will he and Thorn bend the knee enough of their ego to rejoin society and will society even accept them? [17]

Murtagh's Choices and Fate

Murtagh’s line of choice is “By my will, I make my way.” and I can see that reflected in your own journey from an outsider’s point of view. Is that something you would relate to? Yeah, I think that’s fair to say that’s a statement I relate to. But Murtagh is also a much more solitary person than I am. He doesn’t have the support structure that I do and so I’ve been very aware throughout my whole life, my whole career, how fortunate I am to have the support that I have had from my friends and family. My editor, my agent, my parents. I wouldn’t be where I am now. Aside from that, yes, I made certain decisions that started the ball rolling. But the fact that I was able to make those decisions and have the support to make those decisions is due to the environment, I would say. [28]
What is your vision of fate? I go back and forth on that. I think as many of my characters do that it's important to believe that we have some agency in the world. Even if things are predestined, if you feel as if things are predestined, you'll give up. Whether that's predestined or not, I don't know. But I like to believe that I have a sense of control over my life and even if there is a destiny that can't be escaped, we at least have a choice of how to face it. But I don't think that our lives are written in stone or that things can't be improved or changed. If that were the case, humanity would never have bettered its lot over the centuries. And I think that there's a unfortunate thread in modern thinking that kind of says that the situation you're born in and the life circumstances you find yourself is completely out of your control and as a result you cannot rise above that and you should blame those who are supposedly to blame for that situation. And whether or not that's true, I just think it's a very unhelpful way to think about life, because then you feel helpless. You feel like someone else is responsible for your situation and therefore, they're the ones with the power in life. And I always feel that we are the ones in charge of our own thoughts and feelings. The only thing you can control is yourself, ideally at least. And we are the agents of change in our own lives, even in the smallest ways. So that sort of learned helplessness is just a deadly, deadly way of thinking. And it leads people to becoming very angry I think. And that's not good for them or society. Murtagh, of course chose to disregard Umaroth's advice and go where the land is brittle. But even if he puts himself, or even if you put him through so much, he still chose and decides what's the outcome of his ventures. That is the consequence of freedom. You have to let people make stupid decisions. Democracy, freedom, whatever, you have to trust that it's better in the long run for people to have the chance to make stupid decisions. That just because you know better, you shouldn't be the ones telling them ultimately what they can or can't do, as long as it's not harming other people. What do you think will be the most important of lessons Murtagh learned during his sojourn in Nal Gorgoth? I would rather not say. I think that that would be me preaching to the readers. I'll let readers decide what they think the most valuable lesson is from that experience. [19]
Each time Murtagh is confronted with reminders and challenges, his responses to them feel very true to his character. How did you stay true to the decisions that Murtagh would make when confronted with these things? And in what ways, if any, did that inform the arc you wanted him to follow throughout the book? Well, I appreciate that you felt that those choices were true to who Murtagh is. I think when writing a character, at least for me, I create a mental framework for who the person is and how they would react. And then the story, especially if they're the main character, is tailored around that. I tailored the encounters and the choices and what happened specifically to who Murtagh and Thorn are and what their issues are. And that is the story. At least the way I built the story. There is no other story. If I weren't addressing their issues, this story wouldn't even happen. [34]
Could tell us a little bit of what it was like to write Murtagh's point of view, and how that was different from your approach to writing Eragon, especially having stepped outside of the world for so long. He's a lot less open and much more damaged, of course, and a lot angrier and a lot more resentful. And his relationship with Thorn is a lot rockier, a lot pricklier, one might say. But being older myself and having gone through some ups and downs in life, as we all do, writing Murtagh was more interesting as a result. But Murtagh also has a hard time in the book, necessarily so, I would argue, since I wrote it. But that took quite a bit of emotional energy as well, writing that. So really enjoyed it. I would love to write Murtagh again, especially since I think that he is in a much better place by the end of the book, even though he still has a lot to work through, he's taken the first big step in a lot of ways. And that's what this book was about, was him and Thorn taking that step, or deciding to take the step. Or being forced into taking the step really at certain points. Yeah, but it is his choice ultimately, and as it always is. [32]

Anti-Hero

People have strong opinions on Murtagh across the Internets. We want to know whether or not you would describe Murtagh as an anti-hero or an antagonist Well, he's heading in that direction. I think he was definitely an anti-hero for most of the inheritance cycle, and he's now tipped over into, troubled, but a genuine protagonist by the end of Murtagh. [32]
Yes, you can call him an anti-hero. Murtagh is an outcast with a complex life history. He has been both friend and enemy to Eragon through circumstances largely beyond his control. And for the first time in this book we see the world through his eyes. [18]
Murtagh's character evolves from antagonist to a kind of complex anti-hero in the new book. What were your motivations behind this evolution? He's not a villain, in the sense that he didn't choose evil for the most part, although he's made some questionable choices at times. So that was interesting to evolve. And I didn't want to push him further down the road of villainy, so to speak, because that just feels obvious and lazy to me. So I wanted to give him and Thorn a chance to find a path to redemption. There's also something to be said about the person who has to do everything because they're being brainwashed. That's the other thing. A lot of it he was forced to do. He still did it, and he had some choices along the way, but for the most part he was coerced, and that has to be taken to taken into account. [34]

Murtagh and Eragon as Mirrors

One of my favorite things about the book is that Murtagh, kind of like how Angela and Bachel are almost like evil twins, Murtagh goes through some of the same beats that Eragon gets in his book. I'm so glad you noticed, and I didn't even do it on purpose. When I was going through editing I started working up a whole list of things I was like these are mirrored experiences to some of the things that happened with Eragon. I didn't fight it, I actually embraced it. [11]
The problems that Murtagh and Thorn face seem to be mirrored of the problems that Eragon and Saphira had to face. Did you write it that way on purpose, and if so, why? Well, yes and no. Murtagh and Thorn could actually have been in the shoes of Eragon and Saphira. In another time, or if someone had made a different decision, it would have been Murtagh and Thorn who became famous Dragon Riders and Eragon and Saphira would have been cast out. They are very much the same and yet so different. It only makes sense that some of the problems they are now experiencing are the same ones Eragon and Saphira had to overcome. [23]
Murtagh is what Eragon would have been if he hadn't grown up in a loving environment. He has a much more difficult character than Eragon, much more prickly. Although he gets angry easily, he is a good person who hates injustice. Perhaps because he is a victim of it himself. He is much more aware than Eragon about how the world works. [4]
Murtagh and Thorn were once, albeit reluctantly, on the evil side of the force. Are these two characters negative incarnations of Eragon and Saphira? To a degree, but they're also very much their own people, given how different their life experiences have been compared to Eragon and Saphira. And they're aware of that difference. It's something Murtagh reflects on several times throughout the book. However, even if Murtagh and Thorn had been raised in the same circumstances as Eragon and Saphira, I think they would still be very different. Thorn has a much more trenchant sense of humor than Saphira, and even at the best of times, Murtagh would always have a greater tendency toward brooding than Eragon. [22]
I saw a parallel in Murtagh's life, a symmetry with his and that of Eragon. So we know that Eragon was raised as a humble farmer, whereas Murtagh was raised in court. But now Eragon plays a major role in the world, he has all the comfort he needs, he no longer lives in a thrifty environment. Whereas Murtagh is said to travel the world without a roof over his head, at the beginning of the book at least. And I was wondering regarding these circumstances, what does this exchange of places mean to you? I was thinking very carefully about the parallels between Murtagh's experience and Eragon's. And sometimes while I was writing the book, I found parallels emerging that I didn't originally expect. For example, when they leave Gil'ead, Thorn kind of grabs Murtagh and they have an involuntary flight where Murtagh is trying to get Thorn to land and Thorn won't listen to him. That's very similar to when the first time Eragon and Saphira flew together after leaving Palancar Valley right when the Ra'zac showed up. So there are lots of things over the course of the story that have sort of echoes with Eragon's experience. Some of that was intentional, some of that was purely coincidental, but I thought it made for an interesting contrast. [19]
Murtagh definitely has a harder lot in life than Eragon. His father didn't love him and even tried to kill him, leaving a scar. A painful life. And Eragon’s father took a blade to save his own son…. Eragon and Murtagh/Brom and Morzan are opposites in more ways than one. [T]
What was the hardest challenge in writing from the perspective of Murtagh after writing from the perspective of Eragon for so long? Figuring out how his voice differed from Eragon's, and how Thorn differed from Saphira, and their relationship differed from Eragon and Saphira's. And then also I went back and looked at Murtagh's dialogue from Eragon, and boy was I pretentious back then. And I didn't want to write him exactly the way I'd written him in the first book, and balancing that and also figuring out his relationship with Thorn, that was the challenge. [34]
Murtagh is not as easy to get along with as Eragon. He is angry with his situation and resentful. Both he and Thorn have all these different feelings going through them, which makes it interesting for a writer to write about them. [23]

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