As you walk apprehensively down my road, you can hardly believe you’re really going through with this. Your heart is pounding, and you’re trembling uncontrollably with a mixture of nerves and excitement. Part of you wants to back out, but the thought of how proud you’ll feel afterwards for overcoming your trepidation and fulfilling such a naughty fantasy keeps you walking until you reach my front door.
Summoning up every last drop of courage, you knock tentatively, and after what feels like an interminable wait, I open the door and our eyes meet for the first time. As you step inside, I close the door gently behind you and, without a word, you take a deep breath and drop to your knees. The realisation that you’re already past the point of no return gives you a sudden feeling of liberation, so, gazing up at me and biting your lip, you start unbuckling my belt…
Within seconds my jeans are round my ankles and there’s a noticeable bulge in my boxer shorts. You murmur in appreciation as you impatiently yank them down, springing my rapidly-stiffening cock free. A couple of strokes with your hands ensures that it’s rock hard as you take it into your wet mouth.
It sudden dawns on you that you’re finally really doing it - giving a complete stranger a blowjob. The blood courses through your veins and your nipples harden as you warm to your task, slipping my cock in and out of your mouth, polishing the end with your tongue as you wank the shaft like in those videos you watch. You’re determined to seize the opportunity to showcase all your talents, and you undo a few more of the buttons on your blouse so that I can see your bra and flushed chest.
Before long your skills begin to have the desired effect on me, and you can feel my cock and balls start to pulse. You take my cock out of your mouth and look up at me, smiling, as you prepare for the inevitable, hoping that you’ve succeeded in summoning up a big load…
As you walk back down the street afterwards, you’re almost skipping with the thrill of knowing what you’ve just done. What would your friends, family and colleagues say if they found out? But you know that this is your slutty little secret.

Thanks to Reddit I've been lucky enough to fulfil variations on this fantasy in the past (happy to discuss if you're interested), but I'm always looking to meet new people so I'm posting again!
I have my own place in Nottingham (West Bridgford) so I can host, or happy to travel a reasonable distance (Derby, Leicester, Sheffield, etc.). Also happy to meet in public first if that makes you feel more comfortable.
I'm white, 45, 6'1", average build, clean, discreet, easy-going and respectful.
I particularly enjoy meeting up with women who are inexperienced, shy, etc., so if that's you then please get in touch. Uni students/young professionals to the front of the queue!

Have you ever had a dream so real- you have to question yourself to wether- maybe- now hear me out- if the possibility of reality's melding together could be a thing? I have had many of these dreams to the point I don't even question it anymore- and I'm almost 100% sure that the notion of slipping between worlds while we sleep is entirely possible- you just have to train yourself- just like honing any skill- this is the same!
I had moment like this recently where I felt this feeling of slipping between worlds and by recently I mean last night- and I'll set the scene, I was lay in bed listening to my Mary Poppins vinyl, window open, fan on low, curtains swaying and I just stared at the ceiling, enjoying my music... I don't know when I must have dozed off but it was so seamless that I hadn't even noticed because the next thing I knew birds were circling on my bedroom ceiling, the music of course continuing- 'Feed The Birds' being the apt song that played to induce such illusions in my mind.
But as the music continued I found myself getting to my knees, hair now blowing in my fans artificial wind as I lip-synced the song in the most serious of fashion- I was watching myself from a third person perspective yet it all still felt to real; The musical climax hit and the birds still spiralled as I got to my feet on my bed- but this time as I looked to the ceiling the birds which once were doves turned to crows, and they dived at me causing me to fall back- only not onto my bed but a hard forest floor.
I lay in what seemed to be a mushroom ring and when I opened my eyes again small elf like creatures (Yes I know its falling to delirium ok hush!) stood over me and muttered words which I couldn't understand yet they spoke to me as if I should- when they realised I had no idea what they spoke of however I could see their faces twist in disgust and one word which I heard so clearly and distinctly was "Bahs-for" Which after asking around and a bit of googling I now know is actually the Scottish Gaelic word 'Bàsmhor' which means 'Mortal' which- If you know me you know I don't speak a single word of Scottish Gaelic- so being in the presence of what can only be described as Elves only for them to be speaking a language I have no knowledge of- calling me a Mortal in disgust... yeah it makes you wonder about the power of dream walking or shifting or quantum jumping- whatever you want to call it... Perhaps I was simply kidnapped by the fairies that night who knows, but when I woke up my vinyl had ended...
I'm not quite sure what I was hoping to achieve with this post, but the thing about dreams is that sometimes you just have to share them with others- see if they have had a similar vision or experience to you and maybe- just maybe- we can crack this whole dream thing wide open and figure out what they're really about.

Hello Everybody! I've never shared my work with anyone and I'm a little scared to do so. However, I feel as though these lyrics are genuinely good, so I wanted to share them with you all. I also do not have a totle for the song, so any suggestions would be appreciated!
I am the echoes of a misinformed ideal sentimentality. I am no one’s handsome toy, no one’s favorite carnality. My body now blossoming is weeded away, as fairer fruits ripen in a seductive array. Oh blessed rain of old, thy tender drops I’ve never known. For unto the fairer blooms you give way. You, oh rain, ignore me in my parched soil; I am withering away.
Dissolving, dissipating, disintegrating right before your eyes. I’m as soft as the nostalgic fetish of days gone by. I am a gentle reminder of the fate of man. I am everything you want in your hands.
I am a confused misanthropic excuse of apologies. I am the reeking odor emitting from the toils of humanity. I am sex, I am purity. I am hate, and I am love, just not love for me. I am the sacred image in the riverbed. I am the burning zealous hatred in my head. I am the epitome of unfortunate looks. I am the kind of person they tell people to fear in storybooks. Because if not beautiful, then please be dead. If not consumable, then to loneliness, thou shalt be wed. Oh, my spirit is evaporating, and escaping to imaginary blissful peace. And on the winds, fragranced with sweet melancholy memories, I leave my dissolving youth behind. I never was worth the time. The time it takes to be young and beautiful, instead I am something pitiful. My weary eyes weep for what never was and for what I have become.
Dissolving, dissipating, disintegrating right before your eyes. I’m as soft as the nostalgic fetish of days gone by. I am a gentle reminder of the fate of man. I am everything you want in your hands.
The gentle doves, graceful and ravishing, flutter by as I’m ignored in my diminishing. The freedom in their holy wings, and the iridescent morbidity of being a spectacle. How deeply I want to be a spectacle. Oh, I long for their eyes to fall on me, and their lips to hail my beauty. Yet I am below those gentle doves. They, on the words of admiration, are lifted high above. Melting off my bones is the semblance of my days, realizing they are quickly fleeting away. I gorge myself to remedy the misery of being empty of connection with humanity. Foolishly I weep for the consequences of my gluttony. How lonely I am. How very lonely I am. Oh, the bitter juxtaposition taunts me. The raging desire to be desired. Yet I fear your eyes, and the thoughts of your mind in regards to my body. In regards to my laughter, to my abilities. Please, dear God, please, let me be invisible, unperceivable completely.
Dissolving, dissipating, disintegrating right before your eyes. I’m as soft as the nostalgic fetish of days gone by. I am a gentle reminder of the fate of man. I am everything you want in your hands.
Every smile, every hour that I’m happy adds to my demise. Every moment of joy realized on my face. And in its place old age shall take what once was youth. The dissipating collagen no amount of sunscreen may soothe. I am aging, I am the deprecating form of the human being. What once was grand slipped out of my hands and now on my being are the marks of disgrace and a life lived hard. The marks of a life lived through hardship. The marks of a life lived through the laughter of lips. The marks of a life that was mine, married to sacred time.
Dissolving, dissipating, disintegrating right before your eyes. I’m as soft as the nostalgic fetish of days gone by. I am a gentle reminder of the fate of man. I am everything you want in your hands, I am absolutely nothing but a man.

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
We pulled off I-51 a little after midnight, stopping at a truck stop which was couched between the highway and a large forest.
We waited in the van for ten minutes or so. Trent had increased the sonar radius to its maximum of 30 miles a little over an hour ago. Somehow the red pings had kept up with us, holding a steady distance of around 20 miles. Considering we were averaging around 80 mph, and a coyote's top speed is only around 40 mph, we figured they had been enhanced in some way. Either that, or they shape-shifted into something faster. Regardless, now that we had stopped, we waited to see if the demon spawn would try and close the distance. Luckily, or unluckily, they didn't. They kept their 20 mile buffer, but we noticed they were beginning to spread out along the circumference of that boundary.
"We're close. They know that, so they're trying to trap us in." Trent said.
"Trying to?—more like they have."
We considered whether we should stay in the van and keep watch, but we figured that would do us little good. At their speed, they could be on us in ten minutes, which means we would need to stay up all night and keep tabs on their positions. Trent offered to stay up, of course, but I shut him down.
"The demon doesn't want to kill us now. You said it yourself. Plus, we need our rest. If they come, they come."
Trent didn't like it, but he acquiesced.
The truck stop had all the essentials: a gas station and mini mart with showers and an attached McDonald's, a large parking lot for truckers to idle and sleep, and even a section with lodging for those who wanted a more comfortable night's rest. I told Trent that he should take advantage of the showers, and after a little convincing, he agreed. While he was cleaning himself up, I patrolled the dingy, half-stocked aisles of "Daisy's Quick Mart". I probably would have been appalled at the quality of the store had I actually been paying any attention to it whatsoever. But I wasn't. I was thinking hard about what awaited me tomorrow.
During the drive, I had asked Trent why the demon would want us to return to the crash site. What did he mean that I would be 'confronting a dark entity in a place he couldn't help me'? He seemed hesitant to answer, but my little stunt outside the storage facility seemed to have sufficiently motivated him.
"When I said I've never done this before, I meant it." Trent started. "I've never done this exact thing before—meaning I've never projected someone into the past."
"So, I'm time traveling?" I asked.
"No—don't think of it like that." Trent paused, trying to come up with a good explanation. "It's more like I'm opening a window for you to look through: not a door. You're going to see the past, but you can't interact with the physicalities there. But that doesn't mean you can't interact with anything."
There was a space of silence as Trent tried to let me work out his meaning for myself. "I don't get it. Are you saying there's something I can interact with? Like what?" And then it hit me. "The demon. The demon can interact with me? Meaning what? It can kill me?"
"Meaning… I'm not exactly sure. You're going to be in a kind of psychic space. If it does damage, it won't be to your body. It'll be to your mind—or spirit. But I don't know what the limits of that damage could be. I just don't have those answers."
"If you've never done this, how do you know any of it will work?"
"That's an easy one." Trent answered. "Because it's been done to me."
There was silence.
"Look, if I know anything, I know my tech. Don't doubt that this will work. It's my job to make sure it does. I just need you to be in the right mental for this. Just because it knows your coming doesn't mean it automatically has the upper hand. It won't be able to see you unless you make contact with it first. In other words, you have to initiate contact. As long as you remain a spectator, you should be okay. Trust me. Just don't make contact."
I started pacing faster—fast enough to catch the attention of the overnight shift worker, a young man whose name I can't quite remember. I know it started with a "J". Jake, maybe? Anyway, he asked if I was alright, to which I responded in the affirmative. He left me alone for another couple passes, but when I almost ran into one of the shelves, he stood up and said, "Uh—I'm going to have to ask you to stop running around. I don't want you to hurt yourself."
I must have stared daggers at him, because he recoiled from my gaze. What's gotten into me? I thought. Then, steadying myself, I apologized. I looked around and grabbed the nearest edible looking piece of merchandise: a bag of Swedish Fish, and placed it down on the counter. "Just this, please."
The cashier rang me up. It was surprisingly cheap.
"Are you sure you're alright?" the young man asked. He was tall with brown hair. He seemed tired—maybe even more tired than me. But he also seemed kind.
I smiled as best I could and said, "No, I'm not. But there's not really anything you can do. Hell, there might not be anything I can do." I furrowed my eyebrows at my own response, realizing that imminent death may have broken my verbal filter.
On the other hand, the cashier did not seem surprised at all. "Ah, I see. It's one of those problems." He responded. "Well, hey, for what it's worth, you seem like one of the resilient ones. I think you'll be alright."
I only smiled and nodded at his mildly cryptic comment. Looking back, the whole interaction was a bit strange, but I had way too much mental clutter to recognize that in the moment. I took my Swedish Fish and walked through the anteroom which led to McDonald's. I found an open yellow booth that wasn't littered with crumpled straw sleeves and sat down, chomping mindlessly on my little red fish until Trent returned. When he arrived, he took my place, and I went to shower. After we were both clean and fed, we returned to the van. The pings were still pushed safely out of harm's way. But that didn't mean we were out of harm's way. Trent asked me if I wanted to sleep in the van, saying that "it'd be the safest place."
I thought it over. He was right, obviously. The van was not only outfitted with weapons I couldn't even begin to understand, but it was also our escape, and it would be just as difficult, if not more difficult to break into than the studio-style motel rooms with their wood doors and big windows. Still, if this was going to be my last night on earth, I wanted to sleep in a bed. A real bed. Trent understood and said he'd stay parked right outside my room for the night.
After purchasing a key from the night attendant, I moseyed over to the cement walkways which connected the twenty or so rooms. Mine was room #56, which I thought was odd since, like I said, there were only 20 rooms. I lugged in my tomato plushie and dad's old book and placed them on the queen mattress.
"I'll be right outside." Trent said after I collapsed onto the bed.
"Trent," I called out, stopping him half-way through the door.
"Yeah?"
All the blood in my body rushed up to my face as I realized my unfiltered mouth almost reflexively said the word "stay". I stared at Trent, my heart beating, my face hot. I considered asking him to sleep on the floor like my dad, but that would be childish and impolite. The alternative was to share my bed… Or I could take the floor.
"I'll just be right outside." Trent said before my mind processed a solution. "Come by if you need anything. I'll be up most of the night anyway."
"Okay," I replied in a faint voice.
Trent shut the door.
I sat atop the bedsheets and acquainted myself with my new living space. A feeling of regret closed over me as I considered that even sleeping on a carseat would have been better if it meant I didn't have to be alone. With a sigh, I turned on the bedside lamp and grabbed the book and stuffed tomato, using the tomato as a backrest as I slipped my legs under the covers and situated the book upright on my thighs. I cracked it open and was immediately blasted with a puff of dusty, old book scent. It was ripe at first, and I turned my head away to sneeze, but as I perused through the pages, the scent grew on me. It reminded me of the days growing up when I'd step into dad's study and read through one of the many volumes on cryptic topics which were at least two college degrees above my Lexile range.
I was only a couple minutes into browsing the collection of different scientific and philosophical works when I came across a page which contained highlighted text. This was unusual, as my dad would never mark up his books. He was a purist on that point. I rubbed my thumb over the yellow lines, and sure enough, it was highlighter.
The highlighted text was part of a small book by Carl Jung called "Synchronicity". There were a total of three pages that were marked, and they advanced like this:
Page 5:
The philosophical principle that underlies our conception of natural law is causality*. But if the connection between cause and effect turns out to be only statistically valid and relatively true, then the causal principle is only of relative use for explaining natural processes… That is as much to say that the connection of events may in certain circumstances be other than causal, and require another principle of explanation.*
Page 19:
…there are events which are related to one another experimentally, and in this case meaningfully*, without there being any possibility of proving that this relation is a causal one, since the "transmission" exhibits none of the known properties of energy…a situation which does not yet exist and will only occur in the future could transmit itself as a phenomenon of energy to a receiver in the present…Therefore, it cannot be a question of cause and effect, but of a falling together in time, a kind of simultaneity... "synchronicity"*
Page 22:
A young woman I was treating had, at a critical moment, a dream in which she was given a golden scarab. While she was telling me this dream I sat with my back to the closed window. Suddenly I heard a noise behind me, like a gentle tapping. I turned round and saw a flying insect knocking against the window pane from outside. I opened the window and caught the creature in the air as it flew in. It was the nearest analogy to a golden scarab that one finds in our latitudes, a scarabaeid beetle, the common rose-chafer… which contrary to its usual habits had evidently felt an urge to get into a dark room at this particular moment.
I flipped through the rest of the pages of the book. There was no more highlighted text, but there was a message on the last page which read:
Matthew 7:7-8
I'll meet you in the darkest place.
He also included his typical smiley face which had an ovular shape and three sprouts of hair which I now realized kind of resembled my tomato plushie. It was my dad's writing, of course. But why? And how? What did this mean?
The motel had a Bible stashed away in the nighstand drawer. I got it out and looked up the verses which read the following:
Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you: for every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.
I spent maybe an hour ruminating on all of this. The whole discourse on energy and causality and a "falling together in time" just seemed so right. It was clear that my dad definitely did know what I was going through, but for whatever reason, he made it seem like he was oblivious. Why had he hidden that from me? I felt like I was being pulled in two directions. On the one hand, my dad loved me enough to leave this note, maybe even knowing the exact moment I'd need it. But on the other hand, he had neglected my struggles throughout my entire childhood. He even lied at times. Was this really enough to make up for all of that?
And then there was the section about the future transmitting energy to the past. I read back through the whole paragraph and the original writer had meant it to say this as something that wasn't possible, but my dad's highlighting made it seem like he wanted to flip the meaning. The future does affect the past. I thought about where I was headed and wondered if I would soon discover that for myself.
Lastly, dad's message. The Bible verse reminded me of the first time I prayed; how I reached out to God and received peace as an answer to my prayer. Now I feel like I'm actively seeking… something, but I don't know yet what I'll find. And then there's knocking. At first that reminded me of the story with the beetle tapping on the window, but then I went back even deeper in my memory and dug out the monster tapping at my window, and the words my dad spoke to me in order to set my mind at ease: "you're a superhero. And you know what your greatest superpower is? Your greatest power is you get to tell the monsters what to do. Because the monsters are only as strong as the stories you tell about them…so if you're ever scared, honey, just dream up a better story."
I was crying into my stuffed tomato now. I felt like all the blinking pieces of my life had finally been pulled together into a completed puzzle. This was all by design. My entire life, filled with so much chaos and confusion, was actually preparing me for this moment. And my dad thought I had the tools and strength enough to get through it. I flipped through the book one more time, thinking maybe he had left some other hidden comment—some formula to defeat this demon and return home. But there was nothing. Only that one comment: "I'll meet you in the darkest place."
What's the darkest place, dad? Is that where I'm going? Are you saying you'll be there, too?
With those thoughts in mind, my eyes became heavy shutters which, with a slight pressure on the pulley, winded shut. My swimming thoughts and firework-like fears dissipated, and I returned to a precious childhood memory. It was after an evening soccer practice. Summer. Dad was driving me to Dairy Queen. I got a cherry-dipped twist cone. I was happy.
So, so happy.
***
I woke up to sunlight blaring through my windows. Shit, I overslept, was my immediate thought. I threw off my covers and opened the front door. A glance at the clock showed 1:13 PM. I shouldn't have even been allowed to stay checked in this long. Damn, am I gonna get double-billed for this?
I heard a rummaging sound around the corner of my motel room. It sounded like a squirrel was trying to find an afternoon snack in one of the garbage bins. I stepped outside. The sun was extremely bright, to the point where I had to squint and put my hand over my eyes to even see the ground in front of me. I was trying to walk toward the van, but somehow I ended up in front of the trash bins where the animal's tail was sticking out from a turned-over, silver garbage can. Its tail was wagging excitedly, and I remember thinking that it was much too large to be a squirrel.
The animal bent down as if biting onto something, and I heard the sound of its growl as it struggled to tug whatever it was free from the barrel. Inch by inch, the creature backed out of the canister, and more of its sharp, sticky hair was revealed. I heard something snap, then the creature leapt back and I saw what it was chomping on. My eyes widened in horror as the pink tube of a human intestine was pulled taut like the end of a tangled hose. Blood and entrails were spilling out of the human's opened gut. And then, behind the canine, I saw the person's face. His face was pale white, his eyes closed, and his hair was slicked back… It was Trent.
Before I could react, I heard footsteps approaching from behind. I whirled around and saw my dad. But—no, it wasn't him. It was someone wearing a paper-mache face mask that was painted to look like my dad. The forehead of the mask was already beginning to crack, white specks breaking off like sawdust. Through the cracks, I could see the figure's true form. I didn't know darkness had its own type of light, but that's the only way to describe it. It was as if malevolence itself was reified into a skin which was actually an amalgamation of millions of little, oozing parasites that leached into the nearby light. When it finally spoke, the demon's voice was a full octave lower than the old man's at the deli. And it had an earth-stilling gravitas.
"Today's the day!" He sang and reached into his pocket. His lips curled upward into a foxy smirk. "You have no idea how long I've waited for this day." He said and held up a razor blade. Half his facade had already fallen apart, and now I could see the bugs up close, writhing in what was either horror or ecstasy. And his scent… it was somehow more rank than the rabid coyote rummaging through the trash can with Trent's cut open body inside. The demon closed in on my position, and in one, decisive motion, he brought the blade close to his chin, then sliced it across my throat. "Wake up!" He screamed.
I jumped out of my bed and grabbed my throat, feeling the cold sting of its quick slice. Hyperventilating, I patted the area down, trying to hold the blood in, but when I removed my hands, I saw they were dry. It was only a dream, I thought. Gray light was only beginning to filter in through the drapes. I'm in my hotel room. I'm safe. I tried consoling, but the pragmatic mental massages weren't enough to hold the force of my knees buckling. I dropped onto the carpet and cried for a long while.
Outside, rain was beginning to fall.
***
By the time I met up with Trent, I had already composed myself and decided to keep my dad's message and the nightmare to myself. None of it seemed particularly productive from a logistical standpoint, anyway. And I wanted to focus on the mission.
We stopped by McDonald's and bought a couple cups of coffee. Trent asked if I wanted any food, and I declined. Black coffee seemed like the only thing my stomach could take at the present moment. I could tell Trent was hungry, but he tried playing it off (I guess to be respectful of me?) I told him to knock it off and get something to eat. I didn't need my Charon getting lightheaded and dropping the paddle before he finished rowing me to Hell. He didn't care much for my joke, but he ordered a couple Chicken McGriddles at the kiosk anyway.
There were maybe ten patrons spread throughout the restaurant. We sat down at the same booth from the prior night, this time across from one another. Trent spent the first ten minutes or so babbling about our fuel supply and the logistics of the trip from here on in. Practical stuff. I've come to realize that's how he deals with his stress. He talks it out in short, durable sentences. I mostly nodded and watched as what looked like a storm front closed in on the truck stop. The sky was overcast, and there were darker clouds in the distance. The rain was still only a patter, but a middle-aged man wearing a yellow bow tie on the wall-mounted TV confirmed that there would be heavier rain and thunderstorms very soon.
After the worker delivered Trent's food and he ate it in record time, I posed the one question that was still on my mind.
"How do I fight him?" I asked.
Trent finished a large gulp of his coffee, then looked at me. It was the first substantial thing I'd said all morning; Trent could tell something was off with me, but he figured there was no point in asking what it was. "By 'him', I assume you mean the demon?"
I nodded.
Trent licked his teeth clean. "You could try praying again."
"I'm serious," I responded.
"I'm serious, too. It worked before, didn't it?"
"You mean at my house?"
Trent nodded.
"I thought you weren't a religious man?"
"I'm not. Just a practical one. If praying worked before, maybe it'll work again."
"That's the best you've got? A maybe?"
"No, I've got a lot of shit better than a maybe." He answered. "It's just not accessible where you're going. Which is why I recommend not making contact on the first run."
"First run? So we're going to do this more than once?"
"At least," Trent answered. Then, seeing my expression, he continued. "What? You thought this was going to be a one-and-done? We have to conduct some research first. I did tell you this was new for me, right?"
Somehow Trent's response had set my mind at ease a little. I was going to have more than one chance. Of course, why wouldn't I be able to go back more than once?
"Why didn't you tell me this earlier? It would have gone a long way in easing my mind."
Trent lifted his hands in defense. "Sorry, I just thought that was a given. I mean, what we're doing is dangerous, just like I said, but it doesn't mean we aren't going to approach this as safely and scientifically as possible. However, there is a different problem with running multiple trials."
"The Organization?"
"That's right," Trent said like a proud parent. "Our little experiment will be like a giant spotlight, and the longer we wait around after it's on us, the greater the chance we'll have unwelcome company."
"So, safe but speedy."
"Safe but speedy. Exactly."
***
We fueled up and were back on the road a little after 8:00. From that point on, Trent and I were absolutely silent. I had the distinct feeling of being in the eye of a storm. The pings moved closer commensurate with our progress toward the crash site. The cloudfront continued its advance. And I noticed a haze beginning to descend onto the road ahead of us. It was fog.
We meandered further inland, the forest thickening around us until the rain almost stopped entirely—the leaves drinking it up before it fell onto our windshield. I kept my eyes on the radar. We were approaching the large yellow circle which indicated we had arrived. As we pulled closer, I began to feel things. Fear. Eeriness. Doubt. Then happiness. Hope. Love. Normally feelings like these had a clear source to picture, but these sensations came on in waves without any discernible reason. It was almost as if they were blinking into existence inside me.
"Here we go," Trent said like an airline pilot readying his crew for turbulence.
I still recall the exact moment we crossed the boundary into the area of higher energy. It was like something just "clicked" in my brain, and all of a sudden everything felt so much closer. The sound of the rain against the trees was almost right next to my ear. The trees in the distance would oscillate between their position a half-mile out, then suddenly seem five meters away. If I focused on something long enough, it began to radiate those same ethereal particles as when Trent released Ava's "phase lock". I checked to make sure the shifter wasn't set to "TD". Sure enough, it was still in drive.
"Can you see them?" Trent asked. "The shifts?"
"Yeah," I said in a dreamy voice. I felt like I was driving through a wonderland.
"It's the energy. I barely notice a difference. A bit of movement in the trees, but not much else. But I'm sure for you, it's a whole experience."
"What is this?" I raised my hand and caught some of the pixel dust dripping off the sun visor. It disappeared when it made contact with my hand.
"It's a kind of radiation. Everything emits it, just in different quantities. I'm still not exactly sure how it relates to the other realms, but I'm guessing it's a kind of primordial matter that helps connect our worlds."
"It's beautiful," I exclaimed. "I wish I could see the world like this all the time."
"Maybe you will," Trent whispered.
As we arrived at the crash site, I began to get glimpses of the past. My childhood dreams and memories were pushing their way out from my subconscious. I noticed an increased number of blinks, which were validated by Ava who reported the following: "Currently detecting 14,350 novel emergences and 2,777 controlled agents. Net anomalies: 2,777."
"That's a lot of blinks." I remarked. "Why doesn't Ava include them in the net anomalies?"
Trent turned his head so I could see his smirk. "Because blinks aren't anomalies."
I thought about it for a second. Blinks aren't anomalies. "I never thought about it that way."
"It's hard to think about it that way when 'normal' for most people means not picking up on a fundamental aspect of reality. But that doesn't make it any less real."
We continued past the epicenter of the yellow circle. "Are we not stopping?" I asked. "I think we already passed the crash site."
"It doesn't have to be exactly at the site," Trent said. "Plus, we don't want to stop on the side of the road and risk getting some civilian involved. There's a field about half a mile up ahead. I'm going to pull off the road and set up camp there.
The "field" that Trent was referring to was actually a large clearing that dipped down into several trench-like troughs which were filled to the brim with fog like witches cauldrons. Further on in the distance, I saw open fields, probably used for farming, and then a large hill where the trees once again reasserted themselves. We had pulled off the road and up a small incline where the trees had already been broken down, leaving a trail for us to drive through. When we surfaced at the edge of the clearing, Trent pulled us onto a flat bed of dried mud which was maybe thirty yards long.
"Here," he said with a sigh.
We both sat for a minute, looking around at the field. We had finally arrived. The rain was beginning to pick up, and the dark sky made it almost impossible to discern the time of day.
"You ready?" Trent asked.
I looked at him. Really looked at him. In his blue eyes. Was I ready? Did it even matter?
"Let's do this," I said.
***
This was the first time I was really able to inspect the back of Trent's van. He had talked up his gear a lot, and honestly, I was impressed. Not in the way that a scientist is impressed by another scientist's lab—I wasn't any kind of expert—but it still seemed remarkably well managed. Now that I was in a state where my vision had been enhanced, I could actually see the enigmatic particles circulating through the pneumatic tubes which were coiled like the pipes and valves of an elaborate wind instrument. The walls of the van, itself, were glistening white, making it easier to make out everything else inside. Along the floor were five overturned columns. Each column was dark and had a vibrating quality, as if they were charged with energy. Then atop the center three columns was a small altar which supported an apparatus with two skinny, metal arms holding a silver halo. At present, the arms were folded and the halo was suspended a few inches above the altar, faced-down. I thought maybe I'd see particles exuding from it, but instead it was emitting visible waves which bent and warped everything they touched.
"That thing is emitting a lot of energy." I remarked, gesturing toward the halo.
Trent stepped in between the columns and started pulling out the packages he had stuffed in there yesterday. "Just wait till' it's on."
Most of the packages contained only a single piece of equipment, and were otherwise packed with foam peanuts. We carefully removed each box and set them on the ground outside. I asked if the rain would damage any of the stuff inside, to which Trent only laughed and continued lugging out the boxes. When they were all out, Trent removed a box cutter from his pocket and went one-by-one opening them. There were eight pieces in total.
"What is it?" I asked as we fished the first item out.
"It's another apparatus, like the one inside. Except it'll mount on the ground out here."
I pulled out what looked like a metal tripod.
"Good, that'll go on the bottom."
"Where are we setting it up?"
"Over here," Trent said and stepped five paces away from the van. He coordinated himself up so he was centrally aligned with the inner ring, then stomped a few times. "This is the spot."
As we continued to work, I asked Trent about how the whole contraption works.
"Do you remember the first time we were in the van? When we had to escape from the semi-truck?" Trent asked and connected a secondary mounting apparatus on top of the tripod. It had four spider-like legs that made right angles and stuck into the ground.
"Of course," I said. "The 'phase lock'."
"Yeah," Trent said and gestured toward the metal stick that was in my hand. I handed it to him. "The phase lock is a seal on the level of energy that the van is allowed to release. It also controls its dispersion pattern so that it releases its energy in a steady wave. This allows Ava to scan for anomalies without causing us to become an anomaly." Trent stuck the plank into the neck of the tripod.
"So when you released the phase lock, we started emitting more energy."
"That's right." Trent confirmed. "Enough to create an alternate route through a different realm."
"So we blinked into a different realm, then back, just to avoid that truck?"
"That's right."
"But why couldn't we just move out of the way?"
"Because it had locked onto us. It was tracking our motion and adjusting its course based on the amount of energy we were emitting. So in order to escape, we had to radically skew our potential energy and then use it to shift."
"Couldn't he have just followed us?"
Trent connected four more pieces to the device which now looked like an elaborate teepee. He was fishing in the last box when he spoke again. "Yeah, he could have. But it was highly improbable that he would have found us." Trent returned from the bottom of the box with another silver ring in hand. "Think of it like this. Let's say you're trying to escape from some bad guy who's coming after you, and you enter a new room you've never seen before. Would you prefer this room to have three doors to go through, or ten?"
I thought about his riddle for a second, then responded, "It depends where they go."
Trent fastened the ring atop the teepee. "Let's say they all lead to random places, or let's say they're all closets that lead nowhere. The key is that more is better, because the more doors he has to check, the less likely he is to pick the correct one. Make sense?"
"So we opened up a bunch of doors and escaped through one at random?"
"Hence the gear 'TD', for 'Trap Door'."
I marveled at the insights, but not for long. Trent hopped back in the van and pulled a lever that I hadn't seen until now. The two metal arms raised the inner ring until it was perpendicular with the altar. Then Trent clicked one of three red buttons along the back wall, and I saw what looked like a large, glass eye suspended in a magnifying glass protruding from the wall, aligned with the center of both rings. A couple seconds later, the glass eye began to focus the energy which was being fed to it from the pneumatic tubes, and a blue pyramid of light projected from it into the first ring, then from the first ring into the second ring. All three pieces were aligned at slightly diminishing heights, so the cylinder of light beamed through the second ring, into the ground.
"Alright, time for the first trial."
I felt the nerves starting up in my stomach. Trent sensed this and hopped out of the truck. It was raining quite hard now, though it was still warm. Both Trent and I were soaked, but that hardly concerned us. He reached out and put his hand on my shoulder. "I know you're feeling scared." He said. "But trust me on this. You're going to do fine. Just keep in mind what we talked about. Stay a spectator. Okay?"
I looked into his blue eyes, which seemed especially gray in the dark. Still, Trent's voice was reassuring. All I had to do was trust him. Trust myself. Trust my dad. And it was all going to turn out right.
"I'm ready," I said.
Trent was still for a second, holding my eyes in his. Then he guided me behind the outer ring and into the cylinder of light.
"I should step into it now?" I asked, afraid I'd be called away immediately.
"It's not on yet, so don't worry. I still have to press another button."
I followed Trent's instructions and stood in the blue light which was centered on my chest. Then I watched as Trent ran into the back of the van and posted up next to the glass eye. "Ready?" He yelled out. It was hard to hear him over the rain, but I yelled back. "Ready!"
The next thing I saw was a blinding blue light beam from the van. I heard what sounded like a laser, then saw the cylinder oscillate, expanding and compressing. When the energy reached the second ring, I saw everything around me light up—it looked brighter than noon on a cloudless day. Then the oscillations made their way to me, and I was swallowed up whole.
***
When I came to, I was in the backseat of a car. I felt my butt rumbling. Everything was dim and quiet. And then I heard a woman's voice from in front of me.
"Mark, please, not with Lauren in the back."
The man, who I now identified as my father, pulled the cigarette away from his lips and blew the smoke at my mom. He eyed the back seat where I was sitting, using one of five markers that hadn't rolled off my lap to color a rabbit in my animal color book.
"The kid's fine." he said and took another drag.
"Mark," my mom repeated.
I saw my dad raise his hand in a rapid motion. "I said she's fine, Cheryl. Now check the map and make sure we're going the right away. I can't see shit with all this fog."
I took a moment to make sure I was really in the back seat. I patted myself. I clearly had weight. Then I tried touching the car. At first, my fingertips met a solid surface, but when I tried to press through, my hand slipped into the car. I quickly pulled my hand away as if I had reached into a fire.
That's when I heard the little three year old next to me start crying. I turned and saw that little-me had dropped another couple markers onto the ground and was struggling to reach them.
"Hey!" my dad shouted. "What did I say about crying?"
"Quit it, Mark. She just dropped her markers." said my mom; she turned to help me pick them up.
"What did you say to me?" Mark spat with a voice full of guile. He reached out and pushed her back into her seat. "Don't," he commanded. "She has to learn how to deal with life."
"Deal…" My mom started in disbelief. "Deal with life? Do you hear yourself? What's gotten into you?"
"Sometimes shit happens. It doesn't give her the right to cry. You helping her is just going to reinforce her behavior."
"Her behavior? What about your behavior? You're acting like a total dick."
I didn't even have a moment to react before my dad's hand was across my mom's face. I felt the slap more than I heard it, my own face seeming to swell with the force of the blow. I saw my mom cover her mouth and lean away. Then little-me began to cry even louder, which only challenged my dad to step up his own volume.
"Everyone needs to get a fucking grip before I crash this car." My dad shouted and took another drag. The scariest part was I couldn't tell if he was warning us or threatening us. I felt the sudden urge to do something. There was no way this was real. I was definitely in some fantasy concocted by the demon. He wanted to turn me against my dad. That was the only explanation for something like this. My dad was a good man, not… this.
As I contemplated what to do, I saw a small, golden light appear behind little-me's window. Apparently she saw it, too, because her cries hushed as she traced the wisp with her eyes. After a second, the wisp transformed into a bunny rabbit, reminiscent of the one she was coloring. The rabbit hopped alongside the window, then did a couple circles in place. I watched little me let out a playful laugh and reach toward the window.
"What's going on back there?" my dad asked with a scowl. Apparently the only sound more disturbing than cries were laughs.
I looked back to the front and saw my mom wiping blood from her lip. Her expression was miserable. "Leave her alone, Mark."
"I'll do whatever I damn well want to do, Cheryl. It's my kid back there."
My mom was quiet.
When I looked back toward the rabbit, it was no longer a rabbit but a person. Or at least it looked like a person. The figure radiated pure gold, and atop his head was what appeared to be a King's crown. I recalled Allison's experience of seeing the sun-like figure in her moment of distress. Was that what was happening here? Was this really all true?
"Hey!" My dad shouted, eyeing little-me from the rear-view mirror. "What are you reaching at?"
I looked and saw the golden figure extending his hand toward the window, and little me's hand was reaching back. "Mom, dad, it bright." little-me said.
"What's bright, honey?" my mom asked.
"Don't encourage her, Cheryl."
"Someone there!" little me shouted happily and dropped the rest of the markers and the coloring book onto the ground.
"Who's there?" asked my mom.
"Cheryl, I swear to God. Sit the fuck down."
Everything from that moment on happened so quickly I barely had any time to process it. My mom lifted out of her seat to either get little me's attention or help me pick up my coloring book. My dad responded by grabbing onto her throat, letting go of the steering wheel entirely. He threw her back against the car door, and her head hit the window so hard, the glass cracked. My dad had dropped his cigarette, and I could smell smoke coming from under his seat, but that didn't seem to bother him at all. He turned toward little-me at the same moment my three-year-old hand reached out and grabbed onto the golden figure, whose hand diffused through the window. When my dad turned, I got a whiff of the most awful smell that I wouldn't have been able to place had I not had that nightmare last night. He grabbed onto little-me's shoulder and tugged her away from the golden figure that was trying to pull her the other way. My dad's facade began to crack, and I could see those dark bugs crawling out from the pores in his arms, marching down toward little-me.
I reacted.
I grabbed onto my dad's arm and pulled him off little-me. I heard the sound of my shirt ripping as she was torn from his grip and pulled out of the car, diffusing through it like a ghost. My brief victory was immediately overturned as I saw what was now clearly the demon smiling at me, his wretched fingers curled around my forearm.
"Caught you," He sneered.
Then the whole world once again diffused into countless numbers of particles, only this time, instead of riding through it, I felt like I was falling through an elevator shaft with each floor darker than the last. The further I fell, the less I became aware of my surroundings, and the more I felt a deep sense of loneliness. It was as if I was the only person in the whole world: and the whole world was a prison designed entirely for me. This went on for so long, I began to forget who I was. Where I was. What was.
And then I landed.
***
Source Used:
Jung, Carl. Synchronicity. Translated by Sonu Shamdasani, Princeton University Press, 2010.

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Content Warning: Domestic Abuse
***
We pulled off I-51 a little after midnight, stopping at a truck stop which was couched between the highway and a large forest.
We waited in the van for ten minutes or so. Trent had increased the sonar radius to its maximum of 30 miles a little over an hour ago. Somehow the red pings had kept up with us, holding a steady distance of around 20 miles. Considering we were averaging around 80 mph, and a coyote's top speed is only around 40 mph, we figured they had been enhanced in some way. Either that, or they shape-shifted into something faster. Regardless, now that we had stopped, we waited to see if the demon spawn would try and close the distance. Luckily, or unluckily, they didn't. They kept their 20 mile buffer, but we noticed they were beginning to spread out along the circumference of that boundary.
"We're close. They know that, so they're trying to trap us in." Trent said.
"Trying to?—more like they have."
We considered whether we should stay in the van and keep watch, but we figured that would do us little good. At their speed, they could be on us in ten minutes, which means we would need to stay up all night and keep tabs on their positions. Trent offered to stay up, of course, but I shut him down.
"The demon doesn't want to kill us now. You said it yourself. Plus, we need our rest. If they come, they come."
Trent didn't like it, but he acquiesced.
The truck stop had all the essentials: a gas station and mini mart with showers and an attached McDonald's, a large parking lot for truckers to idle and sleep, and even a section with lodging for those who wanted a more comfortable night's rest. I told Trent that he should take advantage of the showers, and after a little convincing, he agreed. While he was cleaning himself up, I patrolled the dingy, half-stocked aisles of "Daisy's Quick Mart". I probably would have been appalled at the quality of the store had I actually been paying any attention to it whatsoever. But I wasn't. I was thinking hard about what awaited me tomorrow.
During the drive, I had asked Trent why the demon would want us to return to the crash site. What did he mean that I would be 'confronting a dark entity in a place he couldn't help me'? He seemed hesitant to answer, but my little stunt outside the storage facility seemed to have sufficiently motivated him.
"When I said I've never done this before, I meant it." Trent started. "I've never done this exact thing before—meaning I've never projected someone into the past."
"So, I'm time traveling?" I asked.
"No—don't think of it like that." Trent paused, trying to come up with a good explanation. "It's more like I'm opening a window for you to look through: not a door. You're going to see the past, but you can't interact with the physicalities there. But that doesn't mean you can't interact with anything."
There was a space of silence as Trent tried to let me work out his meaning for myself. "I don't get it. Are you saying there's something I can interact with? Like what?" And then it hit me. "The demon. The demon can interact with me? Meaning what? It can kill me?"
"Meaning… I'm not exactly sure. You're going to be in a kind of psychic space. If it does damage, it won't be to your body. It'll be to your mind—or spirit. But I don't know what the limits of that damage could be. I just don't have those answers."
"If you've never done this, how do you know any of it will work?"
"That's an easy one." Trent answered. "Because it's been done to me."
There was silence.
"Look, if I know anything, I know my tech. Don't doubt that this will work. It's my job to make sure it does. I just need you to be in the right mental for this. Just because it knows your coming doesn't mean it automatically has the upper hand. It won't be able to see you unless you make contact with it first. In other words, you have to initiate contact. As long as you remain a spectator, you should be okay. Trust me. Just don't make contact."
I started pacing faster—fast enough to catch the attention of the overnight shift worker, a young man whose name I can't quite remember. I know it started with a "J". Jake, maybe? Anyway, he asked if I was alright, to which I responded in the affirmative. He left me alone for another couple passes, but when I almost ran into one of the shelves, he stood up and said, "Uh—I'm going to have to ask you to stop running around. I don't want you to hurt yourself."
I must have stared daggers at him, because he recoiled from my gaze. What's gotten into me? I thought. Then, steadying myself, I apologized. I looked around and grabbed the nearest edible looking piece of merchandise: a bag of Swedish Fish, and placed it down on the counter. "Just this, please."
The cashier rang me up. It was surprisingly cheap.
"Are you sure you're alright?" the young man asked. He was tall with brown hair. He seemed tired—maybe even more tired than me. But he also seemed kind.
I smiled as best I could and said, "No, I'm not. But there's not really anything you can do. Hell, there might not be anything I can do." I furrowed my eyebrows at my own response, realizing that imminent death may have broken my verbal filter.
On the other hand, the cashier did not seem surprised at all. "Ah, I see. It's one of those problems." He responded. "Well, hey, for what it's worth, you seem like one of the resilient ones. I think you'll be alright."
I only smiled and nodded at his mildly cryptic comment. Looking back, the whole interaction was a bit strange, but I had way too much mental clutter to recognize that in the moment. I took my Swedish Fish and walked through the anteroom which led to McDonald's. I found an open yellow booth that wasn't littered with crumpled straw sleeves and sat down, chomping mindlessly on my little red fish until Trent returned. When he arrived, he took my place, and I went to shower. After we were both clean and fed, we returned to the van. The pings were still pushed safely out of harm's way. But that didn't mean we were out of harm's way. Trent asked me if I wanted to sleep in the van, saying that "it'd be the safest place."
I thought it over. He was right, obviously. The van was not only outfitted with weapons I couldn't even begin to understand, but it was also our escape, and it would be just as difficult, if not more difficult to break into than the studio-style motel rooms with their wood doors and big windows. Still, if this was going to be my last night on earth, I wanted to sleep in a bed. A real bed. Trent understood and said he'd stay parked right outside my room for the night.
After purchasing a key from the night attendant, I moseyed over to the cement walkways which connected the twenty or so rooms. Mine was room #56, which I thought was odd since, like I said, there were only 20 rooms. I lugged in my tomato plushie and dad's old book and placed them on the queen mattress.
"I'll be right outside." Trent said after I collapsed onto the bed.
"Trent," I called out, stopping him half-way through the door.
"Yeah?"
All the blood in my body rushed up to my face as I realized my unfiltered mouth almost reflexively said the word "stay". I stared at Trent, my heart beating, my face hot. I considered asking him to sleep on the floor like my dad, but that would be childish and impolite. The alternative was to share my bed… Or I could take the floor.
"I'll just be right outside." Trent said before my mind processed a solution. "Come by if you need anything. I'll be up most of the night anyway."
"Okay," I replied in a faint voice.
Trent shut the door.
I sat atop the bedsheets and acquainted myself with my new living space. A feeling of regret closed over me as I considered that even sleeping on a carseat would have been better if it meant I didn't have to be alone. With a sigh, I turned on the bedside lamp and grabbed the book and stuffed tomato, using the tomato as a backrest as I slipped my legs under the covers and situated the book upright on my thighs. I cracked it open and was immediately blasted with a puff of dusty, old book scent. It was ripe at first, and I turned my head away to sneeze, but as I perused through the pages, the scent grew on me. It reminded me of the days growing up when I'd step into dad's study and read through one of the many volumes on cryptic topics which were at least two college degrees above my Lexile range.
I was only a couple minutes into browsing the collection of different scientific and philosophical works when I came across a page which contained highlighted text. This was unusual, as my dad would never mark up his books. He was a purist on that point. I rubbed my thumb over the yellow lines, and sure enough, it was highlighter.
The highlighted text was part of a small book by Carl Jung called "Synchronicity". There were a total of three pages that were marked, and they advanced like this:
Page 5:
The philosophical principle that underlies our conception of natural law is causality*. But if the connection between cause and effect turns out to be only statistically valid and relatively true, then the causal principle is only of relative use for explaining natural processes… That is as much to say that the connection of events may in certain circumstances be other than causal, and require another principle of explanation.*
Page 19:
…there are events which are related to one another experimentally, and in this case meaningfully*, without there being any possibility of proving that this relation is a causal one, since the "transmission" exhibits none of the known properties of energy…a situation which does not yet exist and will only occur in the future could transmit itself as a phenomenon of energy to a receiver in the present…Therefore, it cannot be a question of cause and effect, but of a falling together in time, a kind of simultaneity... "synchronicity"*
Page 22:
A young woman I was treating had, at a critical moment, a dream in which she was given a golden scarab. While she was telling me this dream I sat with my back to the closed window. Suddenly I heard a noise behind me, like a gentle tapping. I turned round and saw a flying insect knocking against the window pane from outside. I opened the window and caught the creature in the air as it flew in. It was the nearest analogy to a golden scarab that one finds in our latitudes, a scarabaeid beetle, the common rose-chafer… which contrary to its usual habits had evidently felt an urge to get into a dark room at this particular moment.
I flipped through the rest of the pages of the book. There was no more highlighted text, but there was a message on the last page which read:
Matthew 7:7-8
I'll meet you in the darkest place.
He also included his typical smiley face which had an ovular shape and three sprouts of hair which I now realized kind of resembled my tomato plushie. It was my dad's writing, of course. But why? And how? What did this mean?
The motel had a Bible stashed away in the nighstand drawer. I got it out and looked up the verses which read the following:
Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you: for every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.
I spent maybe an hour ruminating on all of this. The whole discourse on energy and causality and a "falling together in time" just seemed so right. It was clear that my dad definitely did know what I was going through, but for whatever reason, he made it seem like he was oblivious. Why had he hidden that from me? I felt like I was being pulled in two directions. On the one hand, my dad loved me enough to leave this note, maybe even knowing the exact moment I'd need it. But on the other hand, he had neglected my struggles throughout my entire childhood. He even lied at times. Was this really enough to make up for all of that?
And then there was the section about the future transmitting energy to the past. I read back through the whole paragraph and the original writer had meant it to say this as something that wasn't possible, but my dad's highlighting made it seem like he wanted to flip the meaning. The future does affect the past. I thought about where I was headed and wondered if I would soon discover that for myself.
Lastly, dad's message. The Bible verse reminded me of the first time I prayed; how I reached out to God and received peace as an answer to my prayer. Now I feel like I'm actively seeking… something, but I don't know yet what I'll find. And then there's knocking. At first that reminded me of the story with the beetle tapping on the window, but then I went back even deeper in my memory and dug out the monster tapping at my window, and the words my dad spoke to me in order to set my mind at ease: "you're a superhero. And you know what your greatest superpower is? Your greatest power is you get to tell the monsters what to do. Because the monsters are only as strong as the stories you tell about them…so if you're ever scared, honey, just dream up a better story."
I was crying into my stuffed tomato now. I felt like all the blinking pieces of my life had finally been pulled together into a completed puzzle. This was all by design. My entire life, filled with so much chaos and confusion, was actually preparing me for this moment. And my dad thought I had the tools and strength enough to get through it. I flipped through the book one more time, thinking maybe he had left some other hidden comment—some formula to defeat this demon and return home. But there was nothing. Only that one comment: "I'll meet you in the darkest place."
What's the darkest place, dad? Is that where I'm going? Are you saying you'll be there, too?
With those thoughts in mind, my eyes became heavy shutters which, with a slight pressure on the pulley, winded shut. My swimming thoughts and firework-like fears dissipated, and I returned to a precious childhood memory. It was after an evening soccer practice. Summer. Dad was driving me to Dairy Queen. I got a cherry-dipped twist cone. I was happy.
So, so happy.
***
I woke up to sunlight blaring through my windows. Shit, I overslept, was my immediate thought. I threw off my covers and opened the front door. A glance at the clock showed 1:13 PM. I shouldn't have even been allowed to stay checked in this long. Damn, am I gonna get double-billed for this?
I heard a rummaging sound around the corner of my motel room. It sounded like a squirrel was trying to find an afternoon snack in one of the garbage bins. I stepped outside. The sun was extremely bright, to the point where I had to squint and put my hand over my eyes to even see the ground in front of me. I was trying to walk toward the van, but somehow I ended up in front of the trash bins where the animal's tail was sticking out from a turned-over, silver garbage can. Its tail was wagging excitedly, and I remember thinking that it was much too large to be a squirrel.
The animal bent down as if biting onto something, and I heard the sound of its growl as it struggled to tug whatever it was free from the barrel. Inch by inch, the creature backed out of the canister, and more of its sharp, sticky hair was revealed. I heard something snap, then the creature leapt back and I saw what it was chomping on. My eyes widened in horror as the pink tube of a human intestine was pulled taut like the end of a tangled hose. Blood and entrails were spilling out of the human's opened gut. And then, behind the canine, I saw the person's face. His face was pale white, his eyes closed, and his hair was slicked back… It was Trent.
Before I could react, I heard footsteps approaching from behind. I whirled around and saw my dad. But—no, it wasn't him. It was someone wearing a paper-mache face mask that was painted to look like my dad. The forehead of the mask was already beginning to crack, white specks breaking off like sawdust. Through the cracks, I could see the figure's true form. I didn't know darkness had its own type of light, but that's the only way to describe it. It was as if malevolence itself was reified into a skin which was actually an amalgamation of millions of little, oozing parasites that leached into the nearby light. When it finally spoke, the demon's voice was a full octave lower than the old man's at the deli. And it had an earth-stilling gravitas.
"Today's the day!" He sang and reached into his pocket. His lips curled upward into a foxy smirk. "You have no idea how long I've waited for this day." He said and held up a razor blade. Half his facade had already fallen apart, and now I could see the bugs up close, writhing in what was either horror or ecstasy. And his scent… it was somehow more rank than the rabid coyote rummaging through the trash can with Trent's cut open body inside. The demon closed in on my position, and in one, decisive motion, he brought the blade close to his chin, then sliced it across my throat. "Wake up!" He screamed.
I jumped out of my bed and grabbed my throat, feeling the cold sting of its quick slice. Hyperventilating, I patted the area down, trying to hold the blood in, but when I removed my hands, I saw they were dry. It was only a dream, I thought. Gray light was only beginning to filter in through the drapes. I'm in my hotel room. I'm safe. I tried consoling, but the pragmatic mental massages weren't enough to hold the force of my knees buckling. I dropped onto the carpet and cried for a long while.
Outside, rain was beginning to fall.
***
By the time I met up with Trent, I had already composed myself and decided to keep my dad's message and the nightmare to myself. None of it seemed particularly productive from a logistical standpoint, anyway. And I wanted to focus on the mission.
We stopped by McDonald's and bought a couple cups of coffee. Trent asked if I wanted any food, and I declined. Black coffee seemed like the only thing my stomach could take at the present moment. I could tell Trent was hungry, but he tried playing it off (I guess to be respectful of me?) I told him to knock it off and get something to eat. I didn't need my Charon getting lightheaded and dropping the paddle before he finished rowing me to Hell. He didn't care much for my joke, but he ordered a couple Chicken McGriddles at the kiosk anyway.
There were maybe ten patrons spread throughout the restaurant. We sat down at the same booth from the prior night, this time across from one another. Trent spent the first ten minutes or so babbling about our fuel supply and the logistics of the trip from here on in. Practical stuff. I've come to realize that's how he deals with his stress. He talks it out in short, durable sentences. I mostly nodded and watched as what looked like a storm front closed in on the truck stop. The sky was overcast, and there were darker clouds in the distance. The rain was still only a patter, but a middle-aged man wearing a yellow bow tie on the wall-mounted TV confirmed that there would be heavier rain and thunderstorms very soon.
After the worker delivered Trent's food and he ate it in record time, I posed the one question that was still on my mind.
"How do I fight him?" I asked.
Trent finished a large gulp of his coffee, then looked at me. It was the first substantial thing I'd said all morning; Trent could tell something was off with me, but he figured there was no point in asking what it was. "By 'him', I assume you mean the demon?"
I nodded.
Trent licked his teeth clean. "You could try praying again."
"I'm serious," I responded.
"I'm serious, too. It worked before, didn't it?"
"You mean at my house?"
Trent nodded.
"I thought you weren't a religious man?"
"I'm not. Just a practical one. If praying worked before, maybe it'll work again."
"That's the best you've got? A maybe?"
"No, I've got a lot of shit better than a maybe." He answered. "It's just not accessible where you're going. Which is why I recommend not making contact on the first run."
"First run? So we're going to do this more than once?"
"At least," Trent answered. Then, seeing my expression, he continued. "What? You thought this was going to be a one-and-done? We have to conduct some research first. I did tell you this was new for me, right?"
Somehow Trent's response had set my mind at ease a little. I was going to have more than one chance. Of course, why wouldn't I be able to go back more than once?
"Why didn't you tell me this earlier? It would have gone a long way in easing my mind."
Trent lifted his hands in defense. "Sorry, I just thought that was a given. I mean, what we're doing is dangerous, just like I said, but it doesn't mean we aren't going to approach this as safely and scientifically as possible. However, there is a different problem with running multiple trials."
"The Organization?"
"That's right," Trent said like a proud parent. "Our little experiment will be like a giant spotlight, and the longer we wait around after it's on us, the greater the chance we'll have unwelcome company."
"So, safe but speedy."
"Safe but speedy. Exactly."
***
We fueled up and were back on the road a little after 8:00. From that point on, Trent and I were absolutely silent. I had the distinct feeling of being in the eye of a storm. The pings moved closer commensurate with our progress toward the crash site. The cloudfront continued its advance. And I noticed a haze beginning to descend onto the road ahead of us. It was fog.
We meandered further inland, the forest thickening around us until the rain almost stopped entirely—the leaves drinking it up before it fell onto our windshield. I kept my eyes on the radar. We were approaching the large yellow circle which indicated we had arrived. As we pulled closer, I began to feel things. Fear. Eeriness. Doubt. Then happiness. Hope. Love. Normally feelings like these had a clear source to picture, but these sensations came on in waves without any discernible reason. It was almost as if they were blinking into existence inside me.
"Here we go," Trent said like an airline pilot readying his crew for turbulence.
I still recall the exact moment we crossed the boundary into the area of higher energy. It was like something just "clicked" in my brain, and all of a sudden everything felt so much closer. The sound of the rain against the trees was almost right next to my ear. The trees in the distance would oscillate between their position a half-mile out, then suddenly seem five meters away. If I focused on something long enough, it began to radiate those same ethereal particles as when Trent released Ava's "phase lock". I checked to make sure the shifter wasn't set to "TD". Sure enough, it was still in drive.
"Can you see them?" Trent asked. "The shifts?"
"Yeah," I said in a dreamy voice. I felt like I was driving through a wonderland.
"It's the energy. I barely notice a difference. A bit of movement in the trees, but not much else. But I'm sure for you, it's a whole experience."
"What is this?" I raised my hand and caught some of the pixel dust dripping off the sun visor. It disappeared when it made contact with my hand.
"It's a kind of radiation. Everything emits it, just in different quantities. I'm still not exactly sure how it relates to the other realms, but I'm guessing it's a kind of primordial matter that helps connect our worlds."
"It's beautiful," I exclaimed. "I wish I could see the world like this all the time."
"Maybe you will," Trent whispered.
As we arrived at the crash site, I began to get glimpses of the past. My childhood dreams and memories were pushing their way out from my subconscious. I noticed an increased number of blinks, which were validated by Ava who reported the following: "Currently detecting 14,350 novel emergences and 2,777 controlled agents. Net anomalies: 2,777."
"That's a lot of blinks." I remarked. "Why doesn't Ava include them in the net anomalies?"
Trent turned his head so I could see his smirk. "Because blinks aren't anomalies."
I thought about it for a second. Blinks aren't anomalies. "I never thought about it that way."
"It's hard to think about it that way when 'normal' for most people means not picking up on a fundamental aspect of reality. But that doesn't make it any less real."
We continued past the epicenter of the yellow circle. "Are we not stopping?" I asked. "I think we already passed the crash site."
"It doesn't have to be exactly at the site," Trent said. "Plus, we don't want to stop on the side of the road and risk getting some civilian involved. There's a field about half a mile up ahead. I'm going to pull off the road and set up camp there.
The "field" that Trent was referring to was actually a large clearing that dipped down into several trench-like troughs which were filled to the brim with fog like witches cauldrons. Further on in the distance, I saw open fields, probably used for farming, and then a large hill where the trees once again reasserted themselves. We had pulled off the road and up a small incline where the trees had already been broken down, leaving a trail for us to drive through. When we surfaced at the edge of the clearing, Trent pulled us onto a flat bed of dried mud which was maybe thirty yards long.
"Here," he said with a sigh.
We both sat for a minute, looking around at the field. We had finally arrived. The rain was beginning to pick up, and the dark sky made it almost impossible to discern the time of day.
"You ready?" Trent asked.
I looked at him. Really looked at him. In his blue eyes. Was I ready? Did it even matter?
"Let's do this," I said.
***
This was the first time I was really able to inspect the back of Trent's van. He had talked up his gear a lot, and honestly, I was impressed. Not in the way that a scientist is impressed by another scientist's lab—I wasn't any kind of expert—but it still seemed remarkably well managed. Now that I was in a state where my vision had been enhanced, I could actually see the enigmatic particles circulating through the pneumatic tubes which were coiled like the pipes and valves of an elaborate wind instrument. The walls of the van, itself, were glistening white, making it easier to make out everything else inside. Along the floor were five overturned columns. Each column was dark and had a vibrating quality, as if they were charged with energy. Then atop the center three columns was a small altar which supported an apparatus with two skinny, metal arms holding a silver halo. At present, the arms were folded and the halo was suspended a few inches above the altar, faced-down. I thought maybe I'd see particles exuding from it, but instead it was emitting visible waves which bent and warped everything they touched.
"That thing is emitting a lot of energy." I remarked, gesturing toward the halo.
Trent stepped in between the columns and started pulling out the packages he had stuffed in there yesterday. "Just wait till' it's on."
Most of the packages contained only a single piece of equipment, and were otherwise packed with foam peanuts. We carefully removed each box and set them on the ground outside. I asked if the rain would damage any of the stuff inside, to which Trent only laughed and continued lugging out the boxes. When they were all out, Trent removed a box cutter from his pocket and went one-by-one opening them. There were eight pieces in total.
"What is it?" I asked as we fished the first item out.
"It's another apparatus, like the one inside. Except it'll mount on the ground out here."
I pulled out what looked like a metal tripod.
"Good, that'll go on the bottom."
"Where are we setting it up?"
"Over here," Trent said and stepped five paces away from the van. He coordinated himself up so he was centrally aligned with the inner ring, then stomped a few times. "This is the spot."
As we continued to work, I asked Trent about how the whole contraption works.
"Do you remember the first time we were in the van? When we had to escape from the semi-truck?" Trent asked and connected a secondary mounting apparatus on top of the tripod. It had four spider-like legs that made right angles and stuck into the ground.
"Of course," I said. "The 'phase lock'."
"Yeah," Trent said and gestured toward the metal stick that was in my hand. I handed it to him. "The phase lock is a seal on the level of energy that the van is allowed to release. It also controls its dispersion pattern so that it releases its energy in a steady wave. This allows Ava to scan for anomalies without causing us to become an anomaly." Trent stuck the plank into the neck of the tripod.
"So when you released the phase lock, we started emitting more energy."
"That's right." Trent confirmed. "Enough to create an alternate route through a different realm."
"So we blinked into a different realm, then back, just to avoid that truck?"
"That's right."
"But why couldn't we just move out of the way?"
"Because it had locked onto us. It was tracking our motion and adjusting its course based on the amount of energy we were emitting. So in order to escape, we had to radically skew our potential energy and then use it to shift."
"Couldn't he have just followed us?"
Trent connected four more pieces to the device which now looked like an elaborate teepee. He was fishing in the last box when he spoke again. "Yeah, he could have. But it was highly improbable that he would have found us." Trent returned from the bottom of the box with another silver ring in hand. "Think of it like this. Let's say you're trying to escape from some bad guy who's coming after you, and you enter a new room you've never seen before. Would you prefer this room to have three doors to go through, or ten?"
I thought about his riddle for a second, then responded, "It depends where they go."
Trent fastened the ring atop the teepee. "Let's say they all lead to random places, or let's say they're all closets that lead nowhere. The key is that more is better, because the more doors he has to check, the less likely he is to pick the correct one. Make sense?"
"So we opened up a bunch of doors and escaped through one at random?"
"Hence the gear 'TD', for 'Trap Door'."
I marveled at the insights, but not for long. Trent hopped back in the van and pulled a lever that I hadn't seen until now. The two metal arms raised the inner ring until it was perpendicular with the altar. Then Trent clicked one of three red buttons along the back wall, and I saw what looked like a large, glass eye suspended in a magnifying glass protruding from the wall, aligned with the center of both rings. A couple seconds later, the glass eye began to focus the energy which was being fed to it from the pneumatic tubes, and a blue pyramid of light projected from it into the first ring, then from the first ring into the second ring. All three pieces were aligned at slightly diminishing heights, so the cylinder of light beamed through the second ring, into the ground.
"Alright, time for the first trial."
I felt the nerves starting up in my stomach. Trent sensed this and hopped out of the truck. It was raining quite hard now, though it was still warm. Both Trent and I were soaked, but that hardly concerned us. He reached out and put his hand on my shoulder. "I know you're feeling scared." He said. "But trust me on this. You're going to do fine. Just keep in mind what we talked about. Stay a spectator. Okay?"
I looked into his blue eyes, which seemed especially gray in the dark. Still, Trent's voice was reassuring. All I had to do was trust him. Trust myself. Trust my dad. And it was all going to turn out right.
"I'm ready," I said.
Trent was still for a second, holding my eyes in his. Then he guided me behind the outer ring and into the cylinder of light.
"I should step into it now?" I asked, afraid I'd be called away immediately.
"It's not on yet, so don't worry. I still have to press another button."
I followed Trent's instructions and stood in the blue light which was centered on my chest. Then I watched as Trent ran into the back of the van and posted up next to the glass eye. "Ready?" He yelled out. It was hard to hear him over the rain, but I yelled back. "Ready!"
The next thing I saw was a blinding blue light beam from the van. I heard what sounded like a laser, then saw the cylinder oscillate, expanding and compressing. When the energy reached the second ring, I saw everything around me light up—it looked brighter than noon on a cloudless day. Then the oscillations made their way to me, and I was swallowed up whole.
***
When I came to, I was in the backseat of a car. I felt my butt rumbling. Everything was dim and quiet. And then I heard a woman's voice from in front of me.
"Mark, please, not with Lauren in the back."
The man, who I now identified as my father, pulled the cigarette away from his lips and blew the smoke at my mom. He eyed the back seat where I was sitting, using one of five markers that hadn't rolled off my lap to color a rabbit in my animal color book.
"The kid's fine." he said and took another drag.
"Mark," my mom repeated.
I saw my dad raise his hand in a rapid motion. "I said she's fine, Cheryl. Now check the map and make sure we're going the right away. I can't see shit with all this fog."
I took a moment to make sure I was really in the back seat. I patted myself. I clearly had weight. Then I tried touching the car. At first, my fingertips met a solid surface, but when I tried to press through, my hand slipped into the car. I quickly pulled my hand away as if I had reached into a fire.
That's when I heard the little three year old next to me start crying. I turned and saw that little-me had dropped another couple markers onto the ground and was struggling to reach them.
"Hey!" my dad shouted. "What did I say about crying?"
"Quit it, Mark. She just dropped her markers." said my mom; she turned to help me pick them up.
"What did you say to me?" Mark spat with a voice full of guile. He reached out and pushed her back into her seat. "Don't," he commanded. "She has to learn how to deal with life."
"Deal…" My mom started in disbelief. "Deal with life? Do you hear yourself? What's gotten into you?"
"Sometimes shit happens. It doesn't give her the right to cry. You helping her is just going to reinforce her behavior."
"Her behavior? What about your behavior? You're acting like a total dick."
I didn't even have a moment to react before my dad's hand was across my mom's face. I felt the slap more than I heard it, my own face seeming to swell with the force of the blow. I saw my mom cover her mouth and lean away. Then little-me began to cry even louder, which only challenged my dad to step up his own volume.
"Everyone needs to get a fucking grip before I crash this car." My dad shouted and took another drag. The scariest part was I couldn't tell if he was warning us or threatening us. I felt the sudden urge to do something. There was no way this was real. I was definitely in some fantasy concocted by the demon. He wanted to turn me against my dad. That was the only explanation for something like this. My dad was a good man, not… this.
As I contemplated what to do, I saw a small, golden light appear behind little-me's window. Apparently she saw it, too, because her cries hushed as she traced the wisp with her eyes. After a second, the wisp transformed into a bunny rabbit, reminiscent of the one she was coloring. The rabbit hopped alongside the window, then did a couple circles in place. I watched little me let out a playful laugh and reach toward the window.
"What's going on back there?" my dad asked with a scowl. Apparently the only sound more disturbing than cries were laughs.
I looked back to the front and saw my mom wiping blood from her lip. Her expression was miserable. "Leave her alone, Mark."
"I'll do whatever I damn well want to do, Cheryl. It's my kid back there."
My mom was quiet.
When I looked back toward the rabbit, it was no longer a rabbit but a person. Or at least it looked like a person. The figure radiated pure gold, and atop his head was what appeared to be a King's crown. I recalled Allison's experience of seeing the sun-like figure in her moment of distress. Was that what was happening here? Was this really all true?
"Hey!" My dad shouted, eyeing little-me from the rear-view mirror. "What are you reaching at?"
I looked and saw the golden figure extending his hand toward the window, and little me's hand was reaching back. "Mom, dad, it bright." little-me said.
"What's bright, honey?" my mom asked.
"Don't encourage her, Cheryl."
"Someone there!" little me shouted happily and dropped the rest of the markers and the coloring book onto the ground.
"Who's there?" asked my mom.
"Cheryl, I swear to God. Sit the fuck down."
Everything from that moment on happened so quickly I barely had any time to process it. My mom lifted out of her seat to either get little me's attention or help me pick up my coloring book. My dad responded by grabbing onto her throat, letting go of the steering wheel entirely. He threw her back against the car door, and her head hit the window so hard, the glass cracked. My dad had dropped his cigarette, and I could smell smoke coming from under his seat, but that didn't seem to bother him at all. He turned toward little-me at the same moment my three-year-old hand reached out and grabbed onto the golden figure, whose hand diffused through the window. When my dad turned, I got a whiff of the most awful smell that I wouldn't have been able to place had I not had that nightmare last night. He grabbed onto little-me's shoulder and tugged her away from the golden figure that was trying to pull her the other way. My dad's facade began to crack, and I could see those dark bugs crawling out from the pores in his arms, marching down toward little-me.
I reacted.
I grabbed onto my dad's arm and pulled him off little-me. I heard the sound of my shirt ripping as she was torn from his grip and pulled out of the car, diffusing through it like a ghost. My brief victory was immediately overturned as I saw what was now clearly the demon smiling at me, his wretched fingers curled around my forearm.
"Caught you," He sneered.
Then the whole world once again diffused into countless numbers of particles, only this time, instead of riding through it, I felt like I was falling through an elevator shaft with each floor darker than the last. The further I fell, the less I became aware of my surroundings, and the more I felt a deep sense of loneliness. It was as if I was the only person in the whole world: and the whole world was a prison designed entirely for me. This went on for so long, I began to forget who I was. Where I was. What was.
And then I landed.
***
Source Used:
Jung, Carl. Synchronicity. Translated by Sonu Shamdasani, Princeton University Press, 2010.

First / Previous
Jori stood at the edge of the alleyway, pressed up against the wall of The Wandering Fowl as she peered into the narrow street’s depths. Humming echoed from within; a soft, gentle tune that originated from the girl that stood on the snow covered path.
Her sister.
Aria’s attention was not focused towards the end of the street, but rather on the large furred beast in front of her. The auroc groaned gently as the girl moved her brush, patting the bovine as she was lost within the rhythm of her own tune. She reached up and scratched the beast behind its horn, provoking a satisfied bellow from the large animal as it nuzzled up against her. Aria’s giggle broke her melody, ringing out with the same innocent tone that a child’s laugh could only produce.
Just like any other girl.
Pain panged in Jori’s heart, a dull ache that still possessed enough bite to make her clutch at her chest. She looked towards the ground, eyes focusing on the sack that sat at her feet. Its cloth had been pushed to its limit, burgeoning from what had been stuffed within. Jori was content to lose herself for a moment, to forget about the growing hollowness in her stomach, but she was brought out of her trance with a tap on her arm.
“Jori?” Jon asked, her brother’s tone a mix of worry and apprehension.
“I… I’m…” she swallowed, “we could just leave it here. She doesn’t need us bothering her after all she’s been through.”
She started to move away from the alley, but her brother caught her shoulders.
“We’ve come this far Jori, and she leaves today,” he said, his tone heavy, “we can’t back away now.”
She frowned at him, “Brave words for the one making me go first.”
Jon scratched his head, “You’re the oldest, you gotta take charge in these things.”
Jori opened her mouth to respond, but froze as she saw the tremble in her brother’s fingers.
She sighed, “Ok, I’ll do it,” steeling herself, Jori slapped her cheeks, straightened her back, and spun around.
Only to jump at who she saw.
Though he was without armor or helmet, Helbram was easily recognizable in a small town like Redhaven. He was tall, taller than most in the village, but not so much that it would make him a giant, and there were farmers that possessed broader frames than him. However, none carried the same presence as the adventurer. There was an air to the man that threaded the line between gentle and imposing, as if he could switch between the two at the drop of a hat if needed.
As he loomed over the siblings, he trended towards the latter.
He may have been brought into the village in an unconscious state, but any sign of his incapacitation had vanished over the fortnight that it took for him and his party to recover, letting the full weight of his gaze settle over Jori as he looked the two over with unblinking eyes. His vision eventually settled on the bag next to Jori’s feet, and, after a moment of study, a smile broke from his emotionless guise.
He leaned against the wall and tilted his head towards the alley, “Go to her, we will give you some peace.”
Jori tilted her head, eventually realizing that the “we” Helbram mentioned included Leaf, who stood behind him closer to the tavern’s door. The half elven man looked at them with a frown, one that did not reach his eyes, and turned his gaze back to the street, saying nothing.
Jon prodded her in the back, which was enough to get her moving. She picked up the bag and walked past Helbram, marching into the alleyway with enough force behind her steps to echo through the narrowed path.
Echoes that made Aria turn towards her.
As the sisters’ eyes met, both froze. Jon stumbled into Jori’s back, but upon seeing Aria looking at them stopped in his tracks as well. Their sister’s eyebrows were raised in surprise, and the girl leaned against the auroc at her side for support. Her hands clutched at her brush, and the small shake to her fingers revealed the trepidation that the girl felt at the sight of her siblings. It was a sight that made Jori’s heart fall.
But she pressed on.
She walked closer, taking cautious steps towards her sister as she held the bag in front of her. Aria did not react to her approach, but Jori settled at stopping a stone’s throw away. She knelt down and opened the bag.
Revealing the bundles of clothing within.
“We didn’t know how much you needed…” Jori started, “and we didn’t know what your sizes were, so we gathered all we could.”
“We made sure there weren’t any holes in ‘em either,” Jon added in haste, “they may have been ours but they should last you a long while,” like Jori, his eyes were focused towards the ground and not the girl in front of them.
Their sister said nothing.
“We put some blankets in there too,” Jon said, “I know the cold doesn’t bother you but-”
Jori stomped on her brother’s foot. He winced, but upon realizing what he said kept his lips sealed. Cautiously, she looked up towards Aria, staring at the girl’s lips to avoid her eyes.
No reaction.
They stood in silence, the air between them growing more hollow by the moment. It was an emptiness that started to creep back into Jori’s heart, a sense of futility that told her to turn around and walk away. She clenched her hands into fists and pushed that instinct to the side, forcing herself to look her sister in the eye.
“I’m sorry,” she said, the words cracking as her vision blurred, “for abandoning you, for being scared of you. For being an awful, awful sister,” she blinked furiously to keep her tears from falling, “you deserved so much better, and I know there is nothing I can do to make up for what I have done.”
“What we have done,” Jon said, his voice a trembling mess, “I’m sorry too. Sorry for being such a poor brother, for thinking that what I had done was the only… the right thing to do,” he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath to steady himself, “It’s not our place to say this, but we hope wherever you go you find the happiness you deserve.”
Still, Aria did not respond.
Any bravery that the siblings held vanished at their sister’s silence. Jori’s gaze fell and, when nothing else was said, she spun around to leave, grabbing her brother’s arm.
“I can’t forgive you.”
Jori’s heart shattered to pieces.
The instinct to run swelled within her, to flee from the burden of guilt that crashed against her shoulders. The shake in her brother’s arm told her that Jon felt the same, but neither of them moved.
Whatever was to be said, they deserved.
“The words are there… but as I try to say them, I can only see you as you were before,” Aria said, “The ones who laughed and played outside my door as I could only look on. The ones who ignored me as they continued to be happy, to be loved. I can’t say it, not after all this time.”
Jori could hear the weeping in her sister’s voice, but neither her nor Jon could bring themselves to look back as their own tears streamed down their faces.
“But I can say thank you,” Aria’s footsteps drew closer, “for the clothes… and for trying to save me.”
It was the sibling’s time to be silent.
“We may never see each other again, but I hope the best for the both of you.”
An impulse washed over Jori then, an urge to turn around and embrace her sister, to cry into the girl’s shoulders and let her do the same, to be like siblings should have been.
But it was too late for that.
“We hope the best for you too,” Jori said, unable to face her sister. She went to say more, but the words caught at her throat.
Unable to take anymore, Jori ran, letting the desire to escape take over. She hurried past the Helbram and Leaf into the street, her steps carrying her far enough into Redhaven that they were out of sight. Jon was at her side, and when their sprint could carry them no further they collapsed to the ground, chests heaving as their sobs hindered their ability to catch their breath.
Tears flowed from their eyes, unending as they traced down their cheeks, splashing onto the street as they continued to cry. They ignored the stares of the townsfolk that walked by, too lost in the tide of emotions that carried them this far. When the tears finally slowed, Jori could still feel the sorrow within her chest, the pain that dug into her heart, unable to leave.
But it had faded.
Their sister’s words did not relieve Jori of the burden of guilt, but it had reduced it to a dull ache. One that she could live with.
Must live with.
Jori wiped the tears from her eyes and stood up. She held a hand out to Jon and, after her brother wiped his face, he took it with a firm grip as she helped him up. They met each other’s gaze and shared a nod. They had to continue on, to be the best that they could be, for their sake.
For their sister’s wishes.
___
Aria watched her siblings disappear from the alley’s exit. When they were gone, the grip on her brush relaxed and she let go of the breath that she was holding. She looked towards the bag in front of her and knelt down. Curiosity fueled her hands then, placing the brush down and pulling a piece of clothing from the parcel. It revealed itself to be a shirt as it unfolded, the size only a tad larger than what she needed. It was weaved from a white cloth, and in every way was unremarkable.
Yet the sight of it made her happy.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of oncoming footsteps. Helbram and Leaf approached, and while the usual frown-faced man looked at her with some concern, his companion was more relaxed, yet somehow focused at the same time.
Helbram knelt down in front of her, “Are you alright?”
Aria nodded, “I don’t know if it was the right thing to say.”
He put his hand on her head, “Yours is a situation that is a bit more complicated than right or wrong,” he admitted, “and in such times it is better to instead ask this: did you do all that you needed to do?”
She looked down, thinking for a moment, but moved her gaze up to match his, “Yes, I did.”
Helbram smiled at her, “Then that, for now, is all that matters,” he ruffled her hair and stood up, taking the bag into his hand. He held it out for her to put the shirt back into it and held it out to Leaf, who took it as he walked over to Bessie.
“I’ll get her sorted out,” Leaf said, “now go do what you have to do.”
Helbram let out a breath and looked to Aria, “Are you ready?”
She nodded, one that he returned.
He turned towards the tavern’s side door, but waited for Aria to walk ahead of him before he followed. As they walked through The Wandering Fowl’s kitchen, she caught sight of both Elly and Jahora packing various foodstuffs. The taller woman bit into an apple absentmindedly as she peered into the tavern’s icebox. As she noticed them walk by, her ears perked up, and she met Helbram’s eyes with a knowing gaze. Jahora caught sight of them next, saying nothing but flashing Aria an encouraging smile as they walked through the door and into the tavern’s main hall.
She walked up the building’s stairs and down the hallway of rooms that composed its second floor. As her hand reached towards the door that lay at the end of the path, Helbram placed his hand on the doorknob in her stead.
“Are you certain of this?” he asked, his tone measured, but unable to hide the concern beneath.
The weight of the question gave rise to the doubt that sat beneath her determination. Given what had transpired… it would not be wrong of her to leave the door closed, to leave what lay beyond it behind her.
But her heart said otherwise.
Steeling herself, Aria straightened her back and took in a deep breath, “Yes.”
Helbram patted her shoulder, “Then do what you must.”
He opened the door and followed after her as she walked in, facing the two people at the opposite side of the room.
Cora and Erik.
The two Shade’s were still bound, their hands restricted behind their back with Sealing Cuffs while rope tied their legs together. In all practical ways they could do no harm, but that did not stop the flutter that Aria could feel stirring in her chest. Whilst Erik maintained a neutral expression upon noticing Aria, Cora’s own dejected guise shifted to surprise as her eyes fell upon her. Surprise that gave way to something else, though Aria could not tell what. The girl stepped further into the room, and while Helbram did not loom over her, he shifted his position so that she was never out of his reach.
Aria’s lips trembled as she searched for the words to speak, her breath shaking as they refused to form. She squeezed her hands in frustration, the fluttering in her chest now a rapid pounding as she could not form a sentence no matter how hard she tried. She’d ruminated over it far before this moment, yet the sight of the couple, their silence as they waited for her to speak, pushed all those thoughts from her mind. In its place she could only remember Erik and Cora as they were. That kindly man who fed her, who treated her as something more than a monster to be ignored, to be shunned. The bright woman who sat her in her lap and brushed her hair, giving her the warmth of a mother she never had.
She knew that is not who they were, that it was an act meant to make her like them, to feel indebted to them.
But it felt real, the happiness that it gave her was real, and it was that which stopped the words at her throat. She looked to the floor, unable to look at the two any longer, but took in a deep breath and closed her eyes.
“Thank you,” she said, “for taking care of me.”
It was a selfish thing to say, something that she could blurt out without damaging the fragile integrity of memories based on falsehood. She’d meant to confront them, but could only find the words to run away.
“Aria.”
She looked up, heart stopping as her eyes met with Cora’s. Gone was the woman’s previous madness, that twisted look in her eyes as she called her a name that was not hers. In its place was the same Cora that she always knew. The one who always wore a smile, who always looked at her with warmth. It was a falsehood, she knew that.
Yet it brought her comfort all the same.
“It is we who should say thank you,” she said, “for giving us a warmth that we’d not felt in so, so long. And it is we who should say sorry, for trying to take that warmth for ourselves.”
“Live your life, Aria.”
The girl’s gaze drifted to Erik, and she could see that man that she’d met in the alley, that man who made her feel like she belonged, and the memories of that moment brought tears to her eyes.
“Walk the path you want to walk, and let none steer you from it,” he said, “it is not our place to say such things, I know, but we should say it nonetheless.”
“May the Matron keep your path clear, your steps steady,” Cora said
Aria bit her lip, and she felt the impulse to walk up and embrace them, but she stopped herself. Even if they were sincere, she could not forget who they truly were, no matter how much her heart wished to. Still, the desire grew, and the tears started to flow down her face. She smiled at the couple and gave a firm nod, then turned and made for the door.
“You take care of her, you hear me?” Cora said to Helbram.
Aria felt his hand on her shoulder as she stopped at the door. He opened it and gently pushed her forward.
“Of that, you should have no doubt.”
___
Ren stood outside The Wandering Fowl, taking in the brisk Winter air as he stood in the street without a coat. The townsfolk looked at him as if he was mad, but that was no different than the look they’d given all of them upon their return. They did give him a wider berth today, but that was due to the wagon that had been moved to the street. A wheeless construct, the vehicle was held aloft by the crystal located in its undercarriage, one that radiated a green light as Aether coursed through it and the rest of the wagon. Various crates and bags were stuffed under its roof, and it was in the process of being loaded even further as Helbram’s party shoved various bags and foodstuffs into its bed. Had he not known that the magitek design meant that their auroc would feel little of the burden, he would have been inclined to feel pity for the beast.
Part of him still did as Elly stuffed a burgeoning sack of books into an already crowded space.
“Do you think you have enough?” he mused towards the group, “one would think you meant to start a village with all you’re taking.”
Helbram, who just walked out of the wagon’s bed, laughed. He walked up to the Cleric while dusting his hands.
“Winter will prove to be a harsh mistress this year,” he said, “and while I have every faith that our hunter is up to the task of keeping us provided, I’d rather not place such a burden upon him.”
“That, and we’d rather not taste bitter herbs for a spell,” Jahora said as she adjusted Aria’s coat, “a month away from such flavors is much too short.”
Leaf’s head poked from behind the wagon, “Oi, if the plants bite back then it's good for ya, don’t blame me for having the wisdom to recognize it.”
“Oh we have the wisdom,” Elly said as she joined Helbram at his side, “we just choose to embrace comfort in its stead.”
“Bunch of soft bellied louts, the lot of ya.”
Aria giggled as Leaf’s grumbles faded into the background. She took Jahora’s hand as the Mage guided her towards Ren. The smaller woman was all smiles when she looked at the girl, but as her eyes cut to the side wariness flashed through her features.
Leon sat on the stairs leading into the tavern. His hands were still bound, and rather than meeting anyone’s eyes he kept his eyes to the ground. Ren frowned as he looked at his companion, partially regretting his decision to push Leon to at least see the party off. He encouraged it anyways; the alternative just didn’t feel right.
He just hoped Leon felt the same.
As Leaf finished adjusting Bessie’s harness, he jogged up and joined with his companions, his caution towards Ren’s companion less concealed than the others as he glared in the Black Cloak’s direction.
“So where are you off to, after all this?” Helbram asked Ren.
“As we originally planned,” the Cleric said, “we make for Blade’s Rest, meeting up with a larger cohort before we travel back to headquarters,” he scratched his head, “Winter will prolong our travels a fair bit, but we’d best be moving as quick as possible now that we’ve fully recovered.”
“Of that, we are of similar minds,” Elly said.
“What of you? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Whitebridge,” Helbram said, “it was where we were heading before all this, and we see no reason not to continue on.”
Ren rubbed his chin, “Whitebridge eh? That is quite the journey…” he looked to Aria. The girl was not cautious around him, he could sense that she was on edge. No doubt due to Leon’s presence. And given his companions actions… she had every right to be.
As he looked upon her, however, he thought towards Erik and Cora, about how they knew that she would be in such a remote village like Redhaven. As he did, he removed the symbol of Velendel from his neck and placed his hand over it. The matching eye on his forehead glowed with a golden light as he made an effort of will, casting a spell over the amulet that left it glowing for a moment before the light faded away. He walked over to Jahora and knelt down in front of the Mage, presenting the amulet to her. She looked at him in confusion, and did not reach for the necklace.
“I am not certain, but I believe someone may possess the means to find Aria from afar. That is the only way I can think of to explain why Erik and Cora decided to settle here of all places.”
“A Scryer, perhaps?” Elly inquired, “Though typically their reach is fairly limited.”
“For the average one, yes,” Ren admitted, “but were the Scryer a Shade… then it may very well be possible,” he looked back at Jahora, “concealment magics are not my speciality, but with enough of Velendel’s grace I do believe that wearing this will keep Aria from their watchful gaze, though the enchantment will need refreshing often. And I do recognize it is suspicious of me to provide this under such pretenses, but I ask that you trust me in this.”
Jahora looked into his eyes and, after a moment, took the amulet from him. She directed her attention to Aria, who had her eyes narrowed in clear effort to keep up with the conversation.
“Do you want to wear this?” she asked the girl, holding the necklace out to her.
Aria reached out and touched the amulet, brow furrowed as she ran her fingers along its various ridges, “It feels… warm.”
The girl nodded and let Jahora put it on her. When the Mage did, Aria looked at it again.
“It’s a bit ugly though,” she said before slipping it under her coat.
Ren snorted, “Of that, we are in agreement.”
“Are you certain of this?” Helbram asked, “I have little knowledge in the ways of divine magic, but a Cleric without their Symbol strikes me as something of a hindrance.”
“We’d hardly be that forminable if a bit of jewelry was our lifeline,” Ren said as he stood up, “Please, pay it no mind. Besides, this is the perfect opportunity to get a new one, perhaps one not so garish,” he winked at Aria, and she smiled at him.
“Well, thank you, again,” Helbram said as he held out his hand, “when we next meet, the round is on me.”
Ren smiled and took the man’s hand, “Multiple rounds, perhaps? I’ve a feeling my superiors will be placing me in a drinking mood soon enough.”
Helbram chuckled, “That can be arranged.”
As they let go of one another Ren clapped his hands, “I’ve delayed you long enough, you’d best be off before Spring sets in.”
The party smiled at him and made their way to the wagon.
All except Helbram.
The man marched towards Leon, who’s posture remained unchanging at his approach. Even if the Black Cloak didn’t look at him, Helbram held his hand out.
“Farewell Leon,” he said, “I hope if we cross swords again it will be as we did the first time, not the last.”
Leon didn’t look up.
Helbram sighed, but rather than drop his hand, he gave Leon a quick pat on the shoulder and went to join his party. Before long their wagon disappeared from Ren’s sight, and his companion still did not move.
The Cleric took a seat next to Leon, “It is going to be quite the burden if I have to transport three bound people,” he said.
The Black Cloak remained silent.
Frowning, Ren made to move back into the tavern, but stopped as Leon finally spoke.
“She seemed so… normal.”
“Aria? Yes, the seal is broken but she appears to be in control of herself,” Ren mused, “an interesting development for one as young as her, but it is not unheard of to gain control of one’s Shade.”
“It was out of control Ren, a power that I had not seen since… since…” he fell silent.
“And yet, there she was, hale and hearty as any child should be.”
“I know… I know,” there was a growing frustration in Leon’s voice, “And it has made me think. Had I called out enough, urged him enough… would he still be here today?”
Ren heart ached for his friend, “We can’t know that.”
“And yet, now we have an idea,” Leon said, “proof that such a thing is possible,” tears dropped from Leon’s face as he looked up, “I was so certain he was lost Ren, and the look he gave me told me he thought so as well, but there she was, in the same position, the same abyss of hopelessness, and she came back.”
There was nothing Ren could say to that.
“How many? How many have I killed thinking that they were too far gone? Thinking that I was putting an end… stopping tragedy before it could happen?” He buried his head in his hands, “I’m sorry Astraeus, I’m so sorry…”
Ren walked in front of his companion and pulled him up, “Look at me Leon.”
When he refused to do so, the Cleric forced his gaze up. The Black Cloak’s eyes were red, and the despair beneath them seemed bottomless.
“I understand your grief,” he said, “And I know that you need time to process all of it, but what you can’t let it do is drag you under. Doing so will not help anyone. It will not honor your brother’s memory.”
Leon closed his eyes.
“Let us make our way back to headquarters, and when we are in more stable conditions, we can work through all of this. We can’t afford to fall apart now, do you understand?”
His companion’s breaths slowed as he controlled himself. When his eyes finally opened, a measure of control had returned. Grief still sat behind them, but for now it did not overwhelm Leon, and that was all Ren could ask for at the moment.
“I understand,” the Black Cloak said.
“Good,” Ren unbound the man’s arms, “and when we get back, know that you will always have my aid. We’ll get through this, of that I have no doubt.”
Leon clasped his arm, “Thank you, truly.”
Ren returned the gesture, “What are friends for?”
___
Helbram yawned as he stretched, leaning back on the wagon’s driver seat.
“Don’t you start with that,” Leaf fussed, “We’ve been on the road for barely an hour.”
“I am afraid I must,” Helbram objected in an overly dramatic tone, “my injuries have left me weakened and unable to handle the wear and tear of the road.”
Leaf pressed his lips thin and rolled his eyes.
Elly snorted from within the wagon, “Perhaps you need a distraction? I could teach you how to use a needle so you may be of some use.”
Helbram looked back at her. The Weaver held the sleeve of a pair of pants in her hands, her hands moving with practiced precision as the needle in her fingers glided in and out of the cloth.
“Nonsense,” Helbram said, “I would only slow you down.”
“Perhaps,” she admitted, “but the company would be appreciated.”
She smiled as they both looked at Aria and Jahora. They both leaned against each other as they slept, a contentment on both their faces that was enough to banish any thoughts of waking them from their nap.
“Another time, perhaps,” Helbram said in a quieter tone.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
He flashed her a smile before turning back in his seat, noting Leaf’s now serious expression.
“Everything alright?”
His companion scratched his head, “Honestly I’m just feeling a bit out of my depth. I don’t know how to raise a child, nor one that happens to be a font of magic,” he sighed, “I’m just trying to process it all.”
Hebram rubbed his chin, “It is quite a lot to take in, I admit, but it is not as if you are doing this alone,” he snorted, “I know Jahora would raise quite the objection were you solely in charge of her care.”
Leaf laughed, “That she would… but still, it’s just… overwhelming.”
“It is, and the how of it all escapes me even now, but I know it is something that we must do.”
“Together,” Elly added.
Helbram nodded, “Together.”
Leaf shook his headband and chuckled, “Well now I just feel foolish. Onwards then?”
Helbram pointed down the road.
“Onwards.”

Hedge Knight Arc Four: The Cursed Child
End.
First / Previous
Author's Note: And there we have it, the end of another arc. Still not gonna get over how I said this was going to be a shorter one and it somehow matched the last arc in length. Overall I'm happy with how this one turned out. It's smaller stakes than the last arc, but I think it was a good exploration of the characters, especially Jahora, Leon, and Aria, and that's kind of the reason I try and keep things small scale like this. I'm finding myself enjoying the character dynamics more and more as I write this story, and I feel like its important to explore these interactions fully to really build investment not only with the party, but any events that may happen to them. To that end I toned back the action a bit, aside from the duel, so we can have a full explosive finish. One that admittedly mentally fried me as I tried to make sense of all that as happening, but I think I prefer that over having action for action's sake.
But, the story will continue! Lots of threads were thrown out here and I did try to wrap up some of the immediate ones, but there are also plenty that could possibly be explored down the line. The focus will remain on Helbram and his party of course, but I do like giving the sense that there is something else going on within the world beyond what the party is seeing.
Let me know what you thought of this arc! Did you prefer this over the last arc and is there anything that stands out in this arc that you either liked/disliked. I'm always trying to improve and your feedback goes a really long way to making sure this is the best content I can make for you.
Till next time everyone, have a good one!
If you wish to read ahead and gain access to the audiobook version of this story, consider supporting me on Patreon (https://patreon.com/criticalscribe). If you want to leave a donation, here is my Ko-fi (https://ko-fi.com/criticalscribe).

As the sun sets, painting the sky in fiery tones, I waited by the roadside as you instructed. That’s when I heard the rumble of an old Bronco. As it quickly approached me with its top off, my eyes were glued as the rugged driver was revealed. During our conversation prior to this meet up you had sent me pictures but I had no idea how attractive you’d be in real life. You stop right next to my car and signaled me to get in. No questions were asked. No words were exchanged. I immediately feel a rush of excitement and anticipation as I hop into the vintage ride, ready for a casual encounter. I sat in your passenger seat as the fresh, cool spring air brushed against my skin. You mentioned a hidden spot and I trusted you. So I sat back and enjoyed the ride when suddenly, without warning, you veered off the road, jumping the curb and going around a gate blocking car access. The sudden movement caused everything, including me, to shift in your car, and instinctively, I found myself grabbing onto your thigh. You remained focused on the road, flashing a smirk as my hand lingered there. Before I could retract it, you guided it up to your crotch. I couldn't help but notice the thickness beneath your pants as my hand rested there. What turned me on more was the heat radiating from the blood pumping through your veins. My mouth watered…. The sun had completely set. The road, flanked by trees casting shadows, your old bronco left a trail of dust behind us as we hurried along. My anxiety spiked as we approached a sharp curve, fearing we might end up in a canal. Thankfully, you began to slow down just in time, revealing a clearing near the curve. Stopping at the sharp curb, you backed into the clearing surrounded by trees. The last couple of minutes seemed chaotic but now we were surrounded by calmness. I glanced up and noticed a splatter of twinkling lights, adding a touch of magic to our adventure. "Hop to the back," you instructed, drawing my attention to the worn-out leather seats. But before I could comply, you paused, pulling out a blanket and spreading it out for me. Typically, encounters like these were quick "cum and go" affairs, but this felt different. I moved to the back, settling in the middle as you requested, my nerves tingling with anticipation. Without warning, you leaned over from the front seat and kissed me passionately, igniting a fire within me. You sensually held my face as your warm tongue brushed up against mine. I felt flushed, motionless, and ready to be yours. You stood up, you began to undress in front of me, prompting my curiousty, "What are you doing?" I had never encouraged full nudity for public play; it felt too risky. “We're good, no one drives back here," you reassured me confidently, leaving me no choice but to trust you. You place both feet beside me as you prop yourself up, placing your elbows on the back beam of your Bronco and lean back. Dangling in front of my face is your long semi hard, uncircumcised dick. You close your eyes, lean your head back and tell me, “show me what that mouth can do." I wanted to tease you a bit, so I spent some time kissing your thighs, getting closer and closer to your balls. You let out soft moans as my mouth traveled all over your lower body. Then, I put one of your balls into my mouth, swishing it around inside before switching to the other one. Meanwhile, I stroked your thighs with my hands. Your breathing became heavy as I managed to fit both your balls into my mouth at once. Tenderly, I licked your balls while warming them up with my hot mouth. Using my tongue, I moved them all around, my lips completely taking your entire sack, up to the root of your cock, which had become hard as a rock. My hands began to stroke your cock. I pulled your member up with one hand and held it against my lips. It was dripping in glossy precum. I brush your head against my lips tasking your bitter-sweetness. I pressed my lips against your head and push your skin back as your cock traveled down my throat. You let out a loud moan letting me know how much you were enjoying my mouth. I look up as I feel you looking down at me. I pull your drenched cock out of my mouth and swipe my tongue over your pee hole. Keeping my eyes locked on yours, I slip your head back into my mouth and push down until my lips press against your base. This drives you insane! “I can tell you love sucking dick.” I grab onto each side of your hips and guide your body toward my face. I want to ensure your entire shaft is snugly nestled down my throat. Your head breaks past the throat barrier. You're so deep in my mouth that your balls are slipping inside my mouth. "Oh fuck!" you shout. "You like this dick, don't you?" Holding your dick down my throat, I couldn't speak, but I did verbally answer, "Mhm," slowly and as loud as I could. This sends vibrations through your cock, even making your balls tingle. "Oh fuck, you're going to make me cum." You have the perfect bubble butt, and I wanted to make sure to rim you for the first time. I grab your hips and signal for you to turn around. You pause for a moment, nervously turning around. Your perfectly smooth butt is ready to be tongue-fucked. I'm afraid I might be suffocated by your ass. I asked you to lean forward while I spread your cheeks, looking for your puckered hole. I lean in and take my first lick, before pushing my face forward deep in between your cheeks as my tongue circulated your hole all while I played with your dick. A few seconds later I heard you say, “oh I fucked up” I was confused what could have gone wrong. I didn’t stop making out with your hole, when I felt your hot-gooey cum on my hand. You were embarrassed to admit you had cum, and cummed quickly. You stood there motionless for a moment. Then you collapsed next to me and apologizing. I didn’t care, I had done my job. You quickly began to dress yourself when I asked, “can you rate my mouth?” You embarrassedly answered, “Are you kidding? You made me cum quick. I’d give you a higher score than 10 if I could.”

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Madeline shuffled in her seat, eyes darting around the room, looking at anything and everything apart from Marcus as she tried to sift through her thoughts. Not that there was much to look at between the plain off-white walls and the worn grey carpet. The room was completely bare apart from the table she and the young guard were sitting at. She wondered what it was usually used for. A quiet office? An interrogation room? A holding cell? Or maybe it was reserved for just this — when an inmate wanted a quiet word with a guard.
Whatever it was used for, the room seemed designed to provide as little distraction as possible. But that was good, wasn’t it? No more delays. That was what she’d agreed with Billie. She would ask her questions now, and then it would be done. The chips would fall and if she got in trouble she could start picking up the pieces.
“Madeline?” Marcus prompted. “You really can ask me anything, you know. It might be hard to believe, but I promise that you can trust me.”
She finally let herself look at him, but her lips remained firmly sealed.
“Besides, I’d have thought you were keen to get this over with so you could go and have dinner.” He grinned at her, tilting his head to look out at her under raised eyebrows. “You’re normally very keen to eat.”
Though she couldn’t bring herself to laugh at his joke, it was reassuring how hard he was trying to be nice. She really wanted to believe that it couldn’t all be an act.
She nodded to herself, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. It’s just like I said earlier, I really don’t want to give you the wrong idea or get you in trouble or get me in trouble.” Shifting slightly under his steady gaze, she looked down at her fingers fidgeting and twisting together on the table.
Until a hand slid across into her eye line.
She froze.
Marcus froze too, his hand millimetres from her own. Then, it slid forward again and closed over hers. Though she tensed, she didn’t flinch or pull back. She slowly looked up and met his wide, kind eyes. “I… I was wondering if… I wanted to ask you about…” She closed her eyes and forced the words out. “Has anyone ever tried to escape from here before? And if so, what happened?”
The hand on hers twitched slightly but remained where it was. Surely that was a good sign?
She opened her eyes to see Marcus’s gaze fixed on her, his expression frustratingly neutral.
“Yes,” he said levelly. “People have tried to escape before. Of course they have. People value their freedom.”
“And?”
“And some managed. Though some of those were caught again, and it didn’t end well for them.”
“And those that didn’t manage?”
“It didn’t end well for them either. They tend to make an example of anyone who tries it.” The hand on hers finally slid back, but he leaned in closer, face twisted by concern. “Why are you asking this?”
Finally, one of the answers she’d rehearsed! “Well, I was just wondering about Billie’s brother — and anyone else we might want to enquire about. If they’d escaped or tried to escape, would they still be in the system? And would you be able to tell us about it, even if it wasn’t good news?”
His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t call her out on what now seemed such an obvious lie. “They would still be in our system, yes. As for whether we would pass on the information as to what happened to them… That would depend on the good it could do.”
“Of course. I just know how much closure can help.”
“And that’s the only reason you’re asking?” he asked with raised eyebrows.
She nodded quickly. “Mmhhmm.”
“Because if there might be another reason, I would have to implore you in the strongest possible terms to reconsider whatever you might be planning. Because… Because like I said, it won’t end well.” He inched further towards her, leaning her across the table. “It won’t be by my hand, I can promise you that, but I can’t protect you from the others. And I really, really don’t want to see that happen to you, Madeline. I… I care about you.”
Madeline’s breath caught in her throat. For all Billie’s teasing, she hadn’t really, truly considered the possibility that they might be right. She’d never exactly been popular with boys, particularly with boys like Marcus — a fact that had never really bothered her. And what could she possibly have done to warrant his interest in her baggy shapeless work clothes?
“You remind me so much of my sister,” he continued, glancing down at his hands on the table.
She let out the breath she hadn’t realised she was holding.
“She’d have been about your age. She was shy at first too, but had an outrageous mouth on her once you got to know her. She was smart — always reading — and she was quiet and sweet… too sweet for this world.”
Now, it was Madeline’s turn to reach across the table, slipping her hand over his and squeezing gently. “Did you lose her?”
He shrugged. “I suppose I did in pretty much every sense of the word. Though perhaps I’ll never know for certain. So believe me when I say I know what you mean about the importance of closure.”
“What happened?”
Looking up to meet her gaze, he gave her a wan smile. “We’re not here to talk about me. We’re here to answer your questions.”
She smiled back. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But you’ve been such a help to me here. So if you ever want to talk about it, I’d love to listen.”
He was silent a while, expression glazed over as if his mind was elsewhere. Then, his eyes snapped back into focus as if a decision had been reached. “The short version is that we got separated, like so many people did in the early days. I spent a long time looking for her, and it led me here. I paid my dues and worked hard. When they told me she wasn’t in the system, I didn’t believe them. I figured if I became a guard I could check for myself and, well… it turned out they weren’t lying. Or if they were, they covered their tracks well.”
“I’m sorry that you couldn’t find her.”
“Me too.” Glancing back down, he placed his other hand over hers and squeezed slightly. “And I’d also be very sorry if anything happened to you. So please, Madeline, be careful. While I promise you can trust me, there’s not much I can do to help if you get in trouble. And I really couldn’t stand to see you get in trouble.”
“I promise that I’ll be careful,” she said. After all, it was technically true. And though she’d lied many times to survive in this world, it seemed wrong to repay Marcus’s honesty with her own dishonesty.
“And that includes not mentioning any of this to anyone else. If anyone asks, you were here to talk to me about Liam and ask about the arrangements for your family room, okay?”
“Okay. Actually, since you bring it up, are there any updates there?”
He snorted. “Trust me, as soon as there are any updates I will make sure you’re the first to know.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Madeline. You’re always welcome.” Pushing his chair back, he stood. “Now shall we get you back to the dormitory so you can get some dinner?”
She followed suit, chair scraping across the worn carpet. “That sounds good. And Marcus?”
“Hmmm?”
“I really do mean it. Thank you.”
On the walk back, Madeline felt lighter. She hadn’t exactly learned much, though she supposed she should take heart from the fact that some people had successfully escaped this place. But the thing putting a spring back into her step was the knowledge that she had a true friend on her side. And despite what Billie might say, she didn’t need to worry about giving him the wrong impression or any romantic overtures.
In fact, it turned out that Marcus was just like them. He’d come here in search of someone he’d loved and lost.
Madeline wondered how many of the other guards here had similar stories. She was sure that some were attracted to the role because of the power over others, but plenty of them seemed like nice enough human beings. When she’d first arrived, she hadn’t been able to fathom the sort of person who would willingly work for or with the Poiloogs — at least not one she’d like to meet. But perhaps the world was even less black and white than she’d thought.
She could even start to see a world where she’d be happy enough staying here.
Of course, she missed her freedom. Her books. Her library. But the work wasn’t too bad. She had food and a bed. She had Billie. And apparently, she had Marcus too. And soon, she’d have Liam. In a lot of ways, that was a better existence than the one she’d had just a year ago — free, but alone, surviving rather than living.
Author's Note: Next chapter due on 16th June

Link to serial master post for other chapters
Madeline shuffled in her seat, eyes darting around the room, looking at anything and everything apart from Marcus as she tried to sift through her thoughts. Not that there was much to look at between the plain off-white walls and the worn grey carpet. The room was completely bare apart from the table she and the young guard were sitting at. She wondered what it was usually used for. A quiet office? An interrogation room? A holding cell? Or maybe it was reserved for just this — when an inmate wanted a quiet word with a guard.
Whatever it was used for, the room seemed designed to provide as little distraction as possible. But that was good, wasn’t it? No more delays. That was what she’d agreed with Billie. She would ask her questions now, and then it would be done. The chips would fall and if she got in trouble she could start picking up the pieces.
“Madeline?” Marcus prompted. “You really can ask me anything, you know. It might be hard to believe, but I promise that you can trust me.”
She finally let herself look at him, but her lips remained firmly sealed.
“Besides, I’d have thought you were keen to get this over with so you could go and have dinner.” He grinned at her, tilting his head to look out at her under raised eyebrows. “You’re normally very keen to eat.”
Though she couldn’t bring herself to laugh at his joke, it was reassuring how hard he was trying to be nice. She really wanted to believe that it couldn’t all be an act.
She nodded to herself, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. It’s just like I said earlier, I really don’t want to give you the wrong idea or get you in trouble or get me in trouble.” Shifting slightly under his steady gaze, she looked down at her fingers fidgeting and twisting together on the table.
Until a hand slid across into her eye line.
She froze.
Marcus froze too, his hand millimetres from her own. Then, it slid forward again and closed over hers. Though she tensed, she didn’t flinch or pull back. She slowly looked up and met his wide, kind eyes. “I… I was wondering if… I wanted to ask you about…” She closed her eyes and forced the words out. “Has anyone ever tried to escape from here before? And if so, what happened?”
The hand on hers twitched slightly but remained where it was. Surely that was a good sign?
She opened her eyes to see Marcus’s gaze fixed on her, his expression frustratingly neutral.
“Yes,” he said levelly. “People have tried to escape before. Of course they have. People value their freedom.”
“And?”
“And some managed. Though some of those were caught again, and it didn’t end well for them.”
“And those that didn’t manage?”
“It didn’t end well for them either. They tend to make an example of anyone who tries it.” The hand on hers finally slid back, but he leaned in closer, face twisted by concern. “Why are you asking this?”
Finally, one of the answers she’d rehearsed! “Well, I was just wondering about Billie’s brother — and anyone else we might want to enquire about. If they’d escaped or tried to escape, would they still be in the system? And would you be able to tell us about it, even if it wasn’t good news?”
His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t call her out on what now seemed such an obvious lie. “They would still be in our system, yes. As for whether we would pass on the information as to what happened to them… That would depend on the good it could do.”
“Of course. I just know how much closure can help.”
“And that’s the only reason you’re asking?” he asked with raised eyebrows.
She nodded quickly. “Mmhhmm.”
“Because if there might be another reason, I would have to implore you in the strongest possible terms to reconsider whatever you might be planning. Because… Because like I said, it won’t end well.” He inched further towards her, leaning her across the table. “It won’t be by my hand, I can promise you that, but I can’t protect you from the others. And I really, really don’t want to see that happen to you, Madeline. I… I care about you.”
Madeline’s breath caught in her throat. For all Billie’s teasing, she hadn’t really, truly considered the possibility that they might be right. She’d never exactly been popular with boys, particularly with boys like Marcus — a fact that had never really bothered her. And what could she possibly have done to warrant his interest in her baggy shapeless work clothes?
“You remind me so much of my sister,” he continued, glancing down at his hands on the table.
She let out the breath she hadn’t realised she was holding.
“She’d have been about your age. She was shy at first too, but had an outrageous mouth on her once you got to know her. She was smart — always reading — and she was quiet and sweet… too sweet for this world.”
Now, it was Madeline’s turn to reach across the table, slipping her hand over his and squeezing gently. “Did you lose her?”
He shrugged. “I suppose I did in pretty much every sense of the word. Though perhaps I’ll never know for certain. So believe me when I say I know what you mean about the importance of closure.”
“What happened?”
Looking up to meet her gaze, he gave her a wan smile. “We’re not here to talk about me. We’re here to answer your questions.”
She smiled back. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But you’ve been such a help to me here. So if you ever want to talk about it, I’d love to listen.”
He was silent a while, expression glazed over as if his mind was elsewhere. Then, his eyes snapped back into focus as if a decision had been reached. “The short version is that we got separated, like so many people did in the early days. I spent a long time looking for her, and it led me here. I paid my dues and worked hard. When they told me she wasn’t in the system, I didn’t believe them. I figured if I became a guard I could check for myself and, well… it turned out they weren’t lying. Or if they were, they covered their tracks well.”
“I’m sorry that you couldn’t find her.”
“Me too.” Glancing back down, he placed his other hand over hers and squeezed slightly. “And I’d also be very sorry if anything happened to you. So please, Madeline, be careful. While I promise you can trust me, there’s not much I can do to help if you get in trouble. And I really couldn’t stand to see you get in trouble.”
“I promise that I’ll be careful,” she said. After all, it was technically true. And though she’d lied many times to survive in this world, it seemed wrong to repay Marcus’s honesty with her own dishonesty.
“And that includes not mentioning any of this to anyone else. If anyone asks, you were here to talk to me about Liam and ask about the arrangements for your family room, okay?”
“Okay. Actually, since you bring it up, are there any updates there?”
He snorted. “Trust me, as soon as there are any updates I will make sure you’re the first to know.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Madeline. You’re always welcome.” Pushing his chair back, he stood. “Now shall we get you back to the dormitory so you can get some dinner?”
She followed suit, chair scraping across the worn carpet. “That sounds good. And Marcus?”
“Hmmm?”
“I really do mean it. Thank you.”
On the walk back, Madeline felt lighter. She hadn’t exactly learned much, though she supposed she should take heart from the fact that some people had successfully escaped this place. But the thing putting a spring back into her step was the knowledge that she had a true friend on her side. And despite what Billie might say, she didn’t need to worry about giving him the wrong impression or any romantic overtures.
In fact, it turned out that Marcus was just like them. He’d come here in search of someone he’d loved and lost.
Madeline wondered how many of the other guards here had similar stories. She was sure that some were attracted to the role because of the power over others, but plenty of them seemed like nice enough human beings. When she’d first arrived, she hadn’t been able to fathom the sort of person who would willingly work for or with the Poiloogs — at least not one she’d like to meet. But perhaps the world was even less black and white than she’d thought.
She could even start to see a world where she’d be happy enough staying here.
Of course, she missed her freedom. Her books. Her library. But the work wasn’t too bad. She had food and a bed. She had Billie. And apparently, she had Marcus too. And soon, she’d have Liam. In a lot of ways, that was a better existence than the one she’d had just a year ago — free, but alone, surviving rather than living.
Author's Note: Next chapter due on 16th June

Madeline shuffled in her seat, eyes darting around the room, looking at anything and everything apart from Marcus as she tried to sift through her thoughts. Not that there was much to look at between the plain off-white walls and the worn grey carpet. The room was completely bare apart from the table she and the young guard were sitting at. She wondered what it was usually used for. A quiet office? An interrogation room? A holding cell? Or maybe it was reserved for just this — when an inmate wanted a quiet word with a guard.
Whatever it was used for, the room seemed designed to provide as little distraction as possible. But that was good, wasn’t it? No more delays. That was what she’d agreed with Billie. She would ask her questions now, and then it would be done. The chips would fall and if she got in trouble she could start picking up the pieces.
“Madeline?” Marcus prompted. “You really can ask me anything, you know. It might be hard to believe, but I promise that you can trust me.”
She finally let herself look at him, but her lips remained firmly sealed.
“Besides, I’d have thought you were keen to get this over with so you could go and have dinner.” He grinned at her, tilting his head to look out at her under raised eyebrows. “You’re normally very keen to eat.”
Though she couldn’t bring herself to laugh at his joke, it was reassuring how hard he was trying to be nice. She really wanted to believe that it couldn’t all be an act.
She nodded to herself, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. It’s just like I said earlier, I really don’t want to give you the wrong idea or get you in trouble or get me in trouble.” Shifting slightly under his steady gaze, she looked down at her fingers fidgeting and twisting together on the table.
Until a hand slid across into her eye line.
She froze.
Marcus froze too, his hand millimetres from her own. Then, it slid forward again and closed over hers. Though she tensed, she didn’t flinch or pull back. She slowly looked up and met his wide, kind eyes. “I… I was wondering if… I wanted to ask you about…” She closed her eyes and forced the words out. “Has anyone ever tried to escape from here before? And if so, what happened?”
The hand on hers twitched slightly but remained where it was. Surely that was a good sign?
She opened her eyes to see Marcus’s gaze fixed on her, his expression frustratingly neutral.
“Yes,” he said levelly. “People have tried to escape before. Of course they have. People value their freedom.”
“And?”
“And some managed. Though some of those were caught again, and it didn’t end well for them.”
“And those that didn’t manage?”
“It didn’t end well for them either. They tend to make an example of anyone who tries it.” The hand on hers finally slid back, but he leaned in closer, face twisted by concern. “Why are you asking this?”
Finally, one of the answers she’d rehearsed! “Well, I was just wondering about Billie’s brother — and anyone else we might want to enquire about. If they’d escaped or tried to escape, would they still be in the system? And would you be able to tell us about it, even if it wasn’t good news?”
His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t call her out on what now seemed such an obvious lie. “They would still be in our system, yes. As for whether we would pass on the information as to what happened to them… That would depend on the good it could do.”
“Of course. I just know how much closure can help.”
“And that’s the only reason you’re asking?” he asked with raised eyebrows.
She nodded quickly. “Mmhhmm.”
“Because if there might be another reason, I would have to implore you in the strongest possible terms to reconsider whatever you might be planning. Because… Because like I said, it won’t end well.” He inched further towards her, leaning her across the table. “It won’t be by my hand, I can promise you that, but I can’t protect you from the others. And I really, really don’t want to see that happen to you, Madeline. I… I care about you.”
Madeline’s breath caught in her throat. For all Billie’s teasing, she hadn’t really, truly considered the possibility that they might be right. She’d never exactly been popular with boys, particularly with boys like Marcus — a fact that had never really bothered her. And what could she possibly have done to warrant his interest in her baggy shapeless work clothes?
“You remind me so much of my sister,” he continued, glancing down at his hands on the table.
She let out the breath she hadn’t realised she was holding.
“She’d have been about your age. She was shy at first too, but had an outrageous mouth on her once you got to know her. She was smart — always reading — and she was quiet and sweet… too sweet for this world.”
Now, it was Madeline’s turn to reach across the table, slipping her hand over his and squeezing gently. “Did you lose her?”
He shrugged. “I suppose I did in pretty much every sense of the word. Though perhaps I’ll never know for certain. So believe me when I say I know what you mean about the importance of closure.”
“What happened?”
Looking up to meet her gaze, he gave her a wan smile. “We’re not here to talk about me. We’re here to answer your questions.”
She smiled back. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But you’ve been such a help to me here. So if you ever want to talk about it, I’d love to listen.”
He was silent a while, expression glazed over as if his mind was elsewhere. Then, his eyes snapped back into focus as if a decision had been reached. “The short version is that we got separated, like so many people did in the early days. I spent a long time looking for her, and it led me here. I paid my dues and worked hard. When they told me she wasn’t in the system, I didn’t believe them. I figured if I became a guard I could check for myself and, well… it turned out they weren’t lying. Or if they were, they covered their tracks well.”
“I’m sorry that you couldn’t find her.”
“Me too.” Glancing back down, he placed his other hand over hers and squeezed slightly. “And I’d also be very sorry if anything happened to you. So please, Madeline, be careful. While I promise you can trust me, there’s not much I can do to help if you get in trouble. And I really couldn’t stand to see you get in trouble.”
“I promise that I’ll be careful,” she said. After all, it was technically true. And though she’d lied many times to survive in this world, it seemed wrong to repay Marcus’s honesty with her own dishonesty.
“And that includes not mentioning any of this to anyone else. If anyone asks, you were here to talk to me about Liam and ask about the arrangements for your family room, okay?”
“Okay. Actually, since you bring it up, are there any updates there?”
He snorted. “Trust me, as soon as there are any updates I will make sure you’re the first to know.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Madeline. You’re always welcome.” Pushing his chair back, he stood. “Now shall we get you back to the dormitory so you can get some dinner?”
She followed suit, chair scraping across the worn carpet. “That sounds good. And Marcus?”
“Hmmm?”
“I really do mean it. Thank you.”
On the walk back, Madeline felt lighter. She hadn’t exactly learned much, though she supposed she should take heart from the fact that some people had successfully escaped this place. But the thing putting a spring back into her step was the knowledge that she had a true friend on her side. And despite what Billie might say, she didn’t need to worry about giving him the wrong impression or any romantic overtures.
In fact, it turned out that Marcus was just like them. He’d come here in search of someone he’d loved and lost.
Madeline wondered how many of the other guards here had similar stories. She was sure that some were attracted to the role because of the power over others, but plenty of them seemed like nice enough human beings. When she’d first arrived, she hadn’t been able to fathom the sort of person who would willingly work for or with the Poiloogs — at least not one she’d like to meet. But perhaps the world was even less black and white than she’d thought.
She could even start to see a world where she’d be happy enough staying here.
Of course, she missed her freedom. Her books. Her library. But the work wasn’t too bad. She had food and a bed. She had Billie. And apparently, she had Marcus too. And soon, she’d have Liam. In a lot of ways, that was a better existence than the one she’d had just a year ago — free, but alone, surviving rather than living.

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WaveOfWire Edits :D
- - - - -
Harrison’s vision was still foggy from waking up, several blinks failing to clear the tears from his drawn-out yawn. He just escaped the encompassing embrace of his four-armed guardian, leaving their shared bed for the bathroom, where he would have to say goodbye to his beard. If he was going to travel out of the settlement, a proper seal on his gas mask was a must.
It was a shame. The slow buildup of the hair over the last month or so was a representation of his growth in a way, building up alongside his experiences in this hellhole, be they life-threatening or informative. It was almost like wiping the slate clean, even if cutting some chin scruff didn’t really change anything at all—he’d never be able to forget anything he had seen here for as long as he lived.
And there was no telling how long that’d be.
The engineer sighed, splashing the lukewarm barracks water into his face from one of the many wall-attached sinks, allowing him to fully open his eyes and size up the damage done to his favorite black blood-and-sweat-stained t-shirt. It always stayed in good condition with washing and fabricator repairs, but somehow Shar’s talons always found a way to make small holes in it. She wasn’t trying to, but with the way she fully wrapped her arms around him, the tips of her sharp fingers sometimes ended up poking into the fabric and causing some cuts.
It was such a small issue that he never considered bringing it up to her. Plus, she’d probably do her whole guilty talon-tapping thing with puppy eyes and all… He shook his head, letting the stray beads of water on his face drip into the sink.
His palm ran across his beard while his other hand reached for the razor. There wasn’t any shaving cream or the like, but he’d make do. At least he had one of the proper tools for the job. He went into the task, the blade driving through his scruff, slopping off wide areas of his hair from jaw to chin for a few seconds before it was interrupted.
A short ‘woosh’ of the entrance caught his attention.
“Aww, you’re shavin’ it off?” Tracy commented dejectedly through a yawn, the lazy drawl reinforcing the fact that she just woke up. “Th’ beard was sorta growin’ on me.”
He eyed her through the mirror, his voice coming out in a dull tone. “Yeah. I feel the same.”
She squinted under the bright bathroom lights, rubbing an eye with her wrist as she walked up to the sink beside him and started her own morning routine. “Mmm… Womp womp. Why though?”
“Need it to get a gas mask seal,” he stated flatly, focusing on the task at hand.
The technician stopped momentarily, the gears turning in her head before she gave him a downcast frown. “You’re still set on going for the vehicle bay? You know we can just send some long-range drones out there, right?”
His short exhale echoed throughout the tiled room. The engineer closed his eyes, already mentally withdrawn from the conversation. They've had this discussion twice now. “It’s to be better prepared for any chemical, biological, or radiological surprises that might come up—not just for the excursion. Even more importantly, there’s no guarantee the module is in perfect shape. If I’m there in person, I’ll have the means to get through anything for those blueprints. Plus, it should only be four days, so the only issues we have are my beard and finding a way to protect the Malkrin from the radiation while we’re out.”
Tracy looked like she wanted to say something back, but bit her lip and cast her eyes down at the sink in front of her, twisting the knob before mumbling a quiet response. “I don’t think you need to protect them from radiation at all…”
“Hmm?”
She stared at him meekly, his dismissal of her worries having clearly dampened her mood. Guilt tugged at the back of his mind before her words further caught his interest. “I think they’re immune… or resistant or something. Radiation immunity is the whole reason they were sent here. You’ve added up the pieces together too, right?”
He stared down at her, running a hand through his hair with tired exasperation depressing his voice. “Tracy, I’ve been trying my hardest to just make it another day on this God-forsaken planet, not dig into their religion. So, no. I have not spent the time to add up the pieces. Enlighten me, please.”
“…S-Sorry. I just, you know, get a lot of time to think when working on drones, and Cera has been drawing all kinds of representations of these things.” Tracy paused, gesturing toward the engineer. “Okay, so you remember the whole backstory for why the Malkrin are on the mainland in the first place?”
“Pseudo-eugenics?” he commented dryly.
“Yeah.” She nodded, a sense of excitement leaking into her voice. “And what were the parameters of banishing someone?”
“Not getting sick from a rock.”
She eyed him feverishly, brows raised with a sudden zeal. “Aaaaand that rock represented the Sky Goddess’ wrath, which did what?”
“Uhhh…” He looked upward in thought, recalling his conversation with the paladin. “I think Shar mentioned nausea, vomiting, blisters, skin melting… off…” He froze, the pieces forming. “Wait, you don’t think…”
“I do. Those symptoms could mean a lot of things, but the anomaly field was the real kicker. You know that Shar just straight up didn’t have any lingering radiation effects or anything while you were nearly put… six feet under…” Her voice quieted momentarily, the speed of her speech outpacing her train of thought. “Sorry. Um… so, I was gonna say that she, uh, I mean the scanner mentioned she had damage from ‘alpha particles’ on her skin, but nothing else happened to her organs or anything.”
Harrison squinted at her for a moment, mouth slightly opened and prepared to give some alternative reasoning besides ‘immunity.’ Maybe her armor protected her from it? No… she didn’t even have full protection, radiation would have certainly gotten around her eyes or snout. What about her height? What if… No.
He didn’t just want to believe that somehow the Malkrin could just evade a force of nature, but he didn’t have any way of proving or disproving it on hand… Well, no humane way of testing it.
“I… guess?” the engineer grumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Even then, they still need armor and gas masks. The worst part of the radiation isn’t even the ionizing part. It’s the trace elements that get into your lungs and decay there. So it doesn’t hurt to use some CBRN filters.”
“Fair… but it’s interesting, isn’t it?” Tracy beamed. “Like, what kind of evolutionary factors lead to radiation immunity? Why do only some of the Malkrin have it and others don’t?”
The only real cause of radiation he could think of would be a massive nuclear proliferation of some sort. Maybe the anomalies? He ran a hand through his hair, pushing the lingering thoughts away. “I wouldn’t know. You could always ask Sebas to bring up some papers about it or generate some theories when you get the chance.”
“I probably will at some point… Maybe while I’m working.” She poked him in the bicep. “You’re still helping me with the mule, right?”
He bobbed his head, loose beard hairs itching up his chin. “Sure am. Gimme a bit to shave and test the fifty-cal ammo, then I’ll be free to assist.”
“Kay Kay.” The tradeswoman smiled and returned to the sink, washing her face.
- - - - -
“What the hell did you do to your shield?” a stunned Harrison asked the paladin, his face scrunching up in concern… and confusion.
Sharky proudly held up her once grungy orange shield with a smile, looking at its new… paint job? “Artificer Tracy has s—n to imbue my bulwark with the crest of the Sky Goddess herself! Observe the b—utiful wings that cover it!”
The engineer had just got back from setting up and overseeing the automated mule’s first excursion to the mine and back. It was a grueling task, requiring him to reset its pathing several times before it was able to make a round trip without input. Now, the maroon-skinned Malkrin in front of him had apparently gotten her massive aegis laser imprinted with crossing wings in the two hours or so he’d been gone. The areas between the black feather decals were colored with white and blue paints, contrasting with the new dark gray background.
A small weight was placed on his shoulder, Tracy’s forearm suddenly appearing atop it despite her being nearly a foot shorter than him. She beamed, staring up at him with all-too-proud eyes. “The scout regiment symbol looks good on it, right? Cera helped me with the laser engraving.”
“I…” His brows raised in perplexity. “The scout regiment?”
She shrugged, watching the paladin observe her shield from all sorts of different angles underneath the workshop’s light fixtures. “From an anime I used to watch. Men and women who were sent out to battle against massive titans for the greater good of the last settlement of humanity. Somewhat fitting, and fuckin’ awesome on her big-ass shield! Matches the bird’s wings on her armor too.”
He loudly sighed. “You wasted materials on imprinting wings on Shar’s shield? Really?”
“Hey!” Her brows furrowed into faux-annoyance, a smug grin betraying it. “It’s not a waste if you were never gonna use the paint we had on hand. Plus, we’ve got energy to spare with all the wind turbines and power cells you’ve been printing out.”
“Those paints probably could have been used for important designations… or something…” he grumbled.
“Doesn’t matter.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “Anyway, want me to put some scary teeth or something on that big ‘ol fist-sized muzzle break on your shotgun?”
“No?” he took an incredulous step away from her, letting her arm fall off his shoulder and to her side.
“It’s okay to admit you’re jealous of Shar’s awesome decals, bro,” Tracy teased, her smugness growing tenfold. “No need to get defensive.”
He groaned, figuring there wasn’t a point in staying to bicker with the tradeswoman, leaving the two vanity-focused females to their devices. He still had to figure out how to fabricate armor and gas masks for the Malkrin and himself.
“Hey! Where ya goin?” the technician called out, clearly disappointed that he hadn’t indulged in her taunts.
“Work.”
Short taps against the hard floor sounded out as she caught up to him. She leaned forward and curiously looked up at him as she walked, holding her hands behind the small of her back. “What kind? Can I help?”
“Just need to take some measurements and compare options. Right… Speaking of which.” He turned around and cupped his palms around his mouth. “Hey Shar! Get over here, I need your help!”
The addressed Malkrin perked up, snapping out of the small haze of admiring her new shield and happily making her way toward him. She stood at attention, her tail oscillating side to side. “What n—d do you have of me?”
“Just a quick task,” he briefed her, grabbing some measuring tape from his desk… that Tracy had decided was her new chair. He sighed and turned his attention back to the paladin. “Can I bother you to lean down for a few seconds while I take some measurements?”
“Of course. Pl—se, take your time.” She stepped forward and kneeled, her head brought down to his height. Her face wore that simple content look he was growing all too accustomed to by now—slightly vibrating frills, a little curl upward of her lips, and warmly glowing eyes.
He wasted no time getting to work, noting down the various distances around her jaws, snout, eyes, and ears, already piecing together how he could cobble together some gas mask designs to fit the dimensions. She sat there quietly, sometimes leaning into the accidental head scratches adorably. It contrasted heavily with the cold-sweat-inducing layers of razor-sharp teeth within her muzzle as he measured the angle her maw opened at, bringing an idle curiosity prodded his mind.
“Say, Shar, do your teeth grow back if they fall out?” he poked, absently observing the dozens of triangular bone protrusions in her mouth as he held the underside of her jaw.
“They do,” she confirmed, the way she was able to speak despite not moving her mouth still messing with his head. “Do y—rs not?”
“Nope. Only once.”
She attempted to tilt her head, but quickly returned it when it left the embrace of his palm. “Only once?”
He nodded. “Yeah, sometime a few years after birth. They’re replaced with the teeth I have now. Don’t get any new ones, so we gotta take care of ‘em.”
“Birth?” The Malkrin’s eyes widened. “You were not cr—ted as you are now?”
A shock of stress poured down his spine like a bucket of ice water, raising the hairs on his back. Fuck. How did he let that slip? He was supposed to have just appeared from the sky to her, right…? He was doing so well for so long in keeping that in. God, had he really gotten so comfortable with the paladin that he simply forgot what he was to her? His teeth clenched, a huff of air escaping his nostrils as he lightly shook his head. It was a bit too late to backtrack. It could be explained vaguely and brushed off, right?
“Yeah. I was born,” he affirmed flatly. His hand dropped away from Shar’s muzzle, her head falling an inch or two before she registered that she couldn’t keep leaning into his touch. “That’s it for measurements, so you’re free to leave.”
A frown carved through her small smile. “I… See… F—give me if I have brought up someth—g improper.”
His exhalation burned through his frustration at himself, his hand running through his hair to wash away the spike of anxiety. “You’re fine. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Th-Then I shall take my leave,” the massive alien stated softly.
He nodded, feeling a little regretful for pushing the kindhearted Malkrin away as he shuffled back to his desk. Tracy was still sitting atop it, giving him a disappointed reaction with low brows, forcing a pointed reaction from him. “What?”
The technician took a long inhale before shrugging. “Nothin’.”
“…Alright.”
The rolling chair squeaked lightly as he rested himself, his hands already going through the motions of opening the computer and the blueprint folders. There were plenty of tabs open of sensors and motor assemblies he hadn’t closed from the previous night. That wasn’t even mentioning the pile of notes he had on proper radio-protective methods, their corners bent from his frequent flipping through them.
“Soooo…” The short black-haired woman leaned forward from her perch atop the only clear part of his desk. “Can I help you with your ‘comparing options’ work, mister busyman?”
“Sure…” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, raising a brow. “How much do you know about armor?”
- - - - -
“No way. The back support is a must, so you can have extra plating over your shoulders and chest.” Tracy pointed out from her seat beside Harrison’s, all but forcing him to pause his Malkrin gas mask designing to give her argument his full attention.
He calmly took his hands off the mouse and keyboard. “A back support needs leg assistants, which means I’ll need to have at least a fifteen pound battery pack somewhere. Those kinds of exosuits are either all in or not at all. You can go full armor and engine, or lightweight protection and simple limb support.”
“So you’re just gonna go out there with normal armor? Just run-of-the-mill plates and gear? Those fucking things would go through that shit like butter! I know we can’t make synthetic muscle yet, but at least consider wearing something a bit more. Please. Even Sharky has heavy armor!”
Harrison pinched the bridge of his nose, his brows furrowed. “Do I look like a several-hundred kilogram monster of pure muscle to you? I’m more than willing to put on a few extra kilos for protection, but I’m trying to weigh the pros and cons of putting on more armor rather than more equipment. I’d rather fifty pounds of magazines and ammo than fifty pounds of armor. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah yeah… You and your storage space…” she mumbled, swiping through a few more images on her data pad when a familiar Mars-pattern suit showed up, catching his eye.
“Hey, wait, pull that one up…”
She rotated the tablet for him to see a little better—despite already being shoulder-to-shoulder with him. “This one? What’s so special about it?”
He analyzed the few pieces of equipment on screen, noting the rusty-orange and tan color scheme, the old Martian-American flag attached to its breastplate, and the iconic quad-nod integrated helmet. “Holy shit,” he whispered. “That’s… We have that in our blueprints?”
She raised a brow, clearly confused. “Whaddya mean?”
“That’s an Orbital Drop Ranger’s standard kit,” he stated slowly, a simmering sense of awe bubbling up—why the hell was it in their blueprints folder? “It was used during the Sino-Venusian incursion of southern Mars. It still has the Old Earth American flag embedded into it, so you know it’s pre twenty-two-hundred C.E.”
“Oh shit… Pre-St.Loual’s construction? This is ancient, then, huh? Would it be any good?” She leaned in closer to him, eying the tablet further.
“Does it have the assembly view of the armored pieces?”
“Mmhmm.” She tapped a few icons, showing an isometric, exploded view of all the parts and their individual components.
It was a piece of history alright. The armor was produced just about the time when Mars was connecting their orbital stations and ground colonies to work in tandem, allowing for specialized forces to be trained in space and launched anywhere across the planet from drop pods in mere minutes, leading to common nickname of ‘Minutemen’ given to the troopers. The suits were expertly designed to withstand the harsh environments of Mars and give the soldiers the ability to engage with enemy combatants for several days before extraction, though the adept units usually completed their objectives within twenty-four hours of their landing.
The helmet was very angular and blended in with the expected rocky terrain of Mars, each component taking on a sloped frontal design with rectangular prisms flowing behind—radio, breathing apparatus, and vision modules all sharing a sleek, yet bulky look in their own right. It reminded him of some in-atmosphere ships, with the overhanging visor above the quad-nod viewport being the only non-aerodynamic pieces.
The chest and legs were a bit different, following the design of late twenty-second-century operators with tan lightweight rigs, and ammunition pouches alongside armored plates that ran from the shoulders to wrists in segments. There was a rusty-orange undersuit beneath it all for the purpose of keeping air in, which required some sturdy polymer structures to ensure it didn’t rip. Then, of course, there were the classic shock-absorbing leg supports. They weren’t too far off what Tracy was asking about earlier, but these ones didn’t provide any assistance in moving with any motors—just straight-up structural reinforcements.
Hell, the blueprints on screen even had the mag-grip gloves used to scale domes, buildings, and satellites alike. There was no doubt that the Orbital Drop Rangers had some of the coolest equipment on Mars, especially considering that it was the last to keep the ‘operator’ look… It was such a shame the government decided the orb-like helmets and rounded bubble armors were more effective.
“Hey, you know what?” he asked the technician, a shot of excitement in his voice. “This might actually work out as a suitable armor replacement.”
She perked up, her brows raised. “Oh? Actually?”
He shrugged, trying to play off the smirk plastered on his face. “Wouldn’t need a horrible amount of changes to work for our purposes. Just need to remove the oxygen converter on the back and put a gas mask replacement in the front portion of the helmet. Plus, we could probably get rid of the airtight aspect and just keep the undersuit for scratch protection. And, most importantly, it’s radio-protective.”
“Meets all your criteria, then?” She tapped through some UI interfaces, sending the armor assembly to Harrison’s monitor, which he accepted quickly.
“Sure does.” He readily clicked through the different parts and systems to differentiate what needed to be kept. “We have the resources for it, and all it needs is a layer of cadmium plus a few replacements. Definitely doesn’t need the heads-up display since there’s nothing for it to interact with either, so that’ll save on print time and materials too. Shame I cut up the beard… the Orbital Drop Rangers were allowed to have some cool ones.”
The tradeswoman scooted in even closer, practically resting her chin on his shoulder and watching him sift through the working parts. “Yeah, rest in peace, beard. Still, your armor situation is solved. What about the Malkrin?”
“I’ll be working on their gas masks, then I was thinking I’d use another one of your modeled armors for their protection since they’ve helped Shar a hell of a lot. Do you have any recommendations?”
“Mmmmm…” She looked up in thought, a smile forming along her cheeks. “You know, until we can make them any real power armor, I was thinking just some regular phobos-pattern armor. Could color ‘em based on their skin too.”
“Phobos-pattern armor?” he hummed to himself, clicking through the folder to find it. It was just as bulky as Shar’s armor, except it appeared a good bit smoother, with more rounded edges compared to her horns-and-spike-lined gauntlets and pauldrons. The blue suit Tracy was proposing didn’t have the four-armed protection compared to the chaos version, but it certainly had the same thickness of its metal plates. “Looks like it’d work pretty well. Does it have any electric components or anything?”
“No…” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Not so good with designing that stuff in the modeling program I did the WarHarberd stuff in. Could add in more sophisticated leg support or whatever if you gave me time, but for now it’s just maneuverable slabs of alloy.”
“I think that’s all we need for the time being.” He shrugged. “I just don’t want the others to be vulnerable to getting cut up by the little spider-crab grunts.”
“As long as it works for what we need, then.” Her elbow poked into his arm. “Here, how about I take care of that armor stuff while you finish up the gas masks? They need the extra arm slots too, yeah?”
“I’d actually appreciate that a lot.” He offered her a back-palm fist bump, to which she eagerly took, taking on a grin that he mirrored. “Thanks, Trace.”
“Don’t mention it. I wish work was always just doing my hobbies like this.”
\= = = = =
A grand pylon of metal construction taller than the mightiest female’s frills stood atop the beach. Blue-scaled surfaces extended near the foot of the tower, gathering the power of the sun itself. The lattice layering upon their sides hid the weaving wires and Goddess-blessed machinery. A staff the same as Shar’khee’s peeked from its top, the glass eye on its side given a wide view of the sandy environment it resided on, the defense it now provided becoming absolute. The aura it exuded as a creature of pure metal was awe-inspiring, its mere presence a showing of Harrison’s might and domain.
No abhorrent would dare step foot upon the meadow’s rolling hills, for such a mistake would ensure their immediate execution for encroaching upon his settlement—the ‘fifty-cal-e-bur’ bullet is not one to rend any beast with only simple injuries, especially with three hundred of them available at once.
The maroon-skinned paladin treaded up the hill, having completed her task of setting up the last turret. The craftsman, the juvenile, and the lumberjack had also assisted with its setup, pulling their weight in both mind and muscles to piece the components together. They completed a few others around the modules already, but this one was done without the star-sents’ oversight. The four Malkrin had practiced and learned enough to be entrusted with such.
The idea of Harrison having enough confidence in them sparked much conviction in the group, each of them more than eager to prove him right—none more so than Shar’khee herself, of course.
She finally returned to the workshop, the sun’s last rays pressing into the back of her head and frills as she crouched beneath the doorway, a small gnawing hunger for dinner digging within her stomach. The cacophony of machines soon reached her ears, the sounds of their efforts almost working in tandem with the strange melodic music playing from an unseen source above her.
Tracy was in her corner, working on new beings of metal as always. The bright lights above were turned off in favor of smaller, warmer emplacements atop her surrounding circle of desks. A hard worker, that star-sent was, though both of them were like that, the paladin supposed. Their kind was certainly intent on keeping their hands busy.
Shar’khee passed through the snakes of machines, finding her way to Harrison’s desk with an increasingly strong sway in her tail. He was working with a black object with light gray accents. It appeared to be partially flexible, yet firm in other places—notably, a large glass fixture on one side of it. There was very little she could make out about its purpose, but with the delicate touches he applied, it appeared to be quite important.
Her tongue clicked twice, garnering the attention of the Creator. He paused his work, swiveling his chair to face her and revealing a long blue-leaf jutting from his mouth. Her male appeared quite tired, but his voice did not show it.
“Oh, Shar, what’s up? Did y’all need any help with the last turret?”
She shook her head. “We do not n—d such, for it is completed. Would you care to join me for din—r? The rest of the settlem—t is enjoying their meals as of now. ”
He raised his brows before looking back at the myriad of notes, tools, and materials atop his cluttered desk. “Well, I’m kinda busy, but…” His jaw rolled around in contemplation. “Here. Let’s just test this thing real quick.”
Her head tilted. “What sh—l we be testing?”
“Your gas mask… er, well, a Malkrin gas mask. Kneel down real quick, I’ll run ya through putting it on.” He stepped off his chair and grabbed the equipment, uncomfortably rotating his shoulders. How long was he sitting on that chair? The male approached her and she did as requested. “I had the sewist help me with some of the design. Never considered you guys would ever wear hats.”
She nodded. “It is unh—lthy for one to have their frills touched by the sun for so long. Adequate shade is a must, and trees are not so p—valent along farm land.”
“Mmhmm. Shame this is just a mask… Alright, this might be a bit uncomfortable, but it’ll do the job.”
He stepped forward and slipped the black apparel onto her snout, pushing it over her face until it pressed against the sides of her head. A cool material rubbed against her skin, locking her into its embrace. It was encapsulating, surrounding her wholly.
Her breaths strengthened as she allowed the mask to cover her, a short shock of nervousness riding down her spine. She was only now registering how vulnerable she was, allowing him to possibly suffocate her… but she stayed put, keeping her four palms rested within her lap as he continued to apply the straps around her ears. She would allow it. She trusted him with her life. She would not falter.
The cords around the back of her head were tight, a few of which went along both sides of her frills, pushing up against their sides. He kept going, ensuring a ‘seal,’ but it was getting much too—
Pop.
A lightning bolt of pain rolled throughout the top of her head, sending her reeling. It stung for the briefest of moments, but its effects rebounded through her entire body, short sparks pulsing from its origin. She felt nothing but its agonizing hold for several more moments as the rest of her body caught up.
When her eyes opened once more, she found herself on the floor and staring at the ceiling. The star-sent rushed to her side, appearing to ask many questions while looking over her head, but all she heard was a piercing ring and the gruff vocalization he made whenever he shared his intent. No words reached her mind, only the now faint phantom pains from where her frills met her skull. It put everything in a haze, her eyes barely settling on her dearest’s, despite how nauseous she had become.
His deft hands quickly worked to loosen the straps, practically ripping them off until his voice suddenly reached her, like breaching the surface of the water. His voice was deep, attempting to be calculating, yet despite his calmly created stoic demeanor… she could feel his panic, his sheer worry almost flooding her senses through practiced medical queries. She slowly sat up on the floor, holding herself with two arms while the other pair quelled the kneeling male, assuring him that she was alright with their weight resting atop his shoulders.
“I am well, dearest Harrison. Do not fret for me. The straps were simply too tight.”
His anxious breaths barely slowed, narrowly allowing for his exclamation. “Too tight? Shar, you practically blacked out!”
“Too tight upon my frills, I mean. There was a pain there for a few moments, but it has passed,” she returned calmly, softly kneading his stiff shoulders with the joints of her digits.
He exhaled sharply, matching her gaze with regret in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Shar. I should’ve known. I was just trying to see how…” He paused, resting his palm atop her forearm. “Nevermind. I just… Are you alright? Should I get you to the med bay for a quick scan?”
“I do not believe that to be necessary, no.”
His guard finally fell. “If… If you say so. Guess I have to redo the straps then. Definitely gotta make sure they’re not pressing on your frills like that.”
She smiled, appreciating his dedication. “Would you like my assistance?”
“As long as you don’t have anything else to do.” He shrugged, his shoulders barely moving upward against her massaging hands.
“There is no greater wish of mine than to be by your side,” she stated warmly.
He was frozen, the soft ministrations of his digits along her arm slowly stopping in contrast to the red flush growing from his cheeks to his ears. The crack of a smirk on his face finally with a short, heart-warming chuckle brought the statue back to life after a few moments. “You know… that’s probably the sweetest thing I’ve heard for years.”
Her brows raised in subtle surprise at his response. “It… was not intended to be such… However… you are more than welcome. You must understand by now that I am speaking only the truth.”
The two of them sat there in relative silence amongst the desks and machines; her half laying on the ground with her hands on his shoulder, and him on his knees by her side, a singular hand running up and down her comparatively large forearm. She felt… weak, in a way. A vibrating sensation rummaged through her stomach, attempting to pull her muscles and nerves astray.
It was warm, just like his palm, each motion of his hand sending lightning through her skin. The upward curl of her lips into her cheeks was suddenly an insurmountable force, incapable of being put down by a thousand females. There was a tear within her to either look away or… close the distance, and she suddenly found looking anywhere but his curious green eyes to be a waste of her time.
Her talons wrapped further around his shoulders and his back, ever so slightly bringing him into her embrace—
“A-HEM.” A voice cut the moment down to its knees. “The fuck happened here?” Tracy’s swift interjection caused the paladin to flinch backwards, allowing her to see that Harrison’s other hand had been hovering right beneath her snout. The female star-sent wore a furrowed brow and crossed arms, looking down at them. “I heard a crash and came over. Are you two alright?”
Harrison cleared his throat, ever-so-subtly scooting away from the paladin. “Uh, yeah. Shar fell because, um, I tied the gas mask a lil’ too tight.”
The artificer wore an expression that told of her disbelief. “She fell because of the gas mask?”
“It was something with her frills.” The male returned with a shrug, picking himself off the floor before offering the paladin a hand up.
She took it, despite not requiring it, and wiped off some loose dust from her pants. The three of them quickly returned to work soon after, with both her and the black-haired star-sent joining Harrison in his quest to produce the gas mask. She was much less… What did the Creator call it? Bubbly? Yes, that was it. She was much less bubbly than usual, sometimes sending a cold yet emotionless glare toward Shar’khee… Nevertheless, the two females offered input on the design and applied help where they could, eventually creating the final piece of equipment.
Tracy commented on its looks, apparently drawing inspiration from the Leviathan itself, as she believed it to be like that of a ‘Sea Dragon’s.’ The maw-covering portion held two cylindrical canisters on the adjacent sides, the bottom portion being capable of distention, so that the user’s mouth may open somewhat. Its motion created what the female star-sent believed to be ‘the coolest teeth design on a mask’ she’d ever seen with how the separation formed alternating triangles.
The monster-like appearance was furthered by her own frills and horns that peeked out from behind the mask. That was not even mentioning the see-through visor that formed a malicious glare of sharp brows. The paladin looked through a hand-held mirror, finding it difficult to disagree with the look. She could imagine the horror on a fisherwoman’s face as such a terrifying creature approached from the depths.
And yet, despite its nightmarish visage, it was apparel designed to save lives, not take them—much unlike the unassuming metal rods that spewed fire with a mere flick of a lever. Curious indeed. The star-sents were seemingly never out of surprises. They even spoke of grand robots and firearms larger than Shar’khee herself as possible future projects.
Only time could tell what machinations of alloy would be birthed from their hands.
- - - - -
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Next time on Total Drama Anomaly Island - Under The Milky Way

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 specifically on inspirations and other media. This installment will focus on Worldbuilding and Touring, how Christopher constructs his worlds, and how he goes about promoting them on tours. The topics aren't actually linked, but they both fill up around half a post and so are being joined here. The next and final post will focus on miscellaneous questions about the real world.

Worldbuilding

Creating Magic Systems

Did you have a research process when you were writing the Inheritance Cycle? I put a fair bit of thought into the story itself of the Inheritance Cycle, and then some general stuff as to the society and just kind of where things were in the world before writing it. I put a medium amount of thought into the magic system before I started writing, and then as I wrote the implications of it became much more apparent to me, and I really sort of dove deep into it. In retrospect, were I to create a fantasy world from scratch now, I would really put a lot of attention into that magic system and the society beforehand, just to have a good feel for that before I even start chapter one. I would put more restrictions on the magic too. I think the more restrictions, the more interesting, even the more realistic in some ways. [3]
If I were designing a magic system from scratch nowadays I would put way more restrictions on it because I find that the limitations are useful, I don't want the characters getting overpowered, but also just from a storytelling standpoint, incantations, rituals, spells, prayers, potions, all of those mechanical things are just kind of interesting and of course they give lots of opportunities for things to go wrong if you don't follow the correct steps. So I think if I were designing magic from scratch right now I'd put a lot of restrictions and rituals associated with it. So costs, more costs. [25]
What kind of hacks do you have to developing a magic system? Once I have a general idea of the setting, whether science fiction or fantasy, the first question I ask myself is how does it diverge from physics as we know it? Because that is a fundamental question that's going to determine what is possible in this world. It might determine what's possible with warfare, with politics, with industry, manufacturing, travel times, it could affect everything depending on what type of divergence you have. In the World of Eragon, the divergence is that living creatures have the ability to directly manipulate energy using their minds. The reason for that is kind of handwavy, although I have an explanation for it, but that is the divergence and then I tried to be as consistent and physically possible with it at every step of the way past that. When people play games you always get people who are looking how to exploit it. "What's the most I can get out of this game? What's the most I can do?" That's basic human nature. Science is a speedrunning nature I think. So the same sort of thing. You assume that if magic existed there's going to be someone sitting in their basement who's absolutely obsessive about it and is going to figure out every single advantage that that divergence gives them. And you have to be realistic and work that into your world and say "Well people aren't stupid. They are going to figure this out and use it in this way, and what are the implications, socially, physically, and everything else?" Once I have that then you can think about society and culture and everything else, but that basic physical difference from our reality is just to me fundamentally important to understand before I even begin to write. [25]
With standalones you're not dealing with continuity or what rule did you break or things like that. That's interesting, because I would say that writing a sequel for me is faster than writing a standalone. At least for me, the more I know the characters and the world, the faster, like I don't have to do the groundwork of creating a magic system, creating a society, creating the gods and the history. All that's done for me, so I can just slip into it like slipping on an old glove. [33]

Creating Religions

A socio-political religion in your world helps drive characters or stories or die-hard fanatic characters forward. How do you go about developing those? Have the courage to let your characters actually believe the things that they are supposed to believe. If you look back historically people really did truly believe these different religions and different systems. Too often I think with modern stories we have people only giving lip service to the supposed belief and instead having very modern attitudes toward it which perhaps doesn't always work. That's understandable if you want a character to be relatable to a modern reader, but there are so many examples of interesting belief systems throughout the world. To me that's something fascinating to write about. But the main thing is just accept that when people truly believe something they're genuine about it and then you can follow that from a logical and storytelling standpoint. What I'd also say is, if you're writing about something that is very different from your own belief system, assuming it's not like completely evil, to try to approach it with a sense of charity. With the understanding that everyone is searching for meaning and understanding. I've always had a soft spot for the old television show Babylon 5, because although I don't believe that the creator J. Michael Straczynski is religious, he writes all of his characters with great sympathy and understanding, he's never cynical about it, and he's not putting up straw man arguments or criticizing any of the characters. He's like "They're searching for meaning. They're struggling with the great questions as we all do, and each one is trying to solve those questions in their own way." And I always really appreciated that he wasn't being cynical about it or really shallow. [25]

Creating Languages

Did you think of the ancient language, not just as a mechanic, but also as a parable of our own language? I was thinking about how language itself feels like magic to me. You can write a story, you can convey information. Language in many ways is our greatest tool and makes us human along with, I would argue, our hands, our ability to manipulate objects and use actual tools. But one without the other wouldn't really work and wouldn't allow us to be a technological species. We could have language with no ability to handle tools, and then we wouldn't be what we are now. But I find language fascinating and I find the function of language incredibly interesting. And there is this idea in the real world going back to the beginning of time, that to name something is to understand it, and gives you a certain amount of power over it, whether that's a person or a physical object. And the ancient language is just taking that idea seriously. And I'm not the first author or tradition to do that, but is it a parallel? Is it a metaphor? I don't know if I'd go that far, but it definitely ties into the use of language and my ideas about it. What's crazy to me is there is a theoretical arrangement of words right now that would give us a massive breakthrough in science and physics. There's a theoretical arrangement of words that were I to write it or anyone else would influence how people think about the next presidential election to such a degree that it might actually changed the election. These are all theoretically possible and you can think of many many other things that you could do with language. We just lack the knowledge of what those arrangement of words are, and so we're constantly clawing our way toward new knowledge and new uses of language. [19]
The languages that you were playing around with in The Inheritance cycle, they were Germanic, Anglo Saxon based? The ancient language, the magical language, is based very strongly on Old Norse, which of course is Germanic or related to Old High German. The Dwarven language was invented pretty much from scratch although it is an agglutinative language like German is. And then the other languages have not appeared very much in the series. They're just little scraps here and there. To be clear, I am not a linguist, and I have not devoted the time and energy to developing these in a formal or rigorous way, the way that Tolkien did. Tolken was a linguist and that was his forte. I got far enough down that path while working on the Inheritance Cycle that I really began to appreciate how every word has a history and that history is inexorably tied to the history of the land. It's often said that Tolkien created Middle-earth just to explain his languages, as a setting for the languages. Which isn't entirely true, but there is truth to that. That's what I was encountering and I was realizing that I could spend 20 years, 10 years, just working on the languages and building this out. It might have been a worthwhile venture, but the tradeoff would have been no more books published during that time. I want to tell a story. [28]
What I would do these days, or what I did with other languages, is come up with a couple of words that sort of had a general feel that I liked and then extrapolating from those invented words, figuring out what consonants and vowels and clusters thereof that I wanted. Come up with some more sample words based off that and then start working out some grammar. Grammar is probably my weakest spot since at the time I wasn't really aware of non-English grammar systems and I've put some more attention in that since then. [34]
The language and culture that you describe in the books seem very real. How do you start inventing a language? You shamelessly steal from Germanic mythology and Scandinavian mythology, just like Tolkien did. But I'm no linguist, I did my best, I have a copy of the Nibelungen up on my shelf along with the Eddas, and I based one of my languages on Old Norse, which gave it a nice sound and feel. So the main thing is picking things that make sense for your world and then trying to be internally consistent. [2]

Creating Maps

At what point in your writing process do you start creating the map? I've created the maps at different times in different books. At first I thought I didn't need a map because I thought that a good book should be perfectly understandable without a map. You shouldn't need to rely on anything outside of the text in order to enjoy it. And I still think that's generally true, but a map can add a lot. So for Eragon, I did it partway through the book. If I were to do a stand-alone fantasy novel, I would definitely want to work out the maps and stuff before writing it. [12]
The map for Eragon, the original black and white map, I did about halfway or a third of the way into Eragon. My idea was, and I still kind of believe this, that a well-written book shouldn't need a map in order to understand the story. You should be able to keep your bearings just based off the text. What I ran into though was that I was getting lost in the world myself with the amount of places and things after a certain point. And so I drew a map. [34]
For me I think if you're creating something in the real world obviously that gives you certain constraints and certain advantages but if you're starting with something from scratch, I find creating a map right up front is really helpful because your story is not going to visit every square inch on your map so by filling in those other details on the map you're going to get more story ideas and also ideas for potential conflicts, travel distances. It all feeds into the realism of the story as well as potentially future stories. It's fun stuff. The downside is you could spend your whole life worldbuilding. There's a there's a book from World War Two called Islandia, and the guy just spent his whole life creating this island and its culture to the point of working out the actual layers of geography of stone in the island. I've never actually read the book, I don't know if it's any good, but I know it was fairly popular when it came out. [25]
What hacks do you have for for creating geography and points of interest within your world? When I was creating the map for Alagaësia I actually used a old National Geographic Atlas and traced over various coastlines and then distorted them and pasted on top of each other in order to get sort of a natural feeling coastline. Please don't compare the island of Vroengard to the outline of Greece. Please don't do that. And then you have Robin Hobb who just turned Alaska upside down for her map which I always love because I've lived in Alaska twice. I think she told me that she never actually expected the book to get published, but then she got stuck with that because everything was tied to the geography that she started with. [25]
I think that a good map ought to have lots of points of interest, and the tricky bit is, without getting so detailed that it becomes cluttered. You see that sometimes with real world maps, like atlases and stuff, where there's a ton of place names, city names, river names, road names. All of which are useful and necessary, but it can actually visually get in the way of the art, perhaps the artistic effect that you would want a fantasy map to have in a book or a movie or even a game. [12]
There are world generators that you can just click through. It's really easy nowadays with technology to build worlds just by snapping your fingers. Even with those tools, if you have the time and inclination, I think there is some benefit to redrawing or painting the maps in your own style. I don't know about you, I love seeing when the maps are from the author themselves. I remember Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn by Tad Williams. Tad did all the maps himself, and I love that. Even if it's imperfect or a little amateurish it just gives it a really nice feel. I love Tolkien's original art for the same reason. [25]

Creating Dragons

You are the creator of your own world. Do you feel that you have follow certain canons of fantasy worlds, for example, dragons have four legs and wyverns have two? Or do you feel that you can practically do whatever you want because it's fantasy and you create everything? Yes and no. No because I have already established rules and traditions and precedence in The World of Eragon, so I have to be consistent with that. But if I were writing a new fantasy, I would not feel beholden to any tradition. If I wanted to write a world where the dragons have three legs or feathers or something like that then I would feel free to do that. That's the great thing about speculative fiction is it gives you the freedom to write and create whatever you want to. The thing is when you have a genre where anything is possible it actually reveals the limitations of your imagination. And there are very few authors, myself included, who really make full use of that. But at the same time, limitations can make your fiction more interesting. I think it's important to pick some limitations and that will help actually improve the quality of your work. [7]
Why did you decide to have your dragons have a saddle? I was around horses growing up. And the thought of actually physically being on a creature with very hard scales was rather terrifying if thought about in a practical sense. And so it just seemed to me that there had to be some protection. [33]
When you're writing fantasy and you include dragons, especially a dragon rider fantasy, depending on how many there are there, it's actually quite a difficult thing to not solve all your problems with dragons. I think the solution to that is you focus on the problems that dragons present, which balances out the advantages. And of course people are smart, whether we're talking about humans or elves or dwarves or any other invented species. If dragons were real, you'd come up with counters to them, whether it's a bunch of giant ballistae on your walls, or building domed fortresses, or building underground. You would come up with solutions and it would negate those advantages. And that's always my issue with writing fiction with dragons in the real world. If it's a slightly more modern, then you have to ask, well, why isn't everything different in history? Like if dragons were a constant part of our world, architecture would be different, warfare would be different, politics would be different. Well, no, politics would be the same. What am I saying? [30]
I'm sure all of us have seen the fantasy paintings of like a knight in armor with a lance on a horse facing off against a dragon. Now, to be fair, a lance moving at a decent speed at a horse galloping will have enough kinetic energy behind it to punch through just about anything. It could do a lot of damage. But any decent sized dragon would move so fast and be so strong, you wouldn't have a chance with a lance. You'd need a giant crossbow. That'd be your only choice. The size of a dragon, intelligence of a dragon. Until you get to projectile weapons, you have no chance. [30]
We all know what any creature gets when they bond with a dragon. They get a dragon. But why would a dragon create that bond? Why would they do it? Is it the bond, is it their nature? I think for me, having other species bond with the dragons was essentially a way to keep the dragons from getting wiped out. Because dragons are such a huge threat. If you imagine in the real world, we don't suffer giant predators to be constantly predating and disrupting our world. We remove that threat. Especially if there's magic involved, the ability to remove that threat gets even bigger. So in a way I viewed the bond between rider and dragon as essentially self preservation for the dragons, if not the other species as well. Without some sort of symbiotic relationship, coexistence becomes very, very difficult. That, or the dragons have to be smart enough to just essentially remove themselves from the world and live off in the far off places. But that gets really difficult when you start considering how much they need to eat. I remember reading the Live Ship Trader series and I remember the end of that spoiler alert where it's become clear that true dragons have returned now. And it really was kind of an oh crap moment because you start thinking about what that actually means for there to be dragons in the world again. It's kind of like Reign of Fire. [30]

Promoting The Books

Touring Hazards

How did you do on your book tour? It was a lot. It was a lot. I did 50 days of touring last year between Fractal Noise and Murtagh. Obviously the majority of that was for Murtagh. And of course I had a couple other trips in there as well. I went to New York Comic Con. I had one or two personal trips. So there was a lot of travel last year. My goal is to not have as much travel this year. In general, the book tours were awesome, great crowds for the Fractalverse, enormous crowds for World of Eragon/Murtagh. I don't normally talk about this stuff, but since we're past it, it doesn't matter. I started touring for Murtagh November 6th and then got home for good on December 16th. But there's always a risk of getting sick while you're traveling. And I did pretty well in the US leg of things. And then over in Europe between the jet lag and not sleeping- I had a really amazing dinner, one of my publishers took me out to a three star Michelin restaurant. The problem was the dinner started at 8pm and didn't finish till midnight. And there were two or three desserts, and the last dessert was full of coffee, and I didn't realize it. Absolutely full of coffee. And I did not get to sleep until like four in the morning. And I only had three hours of sleep that night. So I think I got sick the day after as a result. I got so sick on the European tour that at one of my stops I had to call paramedics to my hotel room at 2 a.m. because I couldn't breathe. Ended up with bronchitis for the first time in my life. But I'll have you know, I did every event. I didn't miss a single event. I managed to do all my presentations and made it through in one piece. I've never, never backed down from doing an event, even while bleeding. Can you tell us a little bit about the time that you were bleeding in an event? Well, I was in Europe. I was touring for Inheritance, I'd already toured North America, and then I started in Europe, went to UK, and then I went to Australia and New Zealand. But first country was Germany, and I think I did Munich and Cologne, and then I ended in Berlin. And in Berlin, they had me in this wonderful theater that's like over 100 years old, which is very rare in the city, considering all the bombing during the war. And I'm backstage, which meant down in the basement of this theater. And there's like 500 people out waiting for me to make an appearance and there's someone introducing me and they say my name and everyone starts clapping. And of course you want to get on stage before the applause dies down. And the way you got onto stage in this theater was through a set of stairs. And it really wasn't even steps. It was almost like a ladder and it was wood. And the steps were so old that they were basically hollowed out from all the people that have gone up and down it over the years. So I'm scrambling up this and about halfway up, my right foot slipped off the edge of one of the steps because it was hollowed out and full speed, full strength, full weight, I slammed my shin into the edge of one of the steps, stumbled forward two more steps and did it a second time. But momentum, adrenaline, I keep going, I get up on stage, I waved to everyone. And fortunately for me, because I was speaking to a foreign audience, they had me sitting at a table with a translator and a presenter. So I got to sit down and the table kind of hit everything from view. And I start the presentation, start the event. And after about, I don't know, five minutes, I'm thinking to myself, okay, I've banged my shin before. We've all banged our shins before, but this really bleepin' hurt. So I looked under the table and the whole front of my jean leg on my shin is soaked with blood. There is blood dripping onto the floor and my sock is soaked with blood. So I poked my translator, the presenter next to me that I was doing a couple of events with, and I said, "Hey, look at this". And he glances under and his face just goes white. And I'm colorblind and I saw his face go white. And he said, "Do we need to call an ambulance?" And I'm like, "No, no, we're going to do this." So I did an hour-long presentation. And then I got up and managed to quickly limp over to a signing table. And no one really noticed that I wasn't feeling so hot. And I got behind the signing table, and I signed books for 400 or 500 people. And the funny thing is, I was traveling with this foreign rights agent publicist for Random House named Jocelyn, who was just an absolute beast of a woman. I love her to death. You have to understand, she did a European book tour with me while eight months pregnant. The woman was and is just very impressive. But she grew up on a farm. German family in the US, grew up on a farm. So I showed her my leg when I was sitting down to sign and she just looked at me and she said, "You need to go to the hospital?" I said, "Nope". She said, "I knew you were country. Good man." Slapped me on the back. So I finished signing and then I went back to the hotel and I had to get into a tub of water to soak my jeans off because the blood had dried and glued them to my shin. And the problem was I had a dent all the way down to the bone. And I really should have gone to a hospital because, sorry for the gory details, but what happens is when you get a dent like that, you lose the fat under the skin between the skin and the bone and it doesn't come back unless you get an injection to help it puff out and heal. And I didn't do that because I was on tour, there was no time. So the next day I had to fly to pretty sure it was Barcelona for the St. George Book Festival, which is a walking festival. So you have to walk from bookstore to bookstore in the city and do signings. But that was a bit rough. That actually took over a year to heal properly. I still have that dent. Stuff happens. I've heard some crazy stories with other authors. I'd rather it's my blood, not the fan's blood. [32]

Touring Difficulties

We've got blood and sweat, any tears from tour? On occasion. The biggest one is just being away from home. And if anything is a bit off for whatever reason, you can't just pop home and hold someone or do this or do that. It's just difficult to be that far away from home for so long. [32]
If you're not familiar with book tours, the way it often works is that you fly to a city, you get to your hotel room, you have a little bit of time to freshen up, maybe get some food and then you go to the bookstore and you do your event. And it has to be after people get off from work, so it tends to be a later evening event. If you have a large number of people show up, that means that that time spent talking and signing pushes fairly late in the evening. You go back, you get dinner, and if you're a semi-introvert like so many authors tend to be, you need some time to decompress, which means you probably stay up a little too late reading or writing. And then in the morning, you got to go get another airplane flight and go to the new city. All of which is fine, but going to the airport, doing those flights, with the time it takes to go through an airport these days, it means that the schedule has very little time in it. When I toured for Fractal Noise, the publisher one of the days had me fly from Tampa to Portland and I still had to do an event that day. Which I agreed to. It was my own fault because they had everything on the East Coast and I said, "Well, what about the West Coast? You know, I have readers on the West Coast. They need to get a chance to get a signed book." It was my own fault. But that can get rough when you're doing it for weeks on end at a certain point. You just can't recover. A day off? What's that? But it's a good problem to have. That people want to see you and want to read your books. It's an awesome career to have. [1]
I'm also a big fan of coffee naps. So I will drink a cup of coffee, usually my second cup of coffee, and then I'll go take a nap, and I will nap for about 30 minutes, because after 30 minutes the coffee wakes me up. And I find that 15 to 30 minutes is the perfect length of a nap for me, and if I go past that, I need to sleep for about three hours, because otherwise I get into the middle of a REM cycle, and if I wake up in the middle of a REM cycle, I'm just like groggy and drugged, and I feel worse than if I hadn't napped at all. And then of course, if you're on book tour, the way I have been for a while, you gain the ability to just close your eyes at any point and take a 10 minute nap 15 minute nap anywhere, and it at least helps you stay upright. [19]

Meeting Fans around the World

You just got back from the U.S. leg of your book tour — who’s making up the crowd? The readership is broad and probably older than it was back in the day. There are still a lot of 8-year-olds, but now there are grandparents, too. I’ve even met some kids who’ve been named after the characters, which is pretty amazing. Because people have been reading the series for so long, I tend to get a mix of incredibly detailed, hyper-focused, deep-dive questions about some of the lore, but also some more general ones about Eragon’s name. [16]
I'm sure you hear personal stories all the time especially at your readings and your your appearances. It must be lovely, and I guess overwhelming to connect with your fans. That's a good way of putting it: lovely and overwhelming. Everyone has their own personal history with these books. I have people showing up who named their children after the characters, or who've gotten tattoos. Oh my goodness, what's the one you get? Multiple Saphiras, Aryas, Rorans, a couple of Eragons. As a writer, you want people to read your stories, enjoy them, be affected by them. If they're affected so strongly they name their children after your characters, you feel pretty good about it. [28]
Are your European fans different from your American fans? I actually haven't met any children here who are named after characters from my books. That seems to be an American phenomenon. The language barrier sometimes makes it a little more difficult to talk to European fans. But the love for Eragon is just as strong in Europe as it is in the US. This is not your first time on tour in Europe. Is there something you're missing here? I actually noticed that hotels in Europe usually don't have ironing boards or irons. This is standard equipment in America. [24]
My great-grandmother was from Sicily and then my grandfather was from Bologna. I just found out recently that my grandfather as a child was tutored by Fellini's wife. [7]
My grandfather was the stereotype of an elderly Italian gentleman. He had a mustache, he cooked spaghetti and he made the most amazing red sauce for the spaghetti. He used too much profanity. He was quite the character. [35]
Amsterdam is a beautiful city, but if I had grown up here I would probably still have written fantasy, but it would probably have influenced the type of fantasy I write. [23]
I was just in Stockholm on book tour for my latest book. And I've sold a really large number of books, proportionally in Sweden, and I'd never been there before. And I was kind of curious what their thoughts and feelings were on it, given the fact that I have shamelessly pillaged, Anglo-Saxon Scandinavian mythology for my own work. And they said native Swedish authors don't write using their own mythology, they go into the more literary veins and they import and translate other authors who are writing about Scandinavian mythology and they enjoy it immensely, but it doesn't seem to be a homegrown thing for them, which is rather odd, I think. [30]
Old Norse is not so far from German, do you speak a little bit of German? I understand a fair bit. When I've done presentations in Germany, I've had children ask me questions in German, and I can sometimes understand the entire question without translation, but I only speak a few words. [Host 2]: Let's try it. Can you ask the next question in German? Of course. Oh dear. [speaking quickly] Herr Paolini, wie viel von ihrer Vision für die ganze Serie hat sich mit der Zeit verändert? Hat es sich überhaupt verändert? Denn wenn man sich die frühen Werke anguckt, erkennt man, dass sehr viele Sachen aus den frühen Werken in den späteren wieder auftauchen. So dass es eigentlich unmöglich sein kann, dass sie das nicht von Anfang an komplett geplant haben? Translation please. That was not fair. But funny. Yeah, I was just asking, when you started writing the book, and it became not just one book, it became a whole world, it became a series, and I don't want to spoil anything, but if you read the first books and you read the later books, stuff comes up again, and it seems like you actually knew where it was going when you started writing, which is again insane because you were 15. Is that something you just got lucky, or did you really plan for a whole series when you started writing the first one? I planned because I tried writing some stories before Eragon, and I never got past the first five or ten pages because I didn't have a story. I would only have an inciting incident, like a young man finds a dragon egg in the forest. Well, fun, awesome, but that's not a story. So Eragon and the series as it was, was a writing exercise for myself to see if I could outline, plot, and then write at least the first book of a series. So yes, if you read the first book, Eragon, there's actually a scene, a dream sequence in the first book. And it is the very last scene of the last book. And I did that specifically so that I could point to it and say to my readers, "See, I knew what I was doing." But of course, it isn't the last book now. [2]
Before he finished signing them all he asked if I read Fractal Noise, I said yes. He then asked how I liked it. I said I liked To Sleep far more. And to be fair I did. But I could've been a little more less brunt about it. All in all I'm sorry Paolini. I hope you see this. Dude -- No need to apologize! I was the one who put you on the spot. I was just curious about Fractal Noise as it's pretty different from what I normally write. That said, I'm a big boy, and it doesn't bother me in the slightest if someone prefers one book over another. [R]
Have you been on TikTok? How do you find it? I have an account that my assistants post content on for me because I don't have the time and I don't want it on my phone, but it has been a really useful way to connect with readers, and I had a lot of people who came up during my book tour end of last year, who said that they found out about the events I was doing from the posts on TikTok. [33]
Outside of the tour, did you do anything to personally celebrate the release of Murtagh? No. Not to sound blase, but this isn't my first book I've released. Going on the tour is the celebration. Getting to meet the fans. It's an enormous expenditure of energy, time, effort, and it's very joyous and touching and meaningful for me. And I think for a lot of the readers. So that's the celebration. My team and I, we all kind of take a moment to pat ourselves on the back every time a book comes out and then it's back to the grind a bit. Also, I got to celebrate my 40th birthday while on book tour, and I got to celebrate it with my editor, my publicist, my former publicist who's been with me since the beginning. So that was really nice. [32]

Appearance

Being an author is like the best kind of semi-celebrity, because nine times out of ten, no one knows who you are, you can live a nice quiet life, and then you get to go out and meet people who like your work. And that's a real treat. I grew the beard partly to keep people from recognizing me. But then I've had it for so long that it doesn't work anymore. And I got tired of shaving. But the problem is the beard takes so much time and effort to take care of it, it doesn't save me any time. [1]
Did your hat end up getting fixed post-tour? Yup. Fixed it myself with a rivet. [T]
Any advice on how to wear a pirate's hat without it being weird? It's very simple. There's one ingredient. You wear it with confidence. That's all. [36]

Signing Books

People people don't maybe don't realize what an endurance race it is, especially when when books are this big and successful. Like the amount. I once did 9,280 books in an afternoon and a half at a warehouse. I had nine people helping. I stood. I find that if I stand, I don't use my wrist. I can isolate the arm. And I just had someone shove it under me, someone pull it out for me, and everyone else was boxing, unboxing and flapping. But it hurt. It really hurt. I dropped my first name this past year. For the first time in a 20 year career, I finally dropped my first name. Did you feel defeated? Yes. But I have kids now and I just could not afford the time and the strain on my body. I actually got two typewriters. I got really bad inflammation in my right thumb from all the signing and I find that typewriters alleviated that. Also heavier like mechanical keyboards seem to help. So I know like Robin Hobb has suffered some severe problems with her hands with the amount of typing she's done over the years. So yeah, it is an occupational hazard. [33]
I have to say, signing 30,000 sheets is SIGNIFICANTLY harder than mining or placing 30k blocks in #Minecraft. Lol. [T]
Do you have a PO Box or something? I’d pay shipping both ways to have you sign my books. P.O. box is listed on paolini.net. Just include return shipping, please. :D Alternatively, you can arrange signed copies through Conley's Books & Music in Livingston, MT. [R]
If I send a book to a P.O. Box and pay for shipping there and back, would you sign it? Yup. Address is on paolini.net [T]

Synopsis:
An engineer from earth blends science and magic to achieve greatness in another world where skills and levels reign supreme.
—
Ethan was just a plain old engineer, but everything changed when he was reborn into a world of skills, levels, and magic. With his advanced knowledge far ahead of the time period he finds himself in, this new reincarnated life will be much different than his last, especially because he can construct, deconstruct, and reconstruct runes—something no one else can do.
But with royal politics, looming tax collectors, a mountain of debt, dungeon incursions, cults, and hostile fantasy races mixing together into a cocktail of bullshit that threatens to bury his dreams; Ethan must bridge the gap between steel and sorcery to grow stronger. — What to Expect:
- Weak to very strong progression with a Sword & Magic MC that kicks a whole lotta ass. - Fast pacing. A balance of action galore, politics, kingdom building, and slow-burn runecrafting. - Fun, satisfying moments. An extra shot of happiness when reading. Hardcore wish fulfillment. Hyper competent MC. - MC will trigger an industrial revolution, abolish slavery, revolutionize magic, modernize agriculture, communication, commerce, textile production, education, transportation, sanitation, weapons manufacturing, leisure & entertainment, and medicine. - Dark truths of a medieval-esque society going under change.
Join my Discord Server to have chat, bother me, ask me questions, or just genuine fun really - https://discord.gg/d57v5upvcx
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Chapter 11

Congratulations! You have unlocked the skill: [Meditation]!
Meditation – Level 1
Type: Passive
Effect: This basic meditation technique focuses on bringing your awareness to the present moment. By calming your thoughts and observing your breath, you create a state of inner peace that fosters the natural restoration of your mana. It’s a simple practice that can be maintained throughout the day, even while traveling or performing light tasks. However, that requires a higher level of the skill. Connections: [Meditation] has formed Connections with [Magic Sensitivity] and [Magic Perception], enhancing all three skills’ effects.
A smile spread across Ethan’s face. He continued his routine like usual, albeit with one addition: daily meditation. It took some time, but slowly—ever so slowly—the dull aches behind his eyes receded, replaced by a refreshing coolness as his mana regeneration speed increased. Meditation indeed helped.
[Meditation] — Lvl 1 -> Lvl 2!
[Magic Sensitivity] — Lvl 1 -> Lvl 2!
[Magic Perception] — Lvl 1 -> Lvl 2!
“Finally!”
Unexpected bonuses! Ethan chuckled. It seemed even seemingly basic skills could have hidden relations. He closed his eyes once more. He had a feeling this was just the beginning.
Time passed, and he continued making rune motes. But a new kind of worry furrowed his brow. The novelty of handcrafted soap had its limits. The initial batch was sent to potential investors, nobles, merchants, et cetera—and it had indeed vanished like suds in a rainstorm. He’d even managed to train a couple of the more eager servants, turning them into his first, albeit slightly nervous, soap-makers. But scaling things up? That presented a whole new bar (pun entirely intended) of challenges.
First, there was the money issue. His pockets were starting to feel empty. Expanding his operation meant serious investment, something he could only take so far.
Investors. Ethan grimaced. The word conjured images of stuffy suits picking apart his plans with a practiced sneer. He shuddered. Funding everything himself was a pipe dream. He needed someone to believe in his vision, a knight in shining armor wielding a hefty bag of gold.
But the bigger challenge, the one that kept him up at night, was the production line. Hand-making was a labor of love, not large-scale commerce. He wanted a streamlined process—bubbling vats and efficient filling. Factories, of course, were out of the question. But the principles could be adapted, scaled down for his humble little workshop.
Large, sturdy vats, fire-resistant, and big enough to hold gallons of bubbling lye solution, were a must. Then came the pouring—tedious and time-consuming by hand but he would find a solution somehow. Safety, of course, was a large concern in his mind. Lye was a fickle thing. He needed proper ventilation systems, thick gloves for handling the caustic solution, and clear safety protocols practically drilled into his fledgling soap-making team. Maintaining quality was another worry. With increased volume, ensuring each bar possessed the same level of perfection became a concern.
Not to mention delays. Delays—that word was the entrepreneur’s nightmare. Machines breaking down, surprise ingredient shortages, unexpected problems in the production line… Ethan knew they were inevitable. He needed a buffer—a reserve of supplies and a maintenance plan to weather the inevitable storms. It was hardly rocket science, but the logistics of it all made his head spin.
Regardless, Ethan worked on the investor pitch, the design for the assembly line, the contingencies for delays—and with each minute, they solidified.
There’s so much to do...
***
Ethan ran a hand through his hair, standing inside the makeshift workshop they’d made to produce more soap. The latest batch of soap sat on the wooden table—smooth, white ovals that lathered luxuriously and left a hint of calming fragrance. The results were undeniable. Now, he had quite the amount of soap made already; it was time to get his creation into the hands of those who needed it most.
Selling within the barony was the easiest option. He could hire someone to hawk his wares at the market, catch the eye of housewives in need. But Holden was small, and the potential customer pool was limited. Not to mention folks knew him, and they didn’t trust him. Regardless, a well-placed stall at the weekly market would likely do the trick—meager returns, however, given that majority of the people were poor. Thankfully, they could afford it.
Ethan needed to be bold, however. The grimy hands of miners in neighboring Corinth, and the mud-caked travelers passing through the bustling border town of Westford—they all needed to experience the excellent product he’d made. Catching the eyes of a noble or two would be even better. Spreading the word beyond Holden presented a problem.
Trade fairs, perhaps. Grand events held a few times a year, attracting merchants from far and wide. The thought of securing a stall at the Westford fair, a place that would be teeming with potential buyers—and the biggest Bordertown that could arguably be called a city—was indeed enticing. But that would require waiting.
Nah, can’t wait. I need money. Merchants themselves would be it. Partnering with a reliable merchant who frequented the border towns could be a more strategic approach. He’d provide the soap, the merchant would handle the transportation and distribution, sharing the profits. But finding such a partner would be rather hard considering his reputation with the Merchants Guild...
Ethan sighed. He needed a plan that would push his soap beyond Holden and into the wider world. I should contact some of Theo’s friends...
Thinking of those “friends” that were indeed just like Theo if not worse, Ethan weighed his options, but settled for it regardless. He had no choice.
“Excellent work, everyone,” Ethan praised the workers, then walked outside where he boarded his carriage. Sitting down, Ethan looked at Roland.
“Roland. Send a letter to Hector asking if we could arrange a meeting,” Ethan ordered. “If he isn’t willing, contact every merchant of worth in Holden—contact the Merchants Guild, they will likely ignore me, given my reputation; however, even if one of them agrees to come, arrange a meeting. I will not be taking a bad deal, but we need to try anyway. Surely not all of them hate my guts...”
Roland looked doubtful of that possibility. Ethan coughed.
“As you wish, my lord.”
...
The carriage was going through the town to his manor when Ethan received a letter from Jack—through one of his undead ravens—regarding the base spell’s situation. The man had been using himself as the nexus, and the spell was working, analyzing the blight-organism’s patterns, recording them, sending them back to the nexus (Jack), and then those instructions would be sent to the base spell in every soap. The process was costing the man quite some mana, and he’d been requesting a mana crystal so he could make it the nexus instead of himself.
Mana crystals were unique, naturally forming gemstones that were imbued with magical properties They formed in regions with a high concentration of mana, often in places where the veil between the physical and magical realms was thin. These regions typically formed deep underground, in caves or ancient ruins, making them difficult to access. The formation of a mana crystal itself a slow process. Over centuries, the ambient mana in these regions coalesces and crystallizes, forming these precious gemstones. The size, purity, and power of a mana crystal depend on the concentration of mana in the area and the length of time it has had to form.
Procuring mana crystals was a dangerous and costly endeavor because it required skilled miners and mages to safely extract the crystals without damaging them or causing magical backlash—it could even be called magical cancer. Worse yet, they could explode. Thus, all the mana crystal areas were akin to area-51 back on Earth. Heavily secured, well-guarded, with possibly several types of magical alarms and defenses to detect intruders, and these mines were watched very, very closely by whoever could. Once extracted, the crystals must be carefully handled and stored to prevent their magical energy from dissipating. Due to their rarity, power, and the difficulty in procuring them, mana crystals were highly valuable. Often used in powerful spells, magical research, and as a power source for magical devices.
The flow of Mana Crystals into the market is strictly controlled due to their potential for misuse—though, if Ethan was being true to himself, it was most likely so the crystals could be sold at exorbitant prices. Though, the “official” reasoning by the mining guilds was that in the wrong hands, a mana crystal could be used to fuel destructive spells or create forbidden magical artifacts. As such, governments and guilds often regulated their sale and distribution, requiring permits and licenses for their purchase and use.
That’s why it’s quite understandable that a mana crystal would be the best nexus. Thinking so, Ethan rubbed his chin. However, mana crystals are expensive...
Ethan wrote back to Jack, penning his concerns and reassuring Jack that he would try to get his hands on a mana crystal as soon as possible. However, it would take time as they’re hard to come by. Not to mention, they cost a hefty sum, and Ethan lacked money at the moment. I need a way to make it absolutely certain that Hector will agree to be an investor. I also need people in the Merchants Guild backing me up—
As he was writing to Jack, Ethan suddenly had an idea. He paused, blinking, staring at the raven. Hmmm. I wonder if I can use these little guys to gather dirt on nobles. The morality of doing such a thing was questionable, and he would rather not do it, but he was in a world that required such actions if he wanted to survive.
Ethan leaned back into the soft backrest inside the carriage, a pensive look on his face as his mind raced with possibilities. He knew the noble houses of the kingdom engaged in all manner of unsavory dealings—corruption, bribery, smuggling, tax evasion on a grand scale, illegal trade in magical artifacts, forced labor in hidden mines, pregnant prostitutes, bastard sons and daughters, and even human trafficking. Heck, he was sure many secretly engaged in trafficking exotic Beastkin from the other continent. A cold disgust settled in Ethan’s stomach. Some Noblewomen with harems of human-looking Beastkin for their amusement. Men who lusted after feline Beastkin, keeping them chained and collared, using their enhanced senses for perverse pleasures. Sadists, the entire lot of them.
The children of these unions were another layer of tragedy. Then there were the barbaric collectors, humans who craved the immense strength of the Minotaurs, using them as gladiatorial entertainment or worse, in underground fighting rings where blood painted the cobblestones—heck, he was sure many were breeding monstrous Chimera for use in their personal fighting ring. The Beastkin weren’t livestock, they were sentient beings, their cultures and traditions as rich and varied as any human kingdom. Yet, here, in the supposed bastion of civilization, they were nothing more than exotic commodities to fuel the insatiable desires of some of the elite.
Lucianos Solarian IV, the Emperor, had outlawed Beastkin trafficking decades ago, and the punishment for defiance was a brutal lesson etched in blood. The first year after Beastkin slavery and trafficking were outlawed was etched into history.
Public execution wasn’t harsh enough. Traffickers were broken first—physically and mentally. Men and women alike. Weeks of torture were standard, designed to make them not only regret their crimes but also serve as a terrifying public reminder of the Emperor’s wrath. Ethan shuddered. He’d heard about men and women being flayed alive, their screams echoing through the city squares. They were forced to march through the city squares, stripped of their finery and any magical glamours that masked their appearance, stoned. Their crimes were announced to the jeering crowds, their faces branded with a mark signifying their depravity. They were then forced into hard labor, their bodies broken and their vanity shattered.
Surely, the Emperor was no kind man, and the message was clear: Beastkin were not slaves, not pets, not trophies. They were sentient beings deserving of respect, and the Emperor would tolerate no violation of their rights. Theodore’s father was the same, Obsidian was one of the better Kingdoms under the Empire. Heck, it could be said to be the best.
However, just like always, people still participated in sick behavior. Not everyone, to be fair. But a minority, still. And given how large the Solaris Empire was—and not to mention the other Empires that were worse than Solaris—there were bound to be dark secrets that they would do anything to keep buried. It was just how things were, and Ethan doubted it would ever end (the continent of Beastkin wasn’t any better; humans were the ones exotic there).
Thus, Jack’s undead ravens could be the perfect spies, slipping into noble manors and gatherings unnoticed, their beady eyes and keen senses recording every sordid detail. With enough incriminating evidence, he could blackmail these nobles into supporting his business ventures, ensuring they backed his proposals and used their influence to aid the common folk. Ethan would feel no remorse, regret, or apprehension for doing. The thought of wielding such leverage would give him a significant advantage when he inevitably threw his hat into the political arena. He refused to be a mere pawn, manipulated by those with wealth and status.
This way, he could control the game from the start.
However, a nagging voice in the back of his mind cautioned him. Using necromantic summons for espionage was hardly an original idea. Surely, some of the more paranoid nobles would have measures in place to detect and counter such tactics. He would need to tread carefully, lest the ravens be discovered and his plans unraveled before they began.
Still, the potential rewards outweighed the risks. With careful planning and execution, he could amass a wealth of compromising information, giving him the power to shape the kingdom’s policies for the betterment of its people. It was an ambitious gambit, but one he felt was worth pursuing despite the moral wound he’d receive from doing it.
Then, when the time is right—I can report them to the Emperor.
Ethan’s gaze drifted back to the raven, its lifeless eyes seeming to bore into him.
A wry smile tugged at his lips. Let’s see what secrets you can uncover for me, my little friend. Thinking so, he added a line saying that he would like to meet Jack sometime and talk about a “business opportunity”—after all, talking about such illegal activities that he was thinking of doing wouldn’t be wise over a letter.
...
A pleasant surprise awaited Ethan in his manor. A middle-aged man in simple attire paced within the living room. He had light, close-cut brown hair and brown skin. The stranger had sharp features, a salt-and-pepper beard, and a kind face that seemed easy on the eyes. Upon seeing Ethan, the man’s features stretched into a deeper smile as he bowed.
“Lord Theodore. I am Derrick. My apologies for the unscheduled visit.”
“It’s alright. I’m not sure if we have met before, Sir Derrick,” Ethan responded, glancing at Roland who appeared to have recognized the man. Roland gave Ethan a look that said I know this man, and he’s here for business.
“Indeed, we haven’t, my lord. I am Derrick, and I used to be a member of the Red Tower. I come here to talk about introductory books that you might interested in—and a far better deal that could benefit the both of us.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow, then smiled.
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First: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/14vo5lb/troublemakers_deaths_pity/
*previous:* https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/1d3yvie/troublemakers_parabellum/
......
Go'mon stormed through the castle corridors. He'd sensed something slip beside him during his encounter with the vampire lord. It wasn't just that damned top hat with the thief's prints. No, it was more subtle than that, it was the sound of a gossamer chain rattling against cloth. He scanned every square inch of the hallways as he walked, slowly twirling the Warhammer in his off-hand as he calmly held the pistol muzzle-up towards the ceiling. He'd barely gotten a glimpse of what almost looked like mist as he stomped through the grand halls with paranoia-fueled, seething anger. Abruptly turning a corner he fired the revolver at what he thought was that pesky invisible parasite.
The shimmer shuddered and he switched to the visible spectrum to find out it was just a tapestry in front of a heating vent.
Go'mon let out an enraged scream, tearing the tapestry apart with his bare hands after casting his weapons aside in a fit of rage and impotence. The visage of Monarch D'vinn looking out from the top of a bombed-out hill in battered armor at the shattered remains of the once human-occupied city, being shredded like single-ply latrine paper by go'mon's molecularly edged cybernetic claws. Having spent his rage on the tapestry, he panted dramatically as his heart pounded in its cask. Turning around he let out another furious scream, howling madly as he scanned the hall with thermals. His Hammer and revolver had disappeared without a trace.
The sudden blare of a Klaxon made him pause as he adjusted his armor, forcing himself to calm down as he examined his molecularly edged claws. The main enemy was at the gates, he should go meet them.
...
Cassius' Heart pounded as he took shallow breaths, Go'mon's backplate inches from his own chest as he held onto the Hammer and Pistol for dear life. As the general strutted outside, Cassius moved in perfect synchronization, his left leg rising with the general's before being placed down in sync. He'd been practicing for weeks with the security droids at the mansion, practicing to keep inches from their backs without touching their metal carapace. Now he strutted behind perhaps the second most powerful being he knew like a silent specter. As Go'mon slammed through a door, breaking it into splinters, Cassius lifted his right leg and rotated out of the way just as Go'mon's tail would've brushed against his Calf, giving him away. As the General strutted out into the middle of the courtyard, Cassius used the various straps attached to his gambeson to affix the weapons to his waist before grabbing his Kama and weighted chain from a small pouch at his belt.
Cassius tossed the weighted end of the chain over the wall of the castle after a short run-up, wrapping the gossamer chain around his hands with each rapid step he took up the wall. Reaching the top, he unhooked the weight from the small bar he'd tossed it around quickly disentangling his hands from the chain. He groped the air on the outside of the wall until he touched the enchanted ladder the Top-Hats had left him. Sliding down the ladder, he spotted Drake sitting astride Barney in the middle of the street. The rest were nowhere to be seen but that indeed was part of the plan. Sprinting over, Cassius leaped onto Barney behind Drake and slipped Go'mon's revolver into the empty holster at his belt. Drawing out no reaction save for a few words from Drake, who didn't turn his head lest he give the gambit away.
"Good work Cassius, Fall back and get a gas mask on. We still don't know what's in those canisters because they inked out the labels."
Cassius slipped off of Barney's back and slipped into a nearby building before De-cloaking as he pressed himself against the wall next to a Warmonger who passed him a spare gas mask. He pulled it on and checked the seal before sitting against the wall as his legs jellied beneath him. His mouth was dryer than the scrubland as he accepted a Volunteer's canteen, drinking heavily through a port in the mask as he rode out the adrenaline crash. He glanced over to where their fighters had pried open a sewer access hatch and were dropping in, the smell of sewage souring the air. A few warmongers closest to the opening had comically attached wooden clothesline clips to their noses.
...
Caz lay atop the second-tallest building in Golgatha, trash and debris piled up around her for camouflage ash she drew a bead on the strutting Go'mon. Her god-given eyes were able to see the purple miasma that rose from him like mercury vapors. She didn't even turn her head as she softly asked.
"Distance?"
The man with Heavy cybernetic augmentations pulled casually from a large pouch of grain alcohol, camera-lense eyes extending from his face as he chewed on a bullet thoughtfully. Slowly he stated.
"One thousand five hundred and sixty-seven meters, If you're keeping it under auto-ignition velocity, you should be able to hold it one mil above and..."
The sound of the bullet in his mouth getting chewed filled the air before he stated.
"Two mils right, wind fluctuates between us and the target, expect a half minute of angle deviation."
Caz adjusted her optic, bringing the point of aim directly onto her crosshairs. The man next to her had called himself "an Olympian" an old sect of bionically enhanced warriors from even before the betrayal wars. In the small amount of time she'd gotten to know the man, she'd found him palatable at the very least, soft-spoken with a touch of crazy, it was refreshing. She tried to ignore the artillery-sized rifle he laid behind, the barrel itself bigger around than a drainage pipe, a suppressor of equally massive size almost protruding over the edge of the building. She watched from the corner of his eye as he pulled the breech open to the side and selected a shell thicker and longer than her forearm with a fused tip. He rammed it into the gun with the same ease she loaded her flechettes with.
They both had different jobs despite sitting on the same roof. She'd take care of anything on two legs, and he'd handle anything that had an armored skin. From her vantage point, she watched as the Agri-bots moved into position, planting their artillery pieces against the ground in preparation to fire. They weren't using High explosives much to Remin and Destrier's chagrin, but with their attack plan, they couldn't risk collapsing the sewers. They were instead armed with a chemical weapon known as "CS Smoke" which would obscure visual sightlines for anyone with unaugmented vision. Lucky for her and the Olympian, that wouldn't be an issue with her clear-sight and his advanced optics. She slowly swiveled her focus onto Drake, keeping the center of the crosshair off him as she watched him.
Sitting astride Barney, Drake looked every bit the warrior he was. His dark helmet and armor were almost lost in the dark night. But the red shock of his Helm's mohawk could not be mistaken, glowing brightly against the darkness. As his palm came to rest on the pommel of his sword, she saw something entirely different for a moment.
A warrior in battered, rusty armor, the flesh falling from his bones as a pair of white lights gleamed behind the helmet. A skeletal hand held a rusty sword in its sheath, Its pale, emaciated steed's head hanging low, milky eyes soulless and empty.
But as soon as she saw it, the image faded and she swiveled her crosshairs onto the castle's inner courtyard. A small, dim red light blinked on the side of the Olympian's skull as the Geknosians organized into fighting lines. Hulking Geknosians in overbuilt power armor manned emplaced turrets and the looming Gas generators. A small feed from the Olympian's perspective overlaid itself on her scope before minimizing to one corner. She watched as his crosshair fell onto one of the two Gallicks. The horseshoe-shaped APCs presenting their bulk to the gate as a bulwark. Caz switched her aim to a heavily armored Geknosian, slowly dialing the small wheel on the forend of her rifle to half-power, just under auto-ignition velocity. The geknosian seemed to get uncomfortable as her crosshairs landed on his chest, fidgeting at the controls of their AA plasma Beam-cannon.
The moment the Agri-bots fired their artillery, she'd remove him from the gene pool and take that AA gun out of the fight so Destrier could get into position.
...
Destrier and Remin ran last-minute checks on the small fleet of two-wheeled land vehicles the Top Hats had called "Dirt bikes." The variable electric powerplant produced little to no noise, even now, powered on and ready to roll they didn't even humm. Stepping back, Destrier let the forearms of his power armor clamshell close as he retook the hand controls. Contrary to popular belief, the hands of power armor weren't at all like gloves. A handle with a pressure sensor for each finger was clasped in his hands, allowing him to manipulate the hands of the armor like his own. Destrier turned his head, helmet whirring on its bearing as he watched Remin mount one of the Dirtbikes, the black scimitar strapped to the suspension of the bike within arm's reach. The old man's Mongolian lamellar draped over either side of the bike like fabric, small metal plates clinking and clattering softly as he pulled his fabric-wrapped helmet back on. Destrier clomped over, hardly noticing the backpack with over two hundred rounds of 13x110 mm HEP.
Remin looked up with a grin and met Destrier's arm halfway in a forearm-gripping handshake, their metal hands clanking together as they slid their arms back into a grip around the base of each other's thumbs, then to a normal handshake before waggling their fingers at each other.
Destrier chuckled softly and looked up at the sky, night vision lenses making it appear stuffed to bursting with stars.
"What's on the black samurai's mind?"
Remin asked softly, head tilted back to also look at the stars between the rooftops.
"Well... I'm looking forward to the fighting to finally being over... Maybe I'll finally be able to settle down and invent something with Martha..."
Remin chuckled softly.
"A noble goal... I'd expect nothing less from you Destri... I'm actually hoping to catch a ride back to human-controlled space. I'm too old for this shit, I want to settle down and live out the last years of my life in peace..."
Destrier nodded in agreement, slowly turning his gaze back to the helicopter, blades slowly turning in preparation for takeoff.
"How old are you Remin? I don't think I ever asked."
The old man paused, thinking for a long time.
"Oh... I'd say I've made it past a century at this point. Got a cybernetic heart when I was a kid thanks to a car accident, Ol' things been keeping me going far past when I shoulda dropped."
Destrier nods and laughs softly.
"Damn, and I thought you were only in your fifties."
Remin laughed in agreeance, setting his hands on the handlebars.
"I don't blame ya, I feel like it. Especially now that my legs aren't filled with creaky arthritis."
Destrier sighed softly, gently punching the old man's shoulder as softly as he could in his power armor.
"See you on the other side old man... whether that be the living side or the dead one."
"Here's to hoping it's the former not the latter."
Destrier chuckled his agreement and boarded the helicopter, making the landing gear compress slightly as he put his weight on the flight deck. Unhooking the feed chain from the side of the backpack, he clipped it into the Ma-deuce's feed chute. It whirred as the heavy cartridges were funneled down the chain and into the gun with a click and a clatter.
...
Barney shifted from one leg to the other beneath Drake, Death's chosen reaching down and gently patting his neck fondly as he softly whispered.
"Just a moment longer boy... There's someone I need to talk to."
Drake closed his eyes, letting the Darkness envelop him for a moment before opening them again.
He looked at Death, who was casually swirling a glass of black bourbon thoughtfully.
"You said you wanted to talk to me right before the battle?"
Death nodded and slid the glass of black bourbon his way.
"I did, I want you to drink this before you go into battle."
Drake picked up the glass, inspecting the pitch-black, inky liquid curiously. Before sniffing it and coughing as his eyes water.
"No offense, But I think something died in your liquor bottle."
Death laughed jovially, pouring his own glass from a red crystal decanter.
"That's because this is made from the blood of my predecessor. I thought i might as well get it out of the way."
Drake suspiciously looked at the glass.
"Okay, what happens when I drink it?"
Death paused, slowly swirling his own glass of black bourbon pensively. Then, he slowly knocked his own back, eyes dilating wide before returning to normal.
"Well, It should allow you to control your power, bypassing the decades of training most need."
Drake gave Death a side eye, sniffing the foul drink one more time asking.
"What's the catch?"
Death frowned, then set his glass down.
"Considering that it's going to completely restructure your magical and circulatory pathways. It's going to hurt like nothing you've ever felt before. It also may or may not bind your guardians to your soul."
Drake's head snapped up.
"Guardians... you mean my parents?"
Death nodded softly.
"Guardians, souls that loved someone so much that they remained on after death to watch over them. Your parents loved you... loved you enough to stand by your side even in death... and before you give me some bullshit about this not being what your parents would want... Remember, they'll always be at your side until you die one way or another."
Drake slowly swirled the bourbon before nodding softly, bringing it to his lips, he downed it in a single gulp. It burned on its way down, the tingling feeling intensely spreading throughout his body and to his fingertips in a moment. His nerves burned, and his very being felt as though it was being scalded by burning hot water. But as he set the glass down on Death's desk, he smiled softly. There was a warmth to the pain, like a cold rag against a feverish forehead. The sting of a garlic poultice applied to a fresh whip-wound. It was the crack of his father's wooden sword against his knuckles during their sparring, the sweat that would drip into his eyes on long evenings working the fields. Drake opened his eyes slowly, no longer sitting in Death's office, but his own soulscape, looking at the long-neglected buildings halfway through construction. But he wasn't alone.
Drake smiled at his mother and father. His mother gave him a soft smile as she touched the scar across his face, the wound in his cheek where a gauss slug had torn it open, then, she took his hand to gently touch the scarred wound where Garravan's knife had pierced his hand. His father just sat cross-legged, drinking a stout mug of scrub tree tea with a proud smile on his face. drake looked between them before holding out his hands.
As his parents took them, they dissolved into motes of light that drifted into his chest. His veins burned, and his eyes and nose bled. His entire existence felt like a blistering inferno as the ground of his soulscape rumbled, small, red flowers the color of blood and the shape of gunshot wounds popping up from the ground. But even as the pain grew, and grew, and grew, He found himself simply laughing, grabbing what felt like an invisible pair of chains and pulling up on them as he stood.
The ground erupted in the middle of his soulscape, a massive, gnarled oak tree sprouting from the ground. Its sturdy trunk protecting a small patch of pink carnations interspersed with curly-petaled white Gardenias. Drake felt something form atop his head and reached up, feeling a thorny crown, he gently pulled it off, looking at the black-petaled roses fondly before returning it to his head. The thorny veins grew down from the crown, snaking their way deep into his flesh only to bloom into what felt like new muscles and tendons that weren't attached to his physical strength. Looking at his upturned palms, he curled his fingers, a steady, smokeless pale flame popping into existence in his palm with next to no effort.
As the pain subsided, Drake closed his eyes, relishing its departure before opening them to the shocked and concerned face of Death. Drake gave him a curious look and Death coughed softly as he composed himself before speaking.
"Look, I know I can hide pain well... But that smile you get when you're hurting is capital C Creepy."
Drake touched his grinning face with a soft laugh, wiping a trickle of blood from his nose.
"Well, guess I can add that to my achievements list, Creeping Death out with a smile."
They both chuckled softly at the joke before Death sighed softly.
"You should get back to them, they're almost ready."
Drake nodded and stood, stepping over to the door.
"Wish me luck."
"Good luck, my Champion. Give them hell."
Drake smiled softly and stepped out the door. When he opened his eyes, he was back in the real world, staring up at Go'mon who'd perched himself atop the castle wall, eyeing Drake hungrily.
Giving Go'mon his signature grin, He reached up and depressed a countersunk button on the side of his helmet.
"Hit 'em"
Drake stated, the sound of artillery rocking the city as Go'mon's hungry look quickly turned to rage. There was a loud, screeching whistle as the artillery shells streaked in, blanketing the area in stinging fog. Drake drew his sword, extending thorned vines of power into it as the blade ignited with pale flames. Barney snuffled excitedly and roared as Drake nudged him forward, the Dinosaur leaping over the wall in a single bound. The final battle for Golgatha had begun, after this, they would either be free...
Or they will have died free.
......
Part 112: will be linked here upon completion.

Maybe it was going in with sky-high expectations. I avoided all spoilers except I knew it had a great RT score.
Maybe it was expecting the same kind of movie (fast and gripping action sequences, intense music, lots of interesting negative space in the story-telling, stylish-as-hell visuals).
Maybe it was the crappy small screen I saw it on—no one in my city was showing it in IMAX. Did I miss the IMAX showings already? Admittedly I was late to the party but didn’t expect it to get small-screened by the theaters so quick.
Maybe it was that I re-watched Fury Road at home 2 nights ago and that made the contrast all the greater.
But in my opinion, the film constantly showed instead of told (don’t open the gate, something is off…OK open the gate!!)…the sandstorm will hide your tracks!…the voiceovers, my goodness did they feel tacked-on!), had inexplicable character decisions (why’d she grow her hair out if she was hiding? Why were lips suddenly red and why didn’t she mask them with something darker to better hide? Why didn’t the love interest slip through the portcullis and jump in her car (I suppose he was suiciding to buy her time? That’s believable I guess)), forced character beats like Furiosa removing her mask while under the truck (to me this felt like an undeserved and forced moment), silly plot armor (Gastown’s front gates are only armed with short range flamethrowers? Don’t they trade weekly with the Bullet Farm?), visual miscues (seemed to me like Dementor’s army was routed when initially trying to take the Citadel, only to show full force again when taking Gastown. And when did Dementor have time to get his cape before pursuing Furiosa out of the Bullet Farm?)
The pacing at the end felt like they had to try to fix it in post. What felt like an impending epic battle as the Dementors thought they could move in and capture The Citadel turned into…a voiceover montage?
Did she name herself Furiosa for the first time as she arrived one-armed at the Citadel and clambered onto the platform? They seemed to know both her and her rank (or were they just responding to her tone of authority, something that happens in Fury Road a few times)?
Mad Max is on the same ridge in this film as in the last film, just watching the Citadel. So, he wasn’t a stranger to the region and knew the locale by the time Fury Road begins? I thought it strongly implied he was passing through and that’s in part why he was captured unawares.
The entire initial War Rig action scene was overlong and slow. And why would you attack using parachutes when someone can shoot anywhere in your shoot and you’ll go down?
Honestly, almost every action scene felt about half speed compared to Fury Road.
Note: I love slow movies and usually don’t go in for action movies much—films like Fury Road are an outlier for me—so visually compelling and with stories told at such breakneck speed—so maybe I have to be a wider enjoyer of action movies to have liked Furiosa?
BTW, I’m a huge fan of Taylor-Joy (loved her since The Witch), and I think her and Helmsworth’s performances were fantastic. Also thought the first couple of scenes were good.
Also, a question: How much time is meant to elapse between the films (excluding the last scene or two which clearly are right before Fury Road)? I assumed she had another 20+ years at the Citadel before leaving, right?
She seemed to have no negative interactions with Immortan Joe. Obviously he’s a monster but the relationship feels like a total mismatch between the two films.
Also, tell me I’m crazy, but didn’t they pass the crow/tree area many miles into the desert—the place that is later a swamp and meant to be the remnants of the Green Place? Maybe the scene just looked super similar or was meant to be a harbinger of what would happen to the Green Place, dunno.
The actor playing Rectus was clearly much older, and this was when Furiosa was a child. He seemed younger than Furiosa in Fury Road, so that felt jarring to me.
Probably no one read this far but thanks if you did. I’m just mad bc I loved Fury Road (one of my top action films ever) and was hoping for another adventure in that universe.

WARNING: This is classified as a fan-fiction in the Hazbin Hotel world. I know FF is frowned upon by many. This story is set 99% in an original world with only one HH character as a major character. The story is original, the world is mine, as well as the OCs.
Title: Angel's Demon
Word Count: 136,466
Genres: Supernatural ThrilleRomance
Audience: 16+
Trigger Warnings: Violence, Death, Gore, Sexual assault/molestation (implied only), Sexual situations (On page), profanity, drinking, smoking. (TBH, it just clicked how dark this sounds)
Feedback requested: Obvious plot holes. Missing details (I know for a fact I need to add descriptive text for character introductions during revisions), the fact that I have sections that change from present to past tense (I know of a few but getting them all pointed out as I begin working on editing will be SO welcomed) Confusion about action/events. and I welcome suggestions to add details to certain situations to flesh out what may seem lacking (A battle between two demons is far shorter than I'd intended, and will likely improve that as well) As for grammar, spelling and so on; I have a couple of programs that point those out. If anyone were to say 'Hey, let me edit for you'.. after four months of writing.. I'd scream yes.
Summary: Kevin Collins, AKA "Angel" Is an ex-special forces ranger turned tracker. His self imposed mission; to find and rescue lost, kidnapped and exploited children. On one of his missions, he stumbles upon an injured woman. Believing she's a victim who escaped, he takes her to his van and dresses her wounds, asking who she is. She says her name is Charlotte, but she can't remember anything else. She asks how he found her, and he explains what he's there for. When she learns that children are in danger, she changes into a demon; something that scares the both of them. She begs Angel to not abandon her, and offers to use her powers to help him on his mission. He agrees, and so begins their journey to save souls, discover her past and in the process; fall in love. However, their journey will attract the attention of an evil so great, it threatens to rip them apart and make Charlotte into the most dangerous demon on Earth.
Scene Summary: Charlotte's first semi- solo mission to find and rescue a lost child in the mountains. (chapter 6)
Seconds had ticked by and Charlotte was already ahead of the groups that had begun to fan out. She cleared 50 yards ahead and stopped. Closing her eyes, she inhaled as deeply as she could and was greeted with a barrage of smells. Trees, bushes, animals, flowers, insects.. she could detect them all. But the scent of the boy was absent. Determined, she began to run, her cloven feet deftly carrying her over fallen branches, jagged trails and she moved in a wide zig-zag pattern, covering a lot of distance in minutes. Stopping at a sound she hadn’t quite picked up before, she closed her eyes and recognized a river, flowing fast in the distance south of her. She took another strong whiff and was greeted by the scent of water, algae, fish, mud and..
Her eyes snapped open. The boy’s scent was mixed into the rolling smells of the river! Turning towards the strongest of the smells, she picked up her pace and raced towards the river, opening up all of her senses to their max. In moments, she stood on the bank and looked down at the rushing waters. The sun had faded and now with the overcast clouds, twilight was taking hold. Darting her eyes and inhaling as deep as she could, she picked up two things; the scent of fear and distant crying.
“Angel?” She whispered into the headset. In took a couple of beats, and she heard his smooth voice.
“I’m here. Had to move away a bit from the others first. You have something?”
“I got his scent! I can’t tell how far off he is, but I think he’s in the river!”
Angel hissed urgently, “Go! Find him!”
She didn’t give a response as her legs started moving. Heart aching, Charlotte followed the scent and sound for nearly 300 yards down river, having now gone out of the search grid area. Thanks to her demon form, she alighted over the rough terrain, her eyes wide to let all the possible light in and give her a clear view of her surroundings. A quick pause to listen, the sounds of crying now lapped over the sounds of the river and she honed in.
Stepping over a ridge of an embankment, she looked down into the rushing water and there was the boy, stuck in a fallen tree that was a third of the way into the fast moving river. She quickly accessed that he had to have fallen in some place upstream and got carried to this spot, catching the tree to stop himself, but the water was too fast for him to pull himself out. She could tell he was fading, fast. If she didn’t get him out, he’d drown.
“Angel!” She radioed, “I found him! I found him! Track the tag! I have to get him out, now!”
“I’m coming!” Angel’s voice affirmed, with a hint of pride for her, and she clicked off the radio and looked around, seeing what she could do.
“Fuck, if only I had wings!” She cursed her limitations, but pushed it aside as she needed to rely on what she did have. Moving down to the edge of the river, Charlotte saw that he was out of her reach by some twenty feet. Testing the strength of the fallen tree, she tentatively started to crawl out but could only get half way when she heard snapping. The tree was not going to hold her weight if she went any further. Quickly thinking, Charlotte wrapped her demon tail around a thicker branch and slipped into the rushing water, the force more than she anticipated and it knocked her against the tree.
“OOMPH!” She let out a pained shout and the boy looked her way, eyes bloodshot from crying and let out a fearful whimper. Cursing herself again, she bit her lip and reached out for him. She knew he'd be scared at the feeling but if she could carry him around the tree and swim him to shore, maybe he’d think he got a current to lead him ashore.
Charlotte reached out but he was still out of her reach and she couldn’t get closer. She saw a six foot thick branch, broken off from the tree, lodged in among the other branches and thought if only she’d grabbed it first, she could reach him with it. She stared at the branch for an infinite but split second moment, wishing she had it and then she felt something solid in her clawed hand.
The branch she wanted had blinked out of it’s lodged spot to reappear in her grip, conjured as if by magic. Charlotte gasped. How? How!? She pushed the question aside and slipped the branch through the water until it nudged the boy. Would he grab it? She took a chance. “Grab the branch.” She spoke just loud enough for him to hear.
“Wha..?” He couldn’t say much else, his strength was giving out, and he was losing consciousness.
“Please, sweetie, grab hold… trust me.. please.. please.”
Subconsciously, he did as she asked and she pulled steady and firmly those frightening last few feet against the force of the river and brought him to her. She retracted her claws, letting her human hands take over and she grabbed him and pulled him to her. He was out, his body having given up and she put all of her strength into her tail and it pulled her till she could get her waist above the torrent of water. Lifting the boy into her arms and growling deep, she lunged and landed them roughly on the mud and sludge of the river’s edge. She flipped onto her back, the boy held in her tight embrace and she lay on her back, breathing hard, energy spent and she started crying.
He heard him take in a shuddering breath, followed by regular breathing and she cried harder, holding him close and comforting. I won’t let anything happen to you, she thought. I won’t let anything happen to ANYONE! She declared to herself.
She lost track of how long she lay there, body pressed into the cold wet mud, her cloven hooves splashed with lapping water at the river’s edge, but her ears picked up Angel nearing her and she sniffled in relief. She looked up over above and behind her as falling dirt signaled Angel’s arrival at the edge of the embankment.
Angel saw the boy suspended inches above the mud, as if floating and he slid down to kneel next to him and Charlotte’s invisible form.
“You okay?” He whispered.
Charlotte’s wet filled throat croaked back, exhausted “Take him.”
Angel slid his arms under the boy, sliding over Charlotte’s body and she closed her eyes, grateful for his touch and he lifted the boy up and off of her. He stood, boy cradled in his arms, and looked down at the human shaped indent in the mud.
“You can come out.”
The mud shifted but Charlotte didn’t appear.
“I.. I’ll meet you back at the van.”
The tone in her voice told Angel all he needed to know, and without another word, Angel took the boy and began the trek back to meeting spot.
When Angel had moved a distance away, Charlotte finally pulled herself to her feet and wrapped her arms around herself, and felt the sludge slide down her back, her blonde hair nearly a fully dyed shit-brown, and shivered in the growing cold. Taking slow deep breaths, Charlotte pulled at her demon powers and her body began to sizzle, steam rising up off her body, both warming her and drying her. She was still so dirty but the chill in her bones had gone. The few moments alone allowed her to regain her composure, and with a crack of her neck, she turned and took off at a full run, and headed back to the van.

Trigger warning: body horror
I was a believer, A worshiper, a priest. I spent my life in church, from before I could walk till I was the priest looking down at the pew. I was. Now it is different, now I am different. I followed blindly until It ripped my blindfold off and I saw who we were following. What we were following.
I wish I could say it started easy but it didn't, it started slow. During my morning prayers, I heard my voice whispered back to me. Like a faint echo but it mocked me, as if my words were jokes. I thought maybe it was the young children outside or some rowdy teenagers fooling around.
But then it happened at night, in my bed. I was saying my nightly prayer and heard It again. Louder. Like a conversation of my worship but once again It made a mockery of me.
At the end when I said ‘Amen’, It replaced it with a laughed. Laughs of a thousand laughs layered upon themselves, mocking and mimicking what I could only assume is centuries of people. Needless to say, I did not sleep well that night.
Then, the illusions started. At first, it was faces in the back pews. My own congregation seemingly against me. Figures of people i couldn't recognise who looked at me in fear or insane interest. Once during the Eucharist, the bread tasted of flesh. A foreign and foul taste and texture melted in my mouth as I tried to remain calm in front of a full church. It was hard to swallow, the bloody flavor stayed in my mouth for the rest of the service.
After I rushed to the bathroom, I fell to my knees. It felt like a mockery of worship as I tried my hardest to vomit what I had unwittingly consumed. I started crying, hysterical at the terrible thought of eating the flesh of my savior. I tried to pray but it felt hopeless, like if I prayed it would be worse. I just laid there until someone found me.
For a while, I lived my life in constant anxiety. What cruel torture did my god have for me? Was this a test of my faith? Even worse, was I failing? Did my god have plans for me that I couldn't foresee? Of course but what purpose would it serve to have me make a mockery of prayer in front of a toilet. There was no answer. Until It showed me. I say It because that was no he. My god used to be an all knowing man in the sky that always believed in me as I believed in him. But that was no man, It knew all but It did not care to share in Its plentiful knowledge.
The day I saw It, I was kneeling down in prayer for the first time in a while. I was too scared of the voice and too worried of what joke it would make of me again. With my head bowed and my eyes closed, I whispered a small prayer. The same voice as always taunting me as I spoke. This time, I made a foolish attempt to open my eyes.
When I did, I looked up at the massive crucifixion of Jesus but it was not Jesus. It was an amalgamation of eyes, pus and what I assume was organs where a face should have been. The pus oozing down what was Jesus's body, there was no injury or opening for the pus, it was like sweat. Blood dripping from the many eyes covering the ‘face’ of it. the eyes blinking with no flesh, the organs acting as false eyelids. I wish I could say it didn't look alive but it did. Every bump on the intestines moved as its pus grew to drops and fell. To say I was sick would be an understatement. My stomach was in knots, my throat tightened and my hands shaked.
“This could not be my god” I sobbed. I bowed my head once more, not praying but crying. At this point what is the difference, it seems crying makes it more intrigued.
That very night, as I held my hands together, they shook. I don't know why I tried to pray again, i had stopped my nightly prayer months ago. IT made me. It forced me. I raise my right hand to my forehead, with a gentle tap.
“In the name of the father” I near sobbed. The taste of the flesh overwhelmed my mouth.
“In the name of the son” I say now crying. The image from earlier that day of Jesus in my head once more. It felt wrong touching my chest thinking about it.
“In the name of the holy spirit” I did that part quickly, trying to get it over with. Another mistake. It showed itself to me. Actually, it forced me to look. I had no choice but to stare.
And It stared back, with its countless eyes. Unblinking, watching. Covering those eyes like fake eyelids, were lips. But it had tongues, in fact, I think it was mostly tongues. Its skin itself was tongues, dripping a mixture of saliva and blood. It felt large, It loomed over me like it were large. It's body like a mountain of solidified blood, It had veins but no organs. It wasn't just a mountain in description but also in size. Too large for me, It was overwhelming.
It was obvious what was Jesus took leftover parts from It. It oozed what I assume is blood as It bent down to me. Bent isn't the right word, congealed is better. It created a hand. No, grew a hand. From start to finish, first it was just finger bones coming from the mush. Then Its bones combined and stretched like a baby's bones. It proceeded to grow muscle tissue and veins then finally flesh. But it wasn't done, It grew its gross tongues over the familiar sight. Taking whatever humanity it had made. It was agonizing to watch, like it was happening to me. It stretched Its fingers like it was new to it and reached down to me. I flinched and screamed but it was like a dream. I could try to scream with my body but here, wherever that was, I could do nothing. Before it could make contact with me, my eyes opened.
“Amen” slipped from my lips like drool. I sat in my bed horrified, my eyes staring into nothingness.
How? How could all of that, which felt like hours staring at ‘God’, be less than a second? How could that have been God? It looked wrong like a bits and pieces thrown around haphazardly. Could It even think? Was It a fake? A prototype of god? A failure?
What happened to me? Has anyone ever experienced something similar? I'm scared, it's been a few days and I've given up on praying. Cause if that thing is the one listening, I don't want to say anything.
We are not made in the image of God, we cannot be.

Boys: Justin, Ripper, Topher
Girls: Anne Maria, Jasmine, MK
Episode 19: The Princess Pride
"Last time, on Total Drama Action! Just when the cast thought they were safe, I swung in to surprise – I mean, antagonize them."
"The cast were forced to use their creative sides while showing off their back sides. As they made superhero costumes out of spandex. And...some other junk. Nice tights!"
"Of course, they were foiled by the diabolical Pythonicus, evil alter-ego of the villainous Chef!"
"In a fight against evil, the cast proved they could be heroes. And also, loooseerrss!"
"In the end, the most diabolical of them all was MK, who twisted things in order to get Chase eliminated."
The recap footage ended, and the scene flashed to the control tent where Chris was waiting with a smile. "Will the Gaffer alliance recover from Chase being gone? Will Anne Maria and Topher keep going out?" he pressed a button on the keyboard to his side, causing a picture of the couple to appear on one of the screens behind him.
"Maybe you'll find out right now?" he shrugged impishly as the scene changed again and he walked towards the cast trailers. "Maybe you won't? On another, totally dramatic episode of," he stopped in his tracks and the camera zoomed out with each further word, "Total! Drama! Action!"
(Theme Song)
The episode began with, of all things, a close-up of some brown and beany mush plopping onto a plate. The camera panned up to reveal its source as burrito beans in the hands of Jasmine being put together. Shots of Ripper, MK, and Justin also showed them making burritos as well.
The camera zoomed out to show the four constructing burritos on the table next to the tent's entrance while Topher and Anne Maria were at the other table, the former overseeing the quartet as he stood on the table and the latter simply applying lipstick to her lips.
“Ten more seconds, guys! The biggest burrito wins!” Topher declared and looked at Anne Maria. “Do you think I'd make a good reality show host?”
Anne Maria put her lipstick away. “Can you excuse me? I'm working on my facial features,” she said.
“But you already worked on yourself in the morning,” Topher said.
“You'd do the same if your hair was lookin’ messy,” Anne Maria retorted.
“Touché,” Topher pulled back.
“And time is up, folks!” MK informed everybody with her watch.
"Ripper, what do you got?” Topher asked the burly boy.
“Allow me to demonstrate my beefcake burrito!” Ripper held up his plate - his burrito has no wrapping and simply consisted of beef shaped into a cake. “I actually managed to make a cake out of beef.”
“How interesting,” Topher observed after getting off the table. “Jasmine, how about you?”
“These are my twin burritos!” Jasmine said with a plate that had two burritos tied together with an elastic rubber band.
“You actually wrapped your burritos?” Topher inspected heavily.
“Of course I did,” Jasmine nodded. “Twins are sometimes inseparable, and it's a good thing that these burritos aren't Siamese, otherwise they would have tried to eat one another.”
Topher laughed at her quip. “Points for that quip,” he said and made his way over to MK. “MK, how did you manage to make your burrito?”
“I am proud to present the MK Whopper!” MK took her burrito out from under the table and presented it - the burrito was shaped to look like MK with the beans as the body, wrap pieces as the hat and clothes, a sliced piece of tomato as the mouth, and pieces of beef as the eyes.
“The burrito is self-serving, but quality effort regardless,” Jasmine commented.
“Quality? Check out the guns on these beans,” Justin objected as his leitmotif played and he whipped out his burrito shaped to look like a flexing bicep. He even flexed his own bicep and moved his eyebrow in order to impress the contestants, but they were unfazed. “Nothing. You feel nothing?”
“Nope,” Jasmine shook her head.
“I was never once into you, Justin,” MK added as well.
“Man, this scratched schnoz has destroyed my looks and my life!” Justin moped. “Why?”
“MK, your self-art and ego is unsurprising, but you did make the biggest and best burrito, so you win,” Topher told her.
“This isn't right,” Justin protested and was now out of his seat. “I demand a second neutral opinion.”
“I'm no doctor or anything, but we all have reality-show-itis, and it's making us turn things into a challenge,” Anne Maria spoke up.
“I'm not sure if that's a thing, but I can't help myself when this day is bland and boring,” Topher said.
Confessional: Justin
“When my good looks went, so did my winning edge,” Justin told the viewers. “But some people are still managing to kick butt, and they're not nearly as good looking as I am!” He paused to think about what he said. “Okay, as I was.”
Confessional Ends
Justin was now sitting next to Anne Maria. “You know, you're the only one taking the game seriously. I just wish I knew how you did it all. It's so inspirational.”
“I'm just playing the game the best I know how,” Anne Maria said. “And it's not by sabotage like Scott did to me.”
“Scott also sabotaged my chances in the game as well,” Justin continued. “Hey, we have something in common.”
“Yeah we do, now go away,” Anne Maria ordered. “I don't know if they'll be a challenge, and I'd like to relax in peace.”
A few off-camera footsteps gave everyone pause, and they looked towards the room's entrance as the shot moved to a side-view of the room. Chef Hatchet had entered wearing a faded purple Medieval-styled costume, complete with a simple horn bearing a flag marked with a simple black-and-purple shield.
He blew a few awkward notes, then the camera moved in for a close-up as he made an announcement. "Hear ye, and rise! For Sir Chris!"
"Sir?!" Jasmine repeated with disbelief. "This Bruce's ego is fussing me to heaps!"
The shot moved back out to show Chris McLean riding atop the same decrepit-looking horse that had been used for a much earlier episode. He was wearing a knight's helmet and holding what looked to be a boot made of glass, and dismounted once Chef laid out a small rug for him to stand on.
"Hold on," Topher said slowly. "Glass slipper. Medieval stuff. This must be a Fairy Tale theme!"
"Topher," Chris said with stern annoyance, "if you ever steal my intro again, I'll have to personally boot you off the show."
"Hey, you can't do that!" Topher protested. "You brought me onto this show!"
"This boot," Chris said happily, "will determine the Princess for today's Fairy Tale movie challenge! The rest of you," he added as the camera panned across the tent from right to left, "compete for the honor of rescuing the fair Princess."
Anne Maria immediately raised her hand eagerly. "I wanna be the Princess!"
"I said the fair Princess," Chris repeated. "And what we think is fair is that the candidates be the ladies who haven't had a win since the merge: MK," he looked at the unamused techno, "and Jasmine." The focus moved to the Outback girl, who merely raised an eyebrow.
Confessional: Jasmine
"Okay, I am not Princess material," Jasmine said in the make-up confessional. "Not only am I too tall to fit the role, but I'm not really interested in fairy tales."
Confessional Ends
A short drumroll preceded an even shorter chanted note as MK and Jasmine approached the end of the table closest to the tent entrance.
"Yeah, there's no way that I'm gonna be some Princess, McLean!" MK barked at the host who was standing nearby with the glass boot still in his hand. "And don't even try to jam that boot on my foot."
"Okay," Chris said slowly, "that's a no for MK. Jasmine, you're up."
"Well, I'm not fond of fairy tales," Jasmine said, "but I might as well."
"Hold on there, Thunder from Down Under," Chris told her. "You have to put the boot on first. Make sure you're actually Princess material."
Jasmine frowned. "Okay then." She sat on the end of the table, slipped off one of her shoes, and tried to force it on.
The host and other castmates watched as she grunted and began to sweat, trying to get the boot onto her foot. Eventually, she let out a disappointed breath and held the boot back up. "It's no use," Jasmine told the host. "I can't get it on, and even then, it would shatter to pieces."
"Well," Chris said blankly, "guess that's both candidates out, unless MK changes her mind."
MK just glared at him. "Not a chance."
Anne Maria immediately grinned. "Yo Chris!"
"Looks like we have to do another selection method," Chris grabbed the glass boot and began to turn, only for Anne Maria to dart forward and snatch the footwear away from him.
Anne Maria swiftly tossed aside one of her heels and replaced it with the glass boot. "There," she said with a smile, raising her leg to show the boot glimmering on the end of it, "I always knew that I was meant to be royalty!"
"Fine, Anne Maria can be the Princess," Chris said heavily. "Let's just get this over with. Chef?" he looked back over his shoulder, and the shot pulled back to show the hulking man arriving back on the scene. He had changed into a pale blue ballerina's outfit, and had strapped a pair of fake wings to his back that, along with the glittering 'wand' in his hand, gave him the appearance of a fairy godmother.
"I dub thee, Princess Anne Maria," Chef said shortly as a touching song played, waving the wand above the grinning girl's head and releasing a cloud of sparkling dust that nearly choked Topher, Ripper, and Justin.
Confessional: MK
"Anne Maria as the Princess?" MK told the confessional camera with a snort and a laugh. "I wouldn't want to be in that Fairy Tale. Along with any others out there."
Confessional Ends
A harp played in the background as an image of Chris' head and a large hardcover book appeared on screen in front of a yellowish stock background. "It's story time, with uncle Chris," the host's disembodied head said before the scene flashed to him seated in a large purple armchair with the same book in hand. His left hand was on a joystick built into the arm of the chair, and he seemed to be slowly rolling through the set.
"Once upon a time," he began slowly, the camera pulling back to show the host rolling up to the contestants minus Anne Maria on a wheeled platform, his chair joined by a matching footstool, pedestal side table, and even a fireplace. "Five brave knights went on a quest to rescue a Princess from her ivory tower." He pulled back on the joystick, and the platform came to a stop. "But, it wasn't gonna be easy! First," he looked at the staircase behind him, "the knights had to get past my very good friend," the shot quick-panned up and left to Chef, now dressed in a tattered vest and trousers with a long moss-green wig and beard, "the Terrible Toothless Troll!" The shot zoomed in on Chef as he quickly blackened a few of his front teeth with a sharpie. "And, his Bad Breaks Bridge!"
The camera zoomed out even further as a few ominous chants played in the background, showing a large mountainous set featuring a rickety rope bridge over a treacherous and craggy fake waterfall. The contestants gulped.
"To get past the Terrible Toothless Troll," Chris read on, "the knights had to wear disguises! There was the Frog Prince," he grabbed a vaguely frog-like great helm from behind his chair and tossed it to Justin, "and the Ugly Stepsister," he tossed a large wig of wavy red hair in a tall bun to MK. "Snow White," he tossed a pink sleep mask to Jasmine, "and one of her Seven Dwarves," he followed that up by throwing a tall wizard's hat patterned with stars, moons, and lightning bolts to Topher. "Aaand," the host finished by pulling out a bright red hooded cape, "Little Red Riding Hood."
He tossed it to Ripper, who raised an eyebrow as he caught it. "Seriously? Can't I just be Riding Red?"
"No dice dude. That's what it says in the script," Chris told him as an unseen intern delivered a plate of milk and cookies to the host's side table. He turned and grabbed one, saying "Good work, kid," before continuing his monologue. "And so, the Ugly approached the Terrible Troll."
"I can't see in this thing!" MK said.
"Oh yeah," Chris said to a dramatic rise in the background music, "for this challenge, each knight is blind." The five teens immediately began to protest, causing the host to snap at them. "Nowhere in this story does it say 'the cowardly knights complained'!" he told the cast with a brief glance at his book. "So get it together, steppy, and get crossing!"
The footage skipped ahead to show MK slowly inching her way across the bridge while holding on to one of the rope rails. "This ain't too bad," she said to herself. She was hit by several red apples in rapid succession, causing her to yelp in pain.
"Oh, also," Chris said as the shot cut back to him, "those are Wicked Witch's apples, so, they're poisonous and rotten. You might wanna watch..."
He stopped talking as the shot cut back to MK slipping on one of the apples and fell off the bridge to the rocky set below. The camera followed as she fell and bounced off of several outcroppings before landing onto the hard ground. The shot cut briefly to the other contestants as they winced in pain before cutting back to the techno girl lying awkwardly on the ground with an apple in her mouth.
"Well, looks like MK isn't fairy tale hero material," Chris commented, dunking one of his cookies into his glass of milk. The short girl writhed in pain.
Confessional: MK
MK had on a neck brace and bandages around her head and torso, "I'm having trouble remembering what happened after the fall. Does that mean I have a concussion?"
Confessional Ends
A harp was played as the footage cut back to the other contestants standing at the start of the bridge. "Next, the eighth dwarf," Chris said as he moved his platform around towards the far staircase. "He grabbed a fistful of courage and headed across the bridge."
Topher glanced over at Chef. The man had hunched over, and was slapping a cat o' nine tails against his hand with a wild grin. He took a deep breath, put on the wizard’s hat over his eyes, and charged forward with a battle cry. Chef raised his eyebrows and rushed out to stop him, but he jumped onto a rope rail and ran through it until he was past Chef.
"Did I make it?" Topher asked, having reached the other side.
Confessional: Topher
"Poise classes have taught me to always be aware of my surroundings, whether I’m blindfolded or not," Topher grinned. "And with Anne Maria as the Princess, I’m not botching this one."
Confessional Ends
The footage skipped ahead to Jasmine's attempt, the sleeping mask already over her eyes and her hands firmly on the ropes of the bridge as she walked forward at a steady pace. Chef squeezed a mother goose, launching a golden egg out of its rear like a bullet. It shot past the girl's shoulder. "What was that?" Jasmine asked as she moved her head to track it. A second egg hit her square in the chest, knocking her back a step and putting a grin on Chef's face.
Jasmine frowned for a moment, then took a cautious step that was apparently at the bridge's weak point. The camera zoomed in on the bridge as it rippled, knocking loose every plank all the way to Chef. With a gasp and a scream, the troll and his goose fell, and the scene cut to him as he grabbed something behind his back. "They don't pay me enough for this!" Chef yelled, pulling the cord of a hidden parachute and floating down safely.
Jasmine was unaware of the danger and took one more step, expectedly screaming and falling. The camera cut to Chris as he followed the Amazon girl's fall and winced at the sound of an impact. "Awesome!" he cheered. "You’re up, froggy." The scene cut to the start of the bridge where Justin stood. "Then Captain Hood after that."
Justin put on his helmet. "At least my face will be protected from further indignity," he said as he slowly moved towards the bridge. He walked right shoulder into one of the posts holding up the bridge.
Ripper laughed. "Tough break, pretty boy," he jeered. "Go a little to the right." The eye candy followed the advice and walked into the other pole, causing Ripper to laugh. "Sorry man!" the bully called before laughing again.
Chef was shown running past the center of the bridge with an ax raised and ready to strike, while Justin stayed at the bridge completely oblivious. Ripper laughed once more and pushed the model into the cook. "Let me give you a hand," he said as he did so. Chef brought his ax down and hit the hot boy's helmet, causing the eyes to spin comically and Ripper to laugh once more.
Confessional: Justin
“There I was, down dirty, and deafened,” Justin recapped his failure. “And I thought "W.W.A.M.D.": What would Anne Maria do? And then it came to me! She'd use her head.”
Confessional Ends
With a battle cry, Justin rushed the cook with his helmet and ran him over, safely making it to the other side. "Justin's still got it!" Chris said as the camera cut to him. "All right, the final knight attempting to enter Fairy Tale Land is," the shot cut to Ripper as he tied a blindfold over his eyes and faced away from the camera, "Riding Red! We're over this way!"
"My seeing is good," Ripper said as he turned around. The camera cut to his perspective to show that he could actually see Chef putting on a blonde pigtailed wig. "I'm able to see Chef as a female troll! Hilarious!"
"Rapunzel dude, let down your hair!" Chris called, and Chef lengthened one of the pigtails and began swinging it around. He cracked it like a whip at the bully, who dodged it.
The camera cut to Justin watching Ripper avoid every attack. "Hey! He can see!" he cried.
"How?" Chris asked sarcastically. "With his X-ray vision? That'd be cool."
Chef attacked one last time, but Ripper grabbed onto the pigtail and swung across to safety with a whoop.
The footage skipped ahead to a close-up of Chris's book as he began to narrate once again. "And so, the Terrible Toothless Troll knocked off two losers," the shot pulled back to show Jasmine, wearing a leg cast and her right arm in a sling, and MK sitting on the ground nearby. "But," the camera panned over to Justin, Ripper, and Topher on the right, "three semi-brave knights made it to the other side and continued on their noble quest. Whereupon I, in my wisdom, inspired them with a vision of Princess Anne Maria."
The shot pulled back even further, revealing that the group had assembled in front of a small stage with a pink-tinted backdrop depicting a large white castle off in distant hillsides. A slow piano melody began to play as Anne Maria, now dressed in a regal-looking pink gown and tiara, was lowered onto the stage by a few wires.
"When I was a little girl, I'd dream of my first kiss," Anne Maria began to sing in a rather mediocre voice the moment she hit the stage and the wired harness was reeled back up. "It would come from my perfect prince!" A number of tiny birds and chipmunks gathered around her, the birds even landing on her hands. "And in my dream, it went like this!"
The scene immediately cut to the three remaining knights as they watched the performance. Justin and Topher were both stunned by her display, while Ripper couldn't care less.
“She's the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” Justin said.
Definitely,” Topher chimed in.
“I must've been so busy seeing her as a potential alliance member and extra vote that I didn't see her outer beauty. Wow,” Justin continued in amazement. “We'll be the best looking couple in the kingdom!”
The music came to a halt as Topher and Ripper were surprised by what just came out of Justin's mouth.
“Excuse me, but I am still dating her!” Topher objected heavily.
“And there's no way she'll ever be into you,” Ripper told Justin.
“I saw you cheat, Ripper,” Justin let him know. “You don't deserve to be anybody's prince.”
“And who died and made you the rule master?” Ripper faced the handsome boy threateningly.
"Guys, guys!" Chris said, stepping forward and getting between the boys. "No need to fight! At least not until after this break," he declared happily. "Will Ripper inflict any deformities on Justin? Or will Justin's ripped physique bring two tons of hurt down on Topher's head? Find out when we come back!"
(Commercial Break)
The footage came back to a distance shot of the stage Anne Maria was still singing on, her music resuming as the shot cut closer.
"My prince will be tall and handsome," she sang, the camera panning down to catch Justin standing straight and proud. "My prince will be tough as nails," Ripper flexed his biceps and then lifted a startled Topher over his head.
"My prince will have lots of money," Anne Maria continued, the camera moving back on her as she showered the stage with a wad of cash. "My prince will tame wild whales!" She flexed her own arms, Chris nodded to the beat, and the shot cut to Topher looking at a small and rather disoriented baleen whale on the floor in confusion.
The shot panned down to Jasmine and MK who were watching the performance with boredom on their faces.
"How are you feeling about the whole Fairy Tale thing?" Jasmine asked MK.
"Couldn't care less," MK answered bluntly. "I just don't know why we have to keep watching though."
A close-up was shown of Anne Maria reaching for a wary-eyed frog in a small crown, the Jersey girl pulling it closer to her as she finished her song. "When we kiss~, my prince will be you~!" As the music ended, she held up the frog and kissed it on the lips, but broke almost immediately in a fit of revulsion.
Anne Maria threw the frog away from her, and it landed on Justin's face. "Warts! Get it off!" he cried out as he ran around trying to get the frog out.
"Wasn't that song brilliant?" Chris asked as the focus moved back to him, Jasmine, and MK. "It was so brilliant, I know everyone wishes they could hear it over, and over, and over again! And now they can." He snapped his fingers, and a CD case bearing Princess Anne Maria's picture on the cover was placed in his waiting hand.
"Relive the magic of Anne Maria for only $12.99," he told the camera as a deep and theatrical tune began to play. "Call 555-SELLOUT to get your authentic Princess Anne Maria CD," he added as the camera zoomed in on the case, "before everyone else downloads it illegally!"
"I'll take one!" Topher quickly begged, earning him a CD. "This will be worth spending thirteen dollars of my money."
Confessional: Topher
"My prince will buy me lots of hot dogs! My prince will love ponies too!" Topher was listening to the CD through headphones as his confessional began. "Her singing isn't the best, but I do want to support her," he told the camera.
Confessional Ends
"After risking my life for you, I have come to realize this!" Justin said as he approached the stage. "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. And the smartest. What are the odds?"
He offered his hand to Anne Maria, but she didn't take it. "Thanks for telling me what I already know!"
"Uhh, aren't you going to compliment me on my bravery?" Justin asked.
"Nah! Princesses are supposed to be complimented in my world,” Anne Maria said, to Justin's disappointment. “It's not their job to give them out to anyone, but for me, I'll make an exception for Topher, the handsomest knight around!”
The camera moved to Ripper rolling her eyes and Topher smiling. “And you are the most beautiful princess around!” Topher complimented back before a sound caught the attention of both. They turned their heads at once and the scene followed their gaze over to Chef, still in his troll costume but now riding the same fly-ridden horse from earlier in the episode.
"How has that horse not died yet?" MK commented. "It can't be in good condition after all their time being used on this show."
"Just because it's a little old, doesn't mean it's not fighting for their life," Jasmine told her.
Anne Maria hopped onto the horse's back while Ripper and Topher came over. “Are we supposed to catch him?" Topher asked.
"No, it's a classic princess abduction," Chris explained calmly. "As the villain makes a whirlwind getaway on a swift steed."
Chef kicked the horse with his feet, but it didn't react. "Guess ol' Betsy here didn't read the script," he said gruffly.
"Kick harder," Chris commanded, and Chef promptly complied. A stronger kick caused the horse to kick backwards, hitting Justin – who had been standing closest - right in the face.
"That did it," Chef said as Justin was shown to have a few teeth knocked out and a bruised right eye.
"So, that's how the three knight dudes lost the Princess," Chris narrated, "But fate, aka me, wasn't finished with them." Chef and Anne Maria rode off behind him. "They followed the troll all the way to a fight to the death, because that's how I like my princesses saved."
"Sir Topher!" Anne Maria called out playfully as she was slowly abducted. "You better be the one who rescues me!"
"These two haven't even got a chance!" Topher replied arrogantly.
"As good luck, I'll give you my favor to carry into the battle!" Anne Maria tossed the glass boot, but it unintentionally hit Justin in the face.
Confessional: Justin
Justin was having his bruises covered up by make-up brushes from two unknown people while the glass boot was on the table.
“Falling for Anne Maria has been hard on the face. I think we'll have a no glass shoes policy if we start dating soon,” Justin informed and put the boot away. “I have no idea what Chase and Millie's policies are, but they're probably less dignified.”
Confessional Ends
The footage cut forward to a close-up of the old horse chewing on some hay before the camera panned over to a small castle archway propped up against a tower of some sort. "Sir Justin, Sir Topher, and Sir Ripper reached the ivory tower in which the troll had stuck the super tanned princess," Chris read as the three remaining competitors walked into the scene and he followed on his rolling platform. The shot panned up the towers, where several other pieces of crenelated wall had been attached here and there, and at the very top there was a pinkish spire and balcony where Princess Anne Maria waited.
"But there was only one way to rescue her," the host continued with a grin on his face and tense music building in the background. "One of the brave knights had to slay the dragon!"
"Dragon?!" Jasmine asked in alarm. "Tell me you didn't get a real dragon for this!"
"Seeing as dragons don't exist," MK told her, "I find that highly unlikely."
"She's right," Chris said as the music switched to something more ominously lurking. "We're reusing the alien monster guy."
Seconds later, a few tremendous mechanical footsteps were heard. MK and Jasmine looked to stage right and the camera pulled back, showing off the animatronic monster in all its glory. Chef was wearing the motion capture suit that controlled it, and it had been given a hood with horns, a scraggly 'beard', and two tiny wings in order to make it look more draconic. Chef raised his arms menacingly, and the monster echoed the pose and growled.
"Let the dragon slaying begin!" Chris announced, pulling out a trio of wooden swords and throwing them to the knights. Ripper caught the shortest, Topher the most slender, and Justin the broadest, and the three turned to face the tower and dragon.
"I'm counting on you, Sir Topher!" Anne Maria called from above, smiling at the fanboy and blowing him a kiss. He accepted it with a grin, and Anne Maria turned her attention to the other two knights and frowned. "As for you two, you'll need all the luck you can get."
"Yeah, cause I'll be the one who's going to slay today!" Topher boasted before turning and charging at the dragon.
"Not so fast," Justin charged at Topher and the two clashed their swords into each other's, only breaking when they noticed a foot-shaped shadow fall upon them. They rolled out of the way before the monster stomped them, and the camera panned over to Justin landing next to Ripper.
“You want Topher to win?” Justin faced Ripper.
“Like I care which one of you wins,” Ripper scoffed.
“Then help me take him down and I'll let you win,” Justin offered.
Ripper thought about it, and the viewpoint moved over to Chef guiding the monster in stomping and snapping at Topher. He was able to strike the dragon's head with his sword. “You are not going to stop me from rescuing Anne Maria!” the fanboy told the dragon.
“Just get them both chasing you,” Ripper suggested.
“And why?” Justin asked.
“Do you want to stop that monster or not?” Ripper glared. “Just do it!”
Justin sighed but complied, and both Topher and the Chef-controlled monster made moves to chase after him while Ripper watched from the sidelines.
“Are you going to fight me or run away from me?!” Topher asked with a taunt.
“Justin, you're going to stop running in 3…2…1!” Ripper ordered, and Justin paused his dash.
Topher also stopped chasing him as well, and the dragon, who was still trying to chase the others, caught its foot on Topher and somehow tripped. It flailed its arms humorously before crashing to the ground.
"A job well done," Ripper said as he ran over to the large red button on the side of the beast's neck. “Now to claim my second immunity win in a row!” he said as he readied his sword to finish it off, but Justin came up to push him off the dragon and onto the floor.
"Sorry Ripper," Justin told him. "If Izzy was the prize, I'm sure you'd do the same thing." He plunged his sword into the dragon's neck, causing it to fizzle and short out. "Anne Maria," he dramatically called out, "your prince is coming."
"Some prince," Ripper mocked.
The camera panned to the right to show Chris' moving platform as he arrived with Jasmine and MK in tow.
"Wanna rescue Princess Anne Maria too?" he asked the camera. "Now you can, for only $79.95!" he pulled out a pink-and-yellow striped box and held it up for the camera, a vaguely Anne Maria-shaped doll barely visible inside. "Order your very own Princess Anne Maria Limited Edition Glass Boot Doll! Playing with the Anne Maria doll is more fun and less dangerous than playing with the real Anne Maria. Guaranteed!" He finished with a cheesy grin.
The scene cut to the top of the ivory tower as Justin climbed up to the balcony where Anne Maria waited. "I have arrived!" Justin announced.
"Not the guy I was expecting, but a reward is a reward," Anne Maria grumbled and the two moved in for a kiss.
"Wait, wait, there's no kissing!" Chris interrupted the two from his chair.
“What?” Justin felt confused.
“Oh yeah!” Topher cheered from under the dragon.
"It says here that Prince Justin and Princess Anne Maria must sword fight to determine the true winner!" Chris explained while reading off his book.
"Which means I still have a chance at winning immunity?" Anne Maria asked quickly.
"You're much smarter than most princesses," Chris replied.
"Usually, most fairy tales end with a kiss," Jasmine said.
"Well, this is a modern tale," Chris explained. "Gals have to fight for themselves."
“You can say that again,” MK agreed.
“If that's how it has to be-” Anne Maria said.
“No,” Justin cut her off, now kneeling on one leg. “I am a noble gentleman. A brave knight. A handsome prince. I would never hurt a lady.”
“But you would hurt a guy working with you,” Ripper interjected after getting up on his feet.
“I said I was sorry, Ripper,” Justin told him with annoyance and focused back on Anne Maria. “I refuse to raise a sword to Anne Maria.” Anne Maria took the sword from him. “I give up any chance at immunity to spare her. And now…”
Justin puckered his lips and moved close, only for his eyes to widen. The camera pulled back to show the hilt of the sword buried in his crotch.
“Not sorry! I'm already taken!" Anne Maria declared before pushing Justin off.
Justin fell with a scream until he hit one of the 'towers' on his cheek. He kept on hitting one tower after another until he hit the ground on his back in severe pain. “I'm okay!”
The camera panned over to Chris and the other losers. "Anne Maria wins immunity! Again!" the host announced.
"Yes!" Anne Maria cheered.
The opening sequence of the Gilded Chris Ceremony came and went, leaving the scene focused on the tux-wearing host at his podium. "So," Chris began with an award already in his hand, "with immunity, Anne Maria is the first to win a Gilded Chris." He tossed the statuette to the girl, sitting on the left side of the bleachers, and she caught it with a smug grin.
"Immunity and my own dolls? How much better can this day get?" Anne Maria said.
"Well, it's not like you're getting the profits from the Princess Anne Maria line," Chris said plainly.
Anne Maria's eyes popped open in shock. "Uh, what?!" she said in outrage. “It's my line!”
“I’m saying that you're not going to get the profits because they’ll be sent over to your family for safekeeping, along with a Princess Anne Maria doll,” Chris explained. “I don't want any of my interns or producers to take what's rightfully yours. Lawsuits and all.”
“Oh!” Anne Maria said in relief. “I'm relieved, but I'm also upset that you made me act like an idiot!”
"Then you should have let me finish! Also still in the competish," Chris announced with another two awards in his hand, "MK and Jasmine." The former caught her prize in her lap with a confident grin, and the latter with a happy smile.
"And also Ripper," the host continued, the camera panning to the bully who smiled as he caught his award.
Spotlights were put on Justin and Topher, the former in a body cast. "Who will live happily ever after, and who will die penniless," Chris said as the music built dramatically. "And the last Gilded Chris goes to… Justin!"
"What?!" Anne Maria stood up. "You have to be joking! Justin should be going home!"
"Yeah, you're right. I was just kidding," Chris said. "Justin's actually the one who's been eliminated."
Topher caught his award. “I knew I would be safe.”
Confessional: Topher
“I told everybody to vote off Justin,” Topher confirmed. “He tried to move in on my girlfriend, and him getting booted would serve him right. The best part is, everybody was on board with it and I didn’t even have to try and convince them.”
Confessional Ends
Justin got up and started to head to the red carpet, but stopped to look at the contestants. “So is no one even going to miss me?”
“I never liked you,” MK shrugged.
“See ya,” Ripper said apathetically. “Get better soon, or sometime.”
“Okay, stop already! I'm going! But you'll regret it,” Justin told them and walked to the red carpet. Before getting into the limousine, he gave one last look to the remaining players. “With me gone, this competition just got eighty percent less handsome.” The eye candy turned around, only to hit his head on the roof. “All right, seventy-nine!” he groaned.
The footage paused there, and the camera pulled back to show it on one of the monitors in the control tent. Chris was sitting in his chair playing with a couple of Princess Anne Maria dolls, a few more scattered on the nearby desk.
"I know what I told Anne Maria, but marketing says that our target audience is too old for dolls," Chris told the camera as the footage on the monitor cut to static. "They're just not selling!" He looked to the side, and the camera panned to follow and show Chef playing with a group of Princess Anne Maria dolls dressed up as soldiers.
"Princesses, attack!" he said with a dark grin, lighting a miniature cannon with a match as the deeper and more dramatic ending theme began to play. The cannon fired with a puff, blowing the heads off two of the dolls.
Chris gave him an odd look, then turned back to the camera. "Hey target audience! Make sure you don't miss the next kiss-filled episode of Total! Drama! Action!" As soon as he finished saying the title, he mashed the mouths of the two dolls he was holding together and made kissing sounds. "Now you see, Chef," he told his companion, "that's how you play with dolls."
(Roll the Credits)
(Bonus Clip)
The scene opened to Justin sitting on the back seat of the limousine with the glass boot in hand. “What I've learned? Well, maybe that good looks won't take you everywhere you want to go,” he said wisely. “I mean, what have I ended up with? A wounded face, a bruised ego, and a shoe that I can't even wear. Maybe if I stopped modeling and threw all my energy into getting smarter, more girls could fall in love with me,” he thought. “But modeling pays. And Jesús, my booker, says that even with my severe facial wounds, he can get me a bunch of leg modeling and some celebrity kid's birthday party. So, love schmove.” He threw the glass boot out the window, and a shattering sound indicated that the boot was destroyed.
Eva - 15th
Geoff - 15th
Izzy - RETURNED
Trent - 13th
Sky - 12th
Brick - 11th
Scott - 10th
Izzy - 9th
Millie - 8th
MERGE
Chase - 7th
Justin - 6th
Boys: Ripper, Topher
Girls: Anne Maria, Jasmine, MK

MN 98 Vāseṭṭhasutta: With Vāseṭṭha
https://daily.readingfaithfully.org/mn-98-vasetthasutta-with-vasettha/
[Note: Today’s selection is very long, but it contains a radical teaching: that what matters most is the actions that we do, not the position we are born into.]
So I have heard. At one time the Buddha was staying in a forest near Icchānaṅgala.
Now at that time several very well-known well-to-do brahmins were residing in Icchānaṅgala. They included the brahmins Caṅkī, Tārukkha, Pokkharasādi, Jānussoṇi, Todeyya, and others.
Then as the brahmin students Vāseṭṭha and Bhāradvāja were going for a walk they began to discuss the question: “How do you become a brahmin?”
Bhāradvāja said this: “When you’re well born on both your mother’s and father’s side, of pure descent, with irrefutable and impeccable genealogy back to the seventh paternal generation— then you’re a brahmin.”
Vāseṭṭha said this: “When you’re ethical and accomplished in doing your duties— then you’re a brahmin.”
But neither was able to persuade the other.
So Vāseṭṭha said to Bhāradvāja, “Mister Bhāradvāja, the ascetic Gotama—a Sakyan, gone forth from a Sakyan family—is staying in a forest near Icchānaṅgala. He has this good reputation: ‘That Blessed One is perfected, a fully awakened Buddha, accomplished in knowledge and conduct, holy, knower of the world, supreme guide for those who wish to train, teacher of gods and humans, awakened, blessed.’ Come, let’s go to see him and ask him about this matter. As he answers, so we’ll remember it.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Bhāradvāja.
So they went to the Buddha and exchanged greetings with him. When the greetings and polite conversation were over, they sat down to one side, and Vāseṭṭha addressed the Buddha in verse:
“We’re both authorized masters
of the three Vedas.
I’m a student of Pokkharasādi,
and he of Tārukkha.
We’re fully qualified
in all the Vedic experts teach.
As philologists and grammarians,
we match our teachers in recitation.
We have a dispute
regarding genealogy.
For Bhāradvāja says that
one is a brahmin due to birth,
but I declare it’s because of one’s deeds.
Oh Clear-eyed One, know this as our debate.
Since neither of us was able
to convince the other,
we’ve come to ask you, sir,
renowned as the awakened one.
As people honor with joined palms
the moon on the cusp of waxing,
bowing, they revere
Gotama in the world.
We ask this of Gotama,
the Eye arisen in the world:
is one a brahmin due to birth,
or else because of deeds?
We don’t know, please tell us,
so we can recognize a brahmin.”
“I shall explain to you,” said the Buddha,
“accurately and in sequence,
the taxonomy of living creatures,
for species are indeed diverse.
Know the grass and trees,
though they lack self-awareness.
They’re defined by birth,
for species are indeed diverse.
Next there are bugs and moths,
and so on, to ants and termites.
They’re defined by birth,
for species are indeed diverse.
Know the quadrupeds, too,
both small and large.
They’re defined by birth,
for species are indeed diverse.
Know, too, the long-backed snakes,
crawling on their bellies.
They’re defined by birth,
for species are indeed diverse.
Next know the fish,
whose habitat is the water.
They’re defined by birth,
for species are indeed diverse.
Next know the birds,
winged chariots in flight.
They’re defined by birth,
for species are indeed diverse.
While the differences between these species
are defined by birth,
the differences between humans
are not defined by birth.
Not by hair nor by head,
not by ear nor by eye,
not by mouth nor by nose,
not by lips nor by eyebrow,
not by shoulder nor by neck,
not by belly nor by back,
not by buttocks nor by breast,
not by groin nor by genitals,
not by hands nor by feet,
not by fingers nor by nails,
not by knees nor by thighs,
not by color nor by voice:
none of these are defined by birth
as it is for other species.
In individual human bodies
you can’t find such distinctions.
The distinctions among humans
are spoken of by convention.
Anyone among humans
who lives off keeping cattle:
know them, Vāseṭṭha,
as a farmer, not a brahmin.
Anyone among humans
who lives off various professions:
know them, Vāseṭṭha,
as a professional, not a brahmin.
Anyone among humans
who lives off trade:
know them, Vāseṭṭha,
as a trader, not a brahmin.
Anyone among humans
who lives off serving others:
know them, Vāseṭṭha,
as a servant, not a brahmin.
Anyone among humans
who lives off stealing:
know them, Vāseṭṭha,
as a bandit, not a brahmin.
Anyone among humans
who lives off archery:
know them, Vāseṭṭha,
as a soldier, not a brahmin.
Anyone among humans
who lives off priesthood:
know them, Vāseṭṭha,
as a sacrificer, not a brahmin.
Anyone among humans
who taxes village and nation,
know them, Vāseṭṭha,
as a ruler, not a brahmin.
I don’t call someone a brahmin
after the mother’s womb they’re born from.
If they still have attachments,
they’re just someone who says ‘mister’.
Having nothing, taking nothing:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
Having cut off all fetters
they have no anxiety;
they’ve slipped their chains and are detached:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
They’ve cut the strap and harness,
the reins and bridle too;
with cross-bar lifted, they’re awakened:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
Abuse, killing, caging:
they endure these without anger.
Patience is their powerful army:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
Not irritable or stuck up,
dutiful in precepts and observances,
tamed, bearing their final body:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
Like rain off a lotus leaf,
like a mustard seed off the point of a pin,
sensual pleasures slip off them:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
They understand for themselves
the end of suffering in this life;
with burden put down, detached:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
Deep in wisdom, intelligent,
expert in what is the pathand what is not the path;
arrived at the highest goal:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
mixing with neither
householders nor the homeless;
a migrant with no shelter, few in wishes:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
They’ve laid aside violence
against creatures firm and frail;
not killing or making others kill:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
Not fighting among those who fight,
extinguished among those who are armed,
not taking among those who take:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
They’ve discarded greed and hate,
along with conceit and contempt,
like a mustard seed off the point of a pin:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
The words they utter
are sweet, informative, and true,
and don’t offend anyone:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
They don’t steal anything in the world,
long or short,
fine or coarse, beautiful or ugly:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
They have no hope
for this world or the next;
with no need for hope, detached:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
They have no clinging,
knowledge has freed them of indecision,
they’ve arrived at the culmination of freedom from death:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
They’ve escaped the snare
of both good and bad deeds;
sorrowless, stainless, pure:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
Pure as the spotless moon,
clear and undisturbed,
they’ve ended desire to be reborn:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
They’ve got past this grueling swamp
of delusion, transmigration.
Meditating in stillness, free of indecision,
they have crossed over to the far shore.
They’re extinguished by not grasping:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
They’ve given up sensual stimulations,
and have gone forth from lay life;
they’ve ended rebirth in the sensual realm:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
They’ve given up craving,
and have gone forth from lay life;
they’ve ended craving to be reborn:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
They’ve thrown off the human yoke,
and slipped out of the heavenly yoke;
unyoked from all yokes:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
Giving up discontent and desire,
they’re cooled and free of attachments;
a hero, master of the whole world:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
They know the passing away
and rebirth of all beings;
unattached, holy, awakened:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
Gods, centaurs, and humans
don’t know their destiny;
the perfected ones with defilements ended:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
They have nothing before or after,
or even in between.
Having nothing, taking nothing:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
Leader of the herd, excellent hero,
great seer and victor;
unstirred, washed, awakened:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
They know their past lives,
and see heaven and places of loss,
and have attained the end of rebirth:
that’s who I call a brahmin.
For name and clan are formulated
as mere convention in the world.
Produced by mutual agreement,
they’re formulated for each individual.
For a long time this misconception
has prejudiced those who don’t understand.
Ignorant, they declare
that one is a brahmin by birth.
You’re not a brahmin by birth,
nor by birth a non-brahmin.
You’re a brahmin by your deeds,
and by deeds a non-brahmin.
You’re a farmer by your deeds,
by deeds you’re a professional;
you’re a trader by your deeds,
by deeds are you a servant;
you’re a bandit by your deeds,
by deeds you’re a soldier;
you’re a sacrificer by your deeds,
by deeds you’re a ruler.
In this way the astute regard deeds
in accord with truth.
Seeing dependent origination,
they’re expert in deeds and their results.
Deeds make the world go on,
deeds make people go on;
sentient beings are bound by deeds,
like a moving chariot’s linchpin.
By fervor and spiritual practice,
by restraint and by self-control:
that’s how to become a brahmin,
this is the supreme brahmin.
Accomplished in the three knowledges,
peaceful, with rebirth ended,
know them, Vāseṭṭha,
as Brahmā and Sakka to the wise.”
When he had spoken, Vāseṭṭha and Bhāradvāja said to him, “Excellent, Mister Gotama! Excellent! As if he were righting the overturned, or revealing the hidden, or pointing out the path to the lost, or lighting a lamp in the dark so people with clear eyes can see what’s there, Mister Gotama has made the teaching clear in many ways. We go for refuge to Mister Gotama, to the teaching, and to the mendicant Saṅgha. From this day forth, may Mister Gotama remember us as lay followers who have gone for refuge for life.”
Read this translation of Majjhima Nikāya 98 Vāseṭṭhasutta: With Vāseṭṭha_by Bhikkhu Sujato on SuttaCentral.net. Or read a different translation onDhammaTalks.org or Ancient-Buddhist-Texts.net. Or _listen on PaliAudio.com or SC-Voice.net. Or explore the Pali on DigitalPaliReader.online.
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Her name was Elouise Winthers and she was the most beautiful human being I had ever seen. And she was kind. So kind. But most of all, she was the only person I'll ever love and the day she died, was the day I started living.
When I first met her, I was just going through the motions. My job as a nurse was tiring and I dreaded every night having to wake up and going there. That changed when she came in to the IR that afternoon. Because Elouise was the reason my soul started to smile again.
It wasn't a busy day like most days were, so when I called out her name at my desk, I took my time. I didn't bother to look up from the pc when I asked her to explain her emergency. When she spoke, she sounded like a thousands symphonies and I just had to see the face that made this angelic sound.
Her light blond hair was shimmering in the sunlight like golden thread in a fairytale. Her heavenly blue eyes met mine and she said: "I think I broke my left arm"
Blood flushed to my head and made my face red. I just nodded and took notes. I was speechless but mustered up the courage to assure her that the doctor would be there shortly.
That evening before I went home, I snuck into her files, found her contact information and started to come up with an excuse for using them. I went in my car but let my mind do the driving and suddenly I was at the earth angels house. I wanted to knock on her door so bad but I couldn't. Instead I just sat in my car outside her house. I sat there until the sun came up and then I sat there some more. In fact I sat there for so long I didn't got to work.
I must have been dozing of because I jolted awake by the sound of a door slamming. Her front door. I looked at my watch and it was way past midnight. I had seven missed calls from work but I turned off my phone. Elouise walked passed my seemingly unnoticeable car and went down the road.
I got out and followed her. I don't know why I just couldn't help it. It was as if I wasn't in control of my body.
She, well we, walked for about ten minutes when we came to an abandoned factory building that had a large entry with hinges and locks on it.
Even though it was pitch black out and no one, except me, was around, she didn't seem at all scared. She walked around the building and while I hid in a bush I heard knocking and a screech as the door she knocked on opened. She went inside and I followed shortly after.
My mind was racing and my heart felt like it was gonna jump out of my chest.
"Why is this beautiful creature here all alone?" I thought to myself and went inside.
I shouldn't have followed. I shouldn't have lurked. I should have been at home in my bed after a days work but I loved her the moment words came out of her mouth formed by her rose red lips. So I had to follow. I had to lurk because I had to have her and to hold her for all eternity.
The old factory building smelled like urine and worse and I almost gagged. Elouise went down a dark corridor and entered a large room. As I hid behind a pillar I observed people in the back of the room. There where candles illuminating their spot and I saw they had mattresses, blankets, a hot plate and stuff like that. They seemed to be a family. Two kids, both girls, at about 6-8 years old and a woman and a man.
I hadn't noticed until now, the shoulder bag Elouise was wearing. She took a brown paperbag out of it and handed it to the couple. I heard them thank her profusely and saw them give her a hug. My stomach turned and I felt sorta jealous.
I was still hiding when the love of my life went back out into the night. Before I followed I saw the family take some cans and stuff out of the paper bag. Elouise that amazing being had brought them food. I told you she was kind.
I followed her home and was just about to go back to my car when Elouise went inside her house without locking her door. I know this, because after she closed it I had my ear pinned up to it in hopes of hearing her voice again.
I just stood there. Again speechless and at last I went ever so gently inside not making even the slightest sound.
I heard water running. She was in the shower. Can you imagine the feelings I felt knowing that my soulmate was naked and wet with hot steaming water?
I knew I should have gone home. I knew I shouldn't have peeked. But I just couldn't help myself. I had to see her the way God created her. I had to touch her naked, and without a doubt, soft skin. So I went into her bathroom. Quietly. I wanted to pull the shower curtain aside but I couldn't.
Instead I found her bedroom and I climbed into her bed and waited. And waited and then I waited some more. Daylight arrived and she still wasn't next to me. The water was still running. I had to check on her. I couldn't have something happen to her. Not before I could get my hands on her.
On the bathroom floor laid my beautiful Elouise blood running slowly out of her head like melting butter on a piece of toast. She wasn't breathing. I was going to call an ambulance anonymously but I still felt like I would have a problem explaining why I was in her home since I was a mere stranger.
So I turned on my phone again and her laptop, which didn't have a password (It must have been fate), found her facebook and send her a friend request from my phone. I accepted it from her computer and then I wrote some messages between us on messenger. I made them sound romantic like we had that relationship we were meant to. But I got way into it and time flew by. I didn't bother eating or drinking or even going to the toilet and then I realized that it had been to whole days.
I didn't care though. I kept on writhing messages between us, building up our love and life and intern jokes and I didn't stop until I felt the cold steel from the handcuffs the police put around my wrists. I screamed and cried but they were brutal and didn't care.
They eventually found that the cause of death was a slip and fall. Elouise had hit her head and died. Her surveillance cameras showed me laying in her bed the moment she fall and died.
They didn't let me go because they said I had been defiling her corpse. That couldn't be further from the truth. I made love to my Elouise. And that is not disgusting. It's the most beautiful thing in the world. Also I got charged with breaking in, stalking and for waiting to long to contact law enforcement.
They said I couldn't go to prison. They said I was dangerous. Nonsense. But now I'm here in the asylum. They give me pills three times a day. I hide them under my tongue, like I hid under Elouise's blankets, and spit them out when the nurse leave.
The say I won't get out for a very long time. But I know where her body is buried and when I get out I will make love to my sweet angel again. Until then I can make plenty a do with her pinky finger, that they did see me cut of off her but didn't see me swallow.

I became obsessed with the idea of charity groups arriving on Irvrana and helping the Bissem with various things that don't necessarily show up in the big picture- so you know what? I decided to do it myself. Enjoy!

When the news came of aliens being real, it had been a shock- how could anyone in Irvana have seen such an audacious announcement being made by the government? Yet as the news was streamed as these strange beings from the stars appeared before a gathered crowd of reporters, all three of them as different from each other as they were from the Bissem, it was impossible to refute the claims as being some sort of hoax.
For those like Director Guinelle, however, the news was... perhaps less impactful than it was for others- an exciting oddity, to be sure, but the main relevance it had for her life was that it was an effective way of keeping her patients occupied. The children in particular were enamored with the news, fascinated by the sight of such alien beings, chattering amongst both themselves and their caretakers about countless questions, observations, and hopes they held regarding these enigmatic visitors who claimed good intentions.
It made guiding them through physical therapy all the easier- talk of the tall alien with no feathers or fur a ready distraction from movements needed to compensate for a missing flipper or foot. Pain that would have been an obstacle they needed to be pushed through faded with the distraction of the way the quietest alien was covered in quills and barbs- how did one function normally with so many weapons hanging from their back?
Even the adult patients welcomed the distraction- the melancholy of lost mobility and crushed dreams buried under theorizing about what the aliens might actually want, or griping about them being an affront to the gods- though thankfully the crowd of protestors who believed the same about their prosthetics seemed to have found a new target for their demonstrations, appearing outside of public courthouses and official government buildings instead of harassing her doctors and patients with insults and screaming declarations of them stripping their patients of their bissemity and replacing it with metal and machinery.
Their prosthetics didn't even use metal- too prone to rust, and weighed down too much! What limited mobility they could manage to provide for their patients required much lighter plastics and alloys be used!
Anyways, news of aliens quickly faded from her attention as she focused on her work as usual- signing documents, trying her best to continue sweet-talking the groups her hospital relied on for funding, doing her best to remain civil in the face of complaints of money being "wasted" when replacing missing limbs was a fantasy, reviewing potential new patients whenever they came up or got through the paperwork of appealing for a place in her halls, coordinating between the research teams who tried to find new solutions to improve their prosthetics and the doctors who would need to actually implement such changes and make sure they worked for the patient... The work was never-ending, and not well suited to indulging in distractions, even ones as big as Aliens actually existing!
So her current circumstances, sitting nervously inside of an official Lassmin limo speeding through the city streets, escorted by armed guards sat to either side her, with no explanation beyond the statement they'd given when they burst into her office and 'invited' her down to a meeting with a representative from those aliens? Well, it wasn't exactly something she'd been scheduling in advance!
Nervously combing her feathers back into place and ensuring they were evenly coated in just enough oil to give herself a healthy sheen, Guinelle straightened her posture and practiced her best business-deal resting expression as the column of vehicles pulled into the central government building's parking lot. She might not know what the aliens wanted with a specialty hospital director- one of her more 'inventive' patients would probably suggest that she was simply deemed an acceptable sacrifice by her own government. She did her best to quiet that annoyingly intrusive though as she was waddled through the halls, past onlooking groups of bissem turning from whatever they were doing to see what the commotion was about.
"Ah, the woman of the hour!" The mayor's perfect politician tone was a welcome distraction- even if it couldn't completely hide the slight nervous tremor to his words. The vritalian male's more modest stature was ever so slightly raised- he preferred to wear claw-boosters, saying the added height granted him a natural air of authority. Right now though, his demeanor was that of someone who thought they were in trouble but didn't know why- a flipper idly tugging at the ceremonial garnet of office around his neck. "Quite the unexpected series of events, isn't this? Why, aliens within our city- and apparently with a deal to offer! The tabloids ought to have a field day with this once it's announced!"
"That is... an unexpected surprise, indeed!" she slipped into her practiced 'meeting with investors' speaking patterns with ease, giving a socially-acceptable head-bob of polite agreement. "Though, I haven't exactly had it explained why such a... momentous moment requires my own presence? My facility isn't the most prominent industry within the city..."
"Nonsense! Your hospital and it's research are a prize of the city- a statement of our commitment to bettering the lives of our people, even the ones struck with the most unfortunate of circumstances!" The mayor gushed words filled with positivity but little substance- especially when she remembered the last time they had met regarding certain financial grants for their continued operation. "In fact, the aliens seem to have caught notice of your valiant mission, and are interested in cooperation in the pursuit of shared goals, in order to reach a better tomorrow with joined flippers- er, whatever they have! I for one, have no doubt that their contributions will be valued and most beneficial for us all!"
...Those were a lot of words for him to essentially say that he was missing a lot of details too and didn't actually know why the aliens had taken an interest in her facility, but then that was the way of most politicians- fill the conversation with enough noise, and people would focus on the feelings of the statements made rather than the actual substance. Fortunately, she'd long since learned to navigate such methods of obfuscation, though knowing that he was also unaware of their purpose here made that twisting in her gut just a bit more intense.
Thankfully, her worries were temporarily pushed to the side as they were waved into a conference room, where a Selmer was already seated and waiting for them. The trappings draped across her shoulders were adorned with several metals, denoting her as a military officer- though Guinelle wasn't familiar enough with their system of rankings to know exactly how high she must be in the chain of command. The officer looked between the two of them as they moved to take their seats, and nodded in satisfaction as the doors were closed behind them.
"Thank you both for attending so promptly- this situation is rather unprecedented, so there was no time to explain in... unsecured environments. I apologize for any stress that caused you, but we need to move quickly in order to take advantage of this opportunity."
"That's perfectly understandable, ma'am!" the mayor gushed before Guinelle could finish opening her beak- leaving her to carefully close it again as he began to prattle once more. "Time is a resource we never have enough of, especially when it comes to matters of supreme import! Why-"
"As I said," The officer interrupted coolly, "time is of the essence here, so forgive me if I insist on skipping the pleasantries in favor of briefing you both on the situation. That is," she looked directly down at the mayor, his boosters not even close to making up for their natural height difference, "assuming that is agreeable to you, sir mayor?" It did not sound like a question.
Guinelle watched him start to look offended, before settling his expression and leaning back in his seat. "I suppose explanations would be prudent, given the... urgency with which we were summoned."
"Great." Picking up a folder and tapping it on the table, the officer glanced between the two of them and clacked her beak. "The short of it is, we've been approached by an internal group within the aliens- not their government, but some sort of charity organization- which has expressed interest in beginning operations within our nation. Having reviewed the nature of the offer, the government believes this would be a boon worth accepting, should we find someplace willing to accept them. Your facility, Director Guinelle, is a fit for the parameters they requested, and thus we would ask for you to consider their offer, should you choose to hear them out- and for you, sir mayor, to approve of their operations being set up within your city."
"My facility?" Guinelle questioned. "They were interested in our facility above all others? Forgive me, but... we are quite specialized in our purview, and not nearly as advanced as some of the other hospitals even within this city. Is there a reason we were of particular interest to them, miss...?"
"General Kippar," the Selmer clarified, "and it's your specialization that is of interest to them, director. They are offering to provide their own knowledge of the design and production of prosthetic limb technology, and believe your facility would be the best starting point for integrating their advancements with our own efforts- and for what it is worth, we hold that same belief. Your advancements in the field are beyond what anyone else has accomplished, so it is our hope that you will have an easier time adapting whatever they provide for our own use. Though, I hope it is understood that the government is going to wish to receive access to any of the technology they are able to provide."
"That..." pausing for a moment, she thought over what she had just been told- the heady giddiness of potential access to that kind of resources and knowledge temporarily pushed aside as best she could manage in the face of a request for a commitment. "...the information I would be perfectly fine with sharing- we may even produce some official medical journals to release it to the general healthcare community. For hardware though, we cannot offer anything already assigned to a patient, as it would be their property at that point. Perhaps providing working examples unspoken for by a patient yet?"
"Seems reasonable enough," the general nodded crisply. "Though perhaps we should let this alien make their sales-pitch first, before we start counting the fish in our net. If the two of you are ready?" Guinelle nodded eagerly, and the mayor nodded as well- though he seemed to be pouting about being excluded from their previous conversation. Ignoring his ill mood, the general turned to one of the guards and waved a flipper at him, getting a salute in return as he left the room.
Guinelle fluffed her feathers in her seat, the mayor striking up a conversation about permits and such barely registering to her as she grappled with the thought of what was being offered. Alien medical technology, likely beyond anything her people had managed so far- how much would that push their own progress ahead? Had they figured out waterproofing of the joints? Were their prosthetics capable of powered articulation? The best prototypes her own people had managed so far was a replacement leg that provided a steady base and enough flexibility for the patient to walk without needing a cane, even if the battery life of it wasn't great. Just having more advanced batteries would do wonders for giving their patients something so they could move under their own power! She might need to hear this alien out before hashing out the details, but at face value, there was no way should was going to refuse this offer!
Her internal thoughts were interrupted by the door opening, and one of the tall, lanky aliens striding through. Their long limbs bending and swaying as they moved around was fascinating to observe- so different from the normal sway of a bissem's walk, this alien barely shifted to either side at all as they moved! Their unfortunately-bare face brightened as she (was it a she? Their body was different from the male that had been on the videos from first contact) laid eyes on them all, lips pulled apart in a baring of teeth as she pulled alongside the table, pulling out a seat and setting a rectangular carrying box of some sort down beside her.
Her lips began moving, releasing a series of guttural noises from her throat, before a device affixed to her chest crackled to life. "Greetings and good day," the device spoke in perfectly-understandable speech- even bearing a similar tone to the alien's voice! "My name is Lucillia, and on behalf of the Daedalus Initiative, I would like to thank you all for hearing me out and giving us a chance to bring our work to you. While our races have only been in contact for a short time, it is a great pleasure to be working with you towards our mutual mission of ensuring everyone has a chance to live Life Without Limits."
Not speaking their language herself? That made sense- not everyone could learn a new language quickly- especially if it crossed the species barrier. Thank goodness they seemed to have figured out machines that could translate in real-time for them- otherwise this conversation would be much more awkward to parse through.
"That is my hope as well," Guinelle chimed in quickly, noting how the last bit sounded like a practiced slogan. "I'm Director Guinelle, and I run the Prow-Wave Prosthetic Institute, and I'm very interested in getting my flippers on whatever innovations you can offer us to help our patients return to a normal life. I am glad your government chose our facility for the first site to introduce this technology- we'll be sure to get to work right away finding how to adapt any advancements to our own work on limb-replacement."
Whatever response she was expecting, the tall alien tilting her head back and barking out a laugh was certainly not it. "Oh, I am not here on behalf of the UN, my dear- Daedalus Initiative is a non-profit organization dedicated to relief efforts and providing medical care to those who either don't have access or can't afford the care and resources that they need. If it was up to the UN, this meeting wouldn't be happening, and you wouldn't be seeing hide or hair of this technology for months, much less getting started on it." She gestured energetically with one of her long limbs, the spindly fingers of her hand twitching in a deliberate eye-catching way. "However, I hope you'll agree that spending several months refusing children and patients medical care while politicians play their little games doesn't exactly sit well with me."
"Such games are not without reason, miss Lucillia," the mayor spoke up, sitting up in a professional posture. "While I am willing to accommodate your efforts here, I now find myself worrying if we are causing a diplomatic incident allowing you to set up a facility in my city."
"If we were setting up a facility, then we WOULD be in trouble," she answered quickly, pointing an index finger at the mayor while her thumb was held skyward- some sort of human gesture? "After all, they don't want anybody contaminating culture, especially with a new uplift, and telling them we just want to help people who've already lost limbs doesn't really seem to work. However," her finger swung around to point at Guinelle, "if an EXISTING facility were to request the Daedalus Initiative provide aid, then the SC's charters on charities and relief workers would leave us free to provide as much aid as possible, so long as it is confined to within that existing facility!"
Blinking at the energetic display, Guinelle crossed her flippers in front of her beak, considering the boisterous human as a few missing pieces clicked into place. "Well, that certainly sounds like it would be beneficial for your organization- if such a request was to be made, could you give us some examples of what might be offered to us? I can't imagine you already have prosthetics ready-made for bissem just yet."
"Well, not specifically, but we do have something that should be easy to adjust to the required specifications!" Reaching down into her case, the human pulled out a technological pad, then started fiddling with it as images popped up and scrolled along the screen- what a marvelous piece of technology that would be! Just imagine how much paperwork such a device might be able to replace! "See, we have a species back on Earth called penguins- technically several species, but I digress- and conservation efforts did end up designing some prosthetic flippers for a few members who had lost them due to either predators or human shipping. Obviously adjustments will need to be made, seeing as it's not a perfect comparison- for one thing, your flippers are far more dexterous than a penguin's would be- but I think you can see that the base design is a promising starting point!"
The human slid her dataslate over, and Guinelle picked it up, examining the blueprints she was being shown... and slowly felt her beak falling open at what she was seeing. This... this was something at a level that her engineers thought would be decades away at minimum- full articulation, no cables in need of being plugged in, no external batteries- was that a direct connection to the patient's nervous system?! Did these aliens have that kind of medical technology in such abundance that even charity workers could provide it?! While she was right that this wasn't the full dexterity of a natural bissem flipper, this was still leagues beyond the best tech she could provide to those with deep enough pockets for it- and she was considering this a base model?!
"H-how much are these going to cost us again?" she questioned weakly, the tablet clattering back down onto the table. "Our budget... while we have a decent fund for research and development, this kind of tech..."
"That's the beauty of it! We're a non-profit- and most of our funds come from donations anyways! For this project, we've already arranged the necessary funding in advance- none of this will cost you a dime! Or, whatever currency you use."
"That is... quite generous," The mayor interrupted, tapping the table with a flipper, "though you'll forgive me for asking... are theoreticals all you have to offer? While this all sounds very nice, it's good to have confirmation you can deliver the product offered- or at least something similar, to show you have the capability. That's only fair, yes?"
Something devious sparked to life in the human's eyes. "Oh, that's no trouble at all- I even brought along an example of the product we offer! This model is one I can personally vouch for!"
And with that, she reached up her sleeve, shifting something around... and then pulled her own arm off, setting it down on the table with a thunk- one drowned out by the mayor's terrified shriek as he pushed away from the table, flippers flapping at the air as his chair slowly tipped backwards and crashed into the ground, spilling his flailing form onto the floor.
Guinelle barely managed to keep her own chair balanced, flippers held to her beak as she stared at the detached limb- before jerking her gaze towards the grinning human, who seemed disturbingly nonchalant about being reduced to a single arm. Thankfully, it didn't take too long for her brain to kick back into gear, slowly clicking information into place as she noted the lack of blood, or disturbance, and the fact that she had been asked to present a working model...
"I-I didn't even notice," she stammered, eyes flicking back to the prosthetic on the table. She could see the metallic sheen at the end, with some obvious connectors sticking out... but the rest of the limb looked almost indistinguishable from the human's other limb, which she had blatantly laid on the table for comparison. Gingerly, Guinelle reached out and poked at the smaller digits of the limb, feeling not heavy iron, but some kind of soft, firm material- and the fingers flexing closed with barely any pressure from her touch.
So many tiny joints, so close together, and they'd all been working perfectly- no external power source that she could see, either on the limb or on the human. The way she'd been able to detach it so easily, without any obvious pain. Picking it up, it was surprisingly heavy- a soft material that felt so much like normal skin, so unlike the harsh firmness of their own plastic limbs that she couldn't help but run her flipper along it, marveling at how it gave and flexed so similarly to the real thing. There were differences, now that she looked at it up close- bits that were a bit too angular to be natural, strange spots of firmness where there shouldn't be- but the fact she had to focus to find them, even this close up...
"Pretty good work, right?" the human spoke up, a tinge of pride in her voice- even as the device on her chest clearly began to struggle with the speed at which she began talking, giving a strange echo between her natural speech and the translation. "Not as good as the original obviously, but that model's served me well for about fifteen years now- and it's a decent upgrade from the first one I got fitted with after, well... unfortunate events at my old position." Sitting back up, Lucillia patted at her empty shoulder proudly. "So as you can see, I've got a personal stake in making sure all the prosthetics we provide are the best they can possibly be!"
With shaking flippers, Guinelle pushed the limb back across the table to her. "W-would you mind putting this back on?"
With a knowing smile, the human rolled up her sleeve, exposing an obvious technological port right where her shoulder should be- and with a bit of shuffling, lined up the connectors and pushed it into place, the limb locking in with a solid-sounding click. Dexterous fingers flicked up a panel and pushed a few buttons, then flicked it close as a tiny light came on. Rolling her sleeve back down, the human rolled her reattached arm, making a show of flexing her fingers in sequence before grasping and spreading her entire hand.
"No stutter, no lag, just got to make sure the connection is seated properly, lock it in, and turn it on! Battery lasts for about six hours, and the charging plug is discreet and can fit into any typical electrical port. No pain when it's disconnected either- you basically turn off your connections to the nerves, and it feels more like the arm has gone numb- a bit trippy for the first few months, but certainly better than some alternatives!"
Guinelle felt her chair wobbling beneath her, and chose to simply abandon it, ignoring the clatter as she climbed onto the table and waddled over as fast as she could, eagerly extending a flipper towards the human. "As Director of the Prow-Wave Prosthetics Institute, I am requesting the Daedalus Initiative's aid as quickly as possible. Just tell me what you need from me- anything it takes to get this tech available to my patients as soon as we can!"
"Well, of course there are papers to be signed and filed," Lucillia grinned, the grip of her prosthetic warm and soft as she gripped Guinelle's flipper and shook it, "but once we take care of that, we'll have a ship flying in by the end of the week. I look forward to working with you, Director Guinelle."
"Likewise, Director Lucillia," she beamed, fluffing her feathers in joy. This kind of miracle-tech was going to help so many Bissems!